At the sound of a car engine running outside, Charles rushed to the window in time to see Harriet driving away. It was déjà vu, except he couldn’t claim his actions, or lack of them now, had been in any way for her benefit.
‘Charles, what the hell have you done?’ Esme arrived, as he’d known she would, temper flaring, fists balling, ready for a fight.
‘Not now.’
‘You must have said something to make her leave like that. Are you really just going to stand here and watch her go? Again?’ That was the ultimate question. What they were going to do about the baby, how he felt about Harriet and what they did next were incidental if he let her go without a fight again. She was a successful surgeon in her own right with no need for him or his money. He was the one standing to lose out here.
‘Tell everyone to go home. The party’s over.’ He left Esme to break up the gathering before dashing downstairs to retrieve his own car keys. His child wasn’t going to grow up thinking its father was a disappointment, like the rest of his family had.
This was one time he could do the right thing without waiting until it was too late. He couldn’t live with any more guilt and regret. Losing his father and brother had taught him not to be selfish, and unless he wanted to lose his child too he had to think about the needs of its mother. That didn’t include being upset by her baby’s father. Not when she’d driven the whole way to Scotland to tell him personally on Christmas Day. Something a person would only do if they had no one else to turn to.
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