Almost a Gentleman Read Online Free PDF

marry. He didn't say any of that, though—perhaps, he thought now, because she would have laughed at his childishness.
    What he did do was make love to her until dawn, in her own large warm feather bed. He'd returned a few days later. And a few days after that. She had to caution him not to make so much noise in bed—she ran a decent inn, after all, and not a bawdy house. So sometimes in warm weather they went out into the fields; she'd pack a magnificent basket of food, they'd spread a blanket, he'd make all the noise he wanted and so would she.
    It was on one of those summer excursions, David was sure, that Alec had been conceived.
    He'd proposed marriage when she told him she was carrying his child, but she refused him gently. Thank you dear, she said, but I'm happy with my own business, you know, and I wasn't really raised to be a countess after all. And as for the child, well, I know you'll help if we ever need anything, not that I'm worried about providing.
    He'd been chagrined; rejection is hard for any young person, particularly one who believes in doing the decent thing. He persisted, though, making his fair and logical case until he wore her down. The laws of inheritance brooked no compromise: if she delivered a son, that son must be a legitimate one in order to inherit the peerage. And didn't she want the best for their child? he asked. Not simply wealth, but a chance to help decide the affairs of the country.
    Finally, she capitulated. They were married in a secret ceremony several parishes away, less than a week before Alec's birth. David's family—he'd confided in a few old uncles—had been furious.
    And yet it had all worked out quite well. Margery had continued as innkeeper, and Alec had been a cheerful, loving, extremely intelligent child who'd understood very early that his parents came from different worlds. His large, greenish eyes—Margery's eyes—seemed to consider this fact judiciously, and to conclude that it was, on the whole, a good and interesting thing. And as he came to reasoning consciousness, it appeared that he'd accepted his situation quite happily.
    Both Mummy's and Papa's different houses were fun in their own ways, Alec had remarked when he was about three years old. Papa's house was bigger, of course, and full of funny old suits of armor. But you never knew who'd come visiting at Mummy's house. And, he'd added (with a quick glance at David to assure himself that he wasn't hurting his feelings), the food was better at Mummy's. By which time it seemed clear to David that Alec knew that—each in their own ways—both Mummy and Papa loved their little boy quite delightedly and unreservedly.
    They agreed on most things having to do with his upbringing. Though Alec lived with his mother until he was ten, Margery had consulted David about all the important decisions. They agreed that Alec's welfare was more important than either of their desires or prejudices. And so, tearfully, Margery agreed to send him to Eton, where he'd suffered a rough first month from some beastly little snobs before becoming generally accepted, partially through the use of his fists—David had taught him to box—and partially through his own sunny self-confidence.
    Margery wanted him to have every advantage David could afford to give him, and she feared that Alec might find her common some day, or be ashamed of his lower-class origins. Happily, he never did. He'd been devoted to his mother until she'd died five years ago from pneumonia.
    He was at Cambridge now, wrestling enthusiastically with natural philosophy. David regretted not having more children, but if you had to have only one, Alec was an excellent one to have. Lately, though, he'd begun to feel awfully old when thinking about this son, suddenly almost an adult and a scholar as well. Alec used his own title now; the young Viscount Granthorpe was beginning to be invited to balls and house parties. Young ladies paid attention to him, for he'd inherited