A Match Made in Bed (Spinster Heiresses #2)(70)

She sat. Soren took the chair next to her and stretched out his legs. At last, Logan released his grip but kept his head against his father’s chest as if listening to his heart.

“Where was he?” Soren asked quietly.

“In your bedroom. He’d been there the whole time.”

“Ah, waiting for me, eh?”

Logan didn’t answer. He viewed Cassandra gravely.

“When did you send the letter to your mother announcing our marriage?” Cassandra asked.

“I had it sent out the afternoon we agreed to marry.”

“And he has been missing for three days?” she said.

“Which would have been around when the letter arrived.” Soren looked to his son. “Is that what it was?”

Logan didn’t answer. Instead, he turned from Cassandra and grew very interested in the knot in Soren’s neck cloth. A maid appeared with a tray of sandwiches, whisky for Soren, and cold spring water for Cassandra and Logan.

“Beg pardon, my lady, but shall I fetch some sherry?”

“No, this is fine,” Cassandra said. She set about serving the sandwiches as the maid poured the water.

“I’ll take a water as well,” Soren said. Cassandra had noticed that he only imbibed in spirits on occasion. She still had much to learn about this man that she married.

The maid left. Cassandra set the plates out. Soren sat up but Logan did not make a move. He’d hooked his skinny bare legs around his father’s thigh as if he was on a horse.

“Where are your stockings, Logan?” Soren asked.

Large dark eyes glanced up to him, but he did not answer.

“I thought we talked,” Soren continued. “Proper young men wear shoes here. They wear shoes in Canada as well.”

“I don’t like those shoes.” Logan spoke clearly.

“You are not used to them. If you wear them, they will fit your feet.”

“They are stiff.”

“They are new.”

Soren glanced at Cassandra as if asking if she was taking this all in. He then said the words she sensed both she and Logan were dreading. “My son, I want you to meet your new—”

Whether he was going to say “stepmother” or “mother,” Cassandra knew neither would be acceptable.

Logan’s determined little chin lifted. He spoke in his native tongue.

Soren’s expression was carefully neutral. “In English, my son.”

Logan was not afraid to comply. “I had only one mother.”

“And I imagine she was a very good one,” Cassandra agreed with him.

The child drew his brows together in suspicion but he gave one curt nod. Logan was not one to waste words.

“So, if it is all right with you,” she said, “perhaps you should consider me a friend.”

“A friend?” Soren made a face. “What is he going to call you? Friend?”

She thought of the child who had clung to her skirts. “If he chooses. I like the name Friend.” She pushed his plate and sandwich toward him. “I’m not certain I like the flavor of the cheese on this sandwich. Please let me know what you think, Logan.” He had to be hungry. Whatever he could purloin from around the foodstuffs in the house would not be enough for a growing child’s appetite.

Still he sat.

“Does my offer of being your friend sound good to you, Logan?” she asked, wanting him to respond to her.

He looked to Soren. “Is she your friend?”

“She is my wife,” Soren answered gently.

“My mother was your wife.”

“Yes, and your mother has left us.” Soren’s tone was infinitely patient, the way a father’s should be.

“Is she the wealthy woman?” Logan asked.

Cassandra doubted anyone had said as much to him. Well, perhaps Arabella. But he was a clever youngster. He probably heard everything that happened in the house.

“Your friend is my wife,” Soren answered in a firm tone.

The look on Logan’s face let her know it would be some time before he considered her a friend.

She took bite of her sandwich. “I hope I have an appetite for dinner.” She tried to sound cheery in the silence between father and son.

“Cassandra, I believe Logan and I need a moment.”

She didn’t question the request but swiftly rose. Soren and his son came to their feet out of respect. Logan stood on his own, but his hand slipped into his father’s. The child was a strange mix of fierce independence and needy insecurity, an insecurity she understood too well.

She excused herself, and lacking anywhere else to go after leaving the library, she took a turn on the back portico. The days were growing warmer. The flower beds desperately needed tending. It didn’t look as if anyone had paid attention to them for years. Here was a project she could take on. Soren encouraged her to find a passion. Many a lady enjoyed gardening, although she didn’t believe she would.

From this vantage point, she could hear voices from the library. Logan had turned very talkative. As she reentered the house and passed the library door, she caught sight of Soren and his son. Logan sat in his own chair, stuffing sandwiches in his mouth as if he hadn’t eaten in months while chatting happily. Soren seemed to be hanging on his son’s every word. As she watched, he lightly touched the back of his son’s head as if offering a benediction.