Page 57

Felix

Felix shifted on his feet as he waited for the cottage door to open. He owed Mr. Campbell— Weston —an apology after yesterday. And a discussion…? What exactly did one do when a new sibling was sprung upon them? They had years to make up for.

Not that they hadn’t spent quite a bit of time together, especially now that Felix was training Weston in the estate business.

It wasn’t in a brotherly capacity, though.

It was polite, possibly more friendly than traditional lord and servant, but Felix didn’t know the important things about his brother.

Like how Felicity snorted when she laughed and had an obsession with anything and everything lemon.

Or how Fitzy always carried at least three handkerchiefs on his person at all times because of his propensity for sweating when his nerves overcame him.

Did Weston have a particular fondness for games? Charades or snapdragon or card games like whist? Was he competitive like the rest of the Jennings? Or had they inherited that trait from Father?

The door swung open, and Felix started as he was faced with his towering stable master, the elder Mr. Campbell. He’d been so lost in his head, he hadn’t even heard the man approach the door. Mr. Campbell’s smile tugged up on one side, a twinkle in his blue eyes, ones identical to his son’s.

“Och, Bentley. Good tae see you, lad. Come in.”

Felix followed the man into his cottage.

It was a comfortable size—at least, Felix hoped it was.

All he was familiar with was the enormity of Thornfield Hall.

The entry opened to a generous parlor, which Mr. Campbell led them to now.

Just off that lay a modest library, and beyond that a separate dining parlor that connected to the small kitchen, with the second floor housing the bedrooms.

The cottage…looked different now, seeing it as the home his brother grew up in. Was there more Felix could have done? They could have expanded it, perhaps enlarged the library. Weston did have a head for figures and was a studious type.

Felix cleared his throat. “I was actually looking for your son.” Brother, your brother, Felix . “Does he happen to be around?”

Mr. Campbell turned to face him, head tilted, and studied Felix. He was a tall man, had a good few inches over Felix. He was strong and lean, even now nearing sixty as he was. Felix remembered when his hair had been ebony black. Now it was spattered with grey, like a grey roan’s coat.

“I’d offer ye a tea or coffee,” Mr. Campbell finally murmured. “But you look like you need a whisky. Aye?”

Felix smiled sheepishly. “I won’t say no to one.”

Mr. Campbell went to his sideboard. “Weston’s in the stables, last I checked,” he called over his shoulder. He quickly poured them each a dram of whisky. “But since I have you here, I’d like a moment of yer time.”

The man handed Felix a whisky, which Felix took gratefully, needing something to occupy his hands. Something to prevent him from fidgeting, from letting all the—what was it? He wasn’t nervous, not truly. But his insides were tight, scrambling, and knotting. He couldn’t settle.

Mr. Campbell gestured to a pair of armchairs with a nod of his chin. “Sit, lad,” he said gently.

Felix sat on the edge of his chair, rolling the whisky glass between his hands.

“Are you fairing all right, Felix? Yer Mother is worried over ye. And I can see why. Yer conflict is loud.”

Felix’s throat tightened, but he forced a swallow past it.

Hearing Mr. Campbell use his Christian name—Felix bit his cheek—it was reminiscent of Father.

It didn’t happen often, but once Felix had learned of Mother’s and Malcolm’s involvement, it had driven him closer to the man, allowed for the familiarity to form.

He saw him not just as a stable master, but as someone to look up to.

Malcolm was that type of man. A man one would be lucky to emulate.

It had felt seamless to fall into because Malcolm had played an active part in all the Jennings children’s upbringing.

He’d taught them all how to ride. Always showed them when exciting things were happening in the stables—new foals, the rare lamb triplets.

He had a way of weaving lessons and wisdom into everyday conversations, so subtly a person didn’t even realize they’d just been taught something they would carry for the rest of their lives.

So, now, with Father gone, the man sitting across from him was the closest thing he had to a father, connected in a way Felix never would have foreseen.

Felix roughly cleared the emotion from his throat.

It seemed more and more lately he was losing control over his composure.

It was unnerving and exhausting, and he was really hoping he could figure out how to get back to where he felt like he had his feet on solid ground.

“I’m struggling,” he finally admitted. Malcolm silently sipped his whisky, kind blue eyes patient as they watched Felix. Felix’s gaze drifted to the rug, snagged on a small run in the fabric.

“When I came of an age where…having a partner in life became more and more a desire of mine, and I had learned I was destined for a similar arrangement as you and Mother, I thought often of what that looked like for the two of you. The time apart—sometimes long periods when Mother traveled to London with us. The necessity for discretion. And now knowing she had a son as well, a son who always had to share her with another family…”

His words trailed off as his throat decided he wasn’t allowed any more. He couldn’t imagine how difficult that was. What he really wanted to ask, the question he couldn’t move past the knot lodged in his throat was—had they been happy? Had it been enough?

Malcolm’s lips curved into a warm smile. He released a low breath of amusement, though Felix couldn’t comprehend what was so amusing. “I loved yer mother from afar for twelve years, Felix.” He lifted his dark brows. “Twelve. Years. Ye understand?”

Felix nodded slowly.

“Having tae share her time with you and yer family was a very small price to pay to finally be with the woman I love. Was it bittersweet at times? Aye. But do ye want to know what I thought of in those moments I was missing her?”

Felix gave the slightest nod of his head.

“How lucky I was, lad. To have someone to miss. And yer mother, at that. I am the most fortunate of men , to be the one who has the privilege of missing her. Knowing she’ll be coming home to me.”

Felix’s heart squeezed. Felix was eternally grateful to this man. For providing his mother with a lifetime of happiness, for cherishing his mother like she deserved. Because Lydia Jennings deserved the best.

Malcolm took a sip of his whisky, then leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees, his blue gaze sharp.

“Yer father was a singular man. He gave us every opportunity to be together. We took holidays together, he made it so yer mother could leave London early, so she’d have time just with me and Wessie.

We didnae have a hard time of it. I don’t want you to think we did. ”

He paused, and when he spoke again, his voice was soft.

“Remember, we live in a world where children oft see little of their parents.

Whether ‘tis because one travels where the work is and sends money home, or in yer circles where hired help spends more time with the children than the parents do, putting them to bed, feeding them their meals in the nursery.

“Wessie has never lacked for love or attention.” His smile grew, and his eyes crinkled at the corners. “And, aye, would he have preferred his ma was here every night to tuck him in? Of course. But I’d like to think I was a capable father and a no’ so bad replacement, either.” He winked.

Felix’s lips managed to tug up, and he smiled down at his untouched whisky.

“I suppose it is difficult for me to accept that he knew all along we were his siblings.” His smile faded, and he gnawed on his lip.

“He was always on the outside looking in. Seeing something he wasn’t a part of.

Something he should have been a part of. ”

“Nae. Ye always treated Weston as more than a mere servant’s child. Ye Jennings are a kind folk. You dinnae make anyone feel lesser than. So, when Wessie was toddlin’ around, you all would play with him, let him follow along. Felicity was the one who taught him how to skip stones. His sister, aye?”

Felix supposed that was true.

“Yer father and I grew very close after I entered into an understanding with yer mother. He was one of my closest friends.” He paused and cocked his head softly. “I see so much of him in you. I can only imagine the pride he’d feel if he were here to see it.”

Felix blinked rapidly, fighting back the moisture gathering in his eyes. He hurriedly took a sip of his whisky, welcoming that burn over the one building behind his nose.

“But,” Malcolm said quietly. “He wore the burden of responsibility to a fault, beyond what was his to carry. He was a great man. As are ye. It means a lot to me that ye care so deeply about Wessie and his well-being. But he didn’t once lack for love.

“And while, aye, he couldn’t share in family time with you and your siblings—and there was always a distance imposed by class—just remember this: he had something many children only dream of.

He had the complete, undivided attention of his father.

That lad is my whole world, and he never once had to share me with another.

Every situation has its blessings and burdens.

Life is much brighter when we choose to see the blessings. ”

Malcolm threw back the rest of his whisky and stood.

He offered a hand, and Felix took it, promptly finding himself hoisted to his feet with the force of a Scotsman’s strength.

“A’right lad. Go on and find yer new brother.

I might be a mite biased, but you’ve just come into a fine one. That’s a blessing, if I ever saw one.”