He immediately shook aside that thought. He was not a good choice for any woman. He had a mother that would send any woman screaming from his side, a large contingent of half-siblings he now had to help support, three younger siblings he meant to free of his mother’s hold, and a reputation that was so black no decent member of society wanted anything to do with him. And then there was his proven inability to protect those he cared for. He may have saved his two young brothers from his mother’s machinations but that was his only claim to being the sort of man who could protect anyone.
There were so many failures in his past it hurt to think of them. There was Faith, the sweet innocent daughter of a vicar whom he had thought to marry. His mother had destroyed the girl and he had blindly believed that she had fled him, betrayed him with another man. Not once had he questioned that or looked for her. For that he believed he was as guilty of Faith’s death as his mother was. Now there was poor little Agatha, trapped with their mother and facing a horrible marriage to a man most of society would like to see hanged. He had never even thought of his father breeding bastards, which was the height of ignorance, but there appeared to be a lot of them and he had failed them all as well.
If he was a good man, a strong man, he would walk away from Olympia as fast as he could. She deserved so much better than him even as a lover. Yet, he knew he would stay with her for as long as she would allow. If nothing else, she could make him smile and he had not done that for a very long time. All he could do was pray that he had no chance to fail her, too.
Chapter 10
The coffee tasted as good as always. Enid had a true skill with the brewing, so much so that Brant had been a little impatient for the horde of children to finish their morning meal so that he and Olympia could enjoy theirs. He looked at her, her calm beauty stirring him as always, but his mind fixed itself upon the one new fact he knew about this woman who was now his lover. Olympia was the mother of a twelve-year-old boy.
Brant tried to see Olympia as a girl of just thirteen, probably taking her very first steps into womanhood. It was not easy. She was such a strong, confident woman, secure in who she was even with all her eccentricities, that one could only catch the barest hint of the child she might have been when she grew playful with the children. And she had been no more than a child, one who had been cruelly violated by a man who, if the name she carried was any indication, had been a member of her own very large family.
“Good God, you were no more than a child when you bore your son,” he said and then grimaced. “Sorry.”
“You seem to have become infected with my disease of straight from the mind to the tongue and out.” She smiled at him as she stirred her tea. “No need to apologize. I was indeed a child when I bore my son Ilar. There were times when I think Ilar and I were as much playmates as mother and son.”
“Why is he not here with you?”
“Because I came here to shop, to buy a few frivolous things, a few gowns, and perhaps attend a few events. Not anything a boy would enjoy. He is also not really prepared enough to be within the confines of a crowded city. His gifts still need some tempering.”
“He has gifts as well?” Brant had to wonder at all the difficulties that must arise when raising a child with such gifts but bit his tongue, not wanting to divert her from telling more about her son.
“He is the son of two Wherlockes.”
“Ah, of course. It would be most unusual if he did not have one.”
“Quite. And a strong one which is why we discourage the marriage of cousins but,” she shrugged, “it is not completely forbidden for the family is quite large and there have been many generations of outside blood mixed in. Ilar can move things with his mind. At times, when his emotions are running hot and wild, he can lose control and things begin to fly about the room. He is much better than he was as a child, when he often did it in play as well, but the boy is starting his way through that tumultuous path that leads to manhood so what control he had learned had suffered some.”
“I am not surprised. It can be a very difficult time for a boy.”
She nodded. “I found the change from girl to woman not so pleasant myself. His voice changed just before I traveled here. I keep thinking that I am losing my baby.” She shook her head and swallowed the sudden surge of emotion the thought always brought with it. “Foolish.”
He reached across the table and clasped her hand in his. “A little, yes. He cannot stop the change but he is your son. The very fact that you have kept him with you, raised him as your son, despite the brutal way he was conceived, tells me how well loved he is.” He fought the urge to hurry to her side so that he could kiss the blush that colored her cheeks. “I am a bit envious,” he murmured, and silently admitted that it was more than a bit.
“True, he will always be my son, my child, even when I need to step up on a stool to box his ears.” She smiled when he laughed. “Ilar is also very, well, receptive to how the people around him feel. He has great empathy. Perhaps too much.”
“Another gift?”
“Yes, although not as strong as the first one. That is often the case when one of us has two gifts. It is still strong enough, however, to make coming to the city too difficult for him, especially at this time in his life.”