The Silver Coin (The Colby's Coin 2)

Having risen to his feet, Royce bowed. “Miss Mar­tin. A pleasure.” He straightened, eyeing her closely and seeing a woman who had once undoubtedly been quite lovely, with thick pale hair and wide gray eyes. But time and experience had taken their toll, and she now looked worn, resigned, her luster faded, her beauty diminished into plainness.

“What can I do for you, sir?” she inquired politely.

For an instant, Royce considered asking to speak with Glynnis alone, then abandoned the notion. To begin with, the dowager would never agree. Further, he sensed the elderly matron might turn out to be an ally, rather than an obstacle.

“Please, sit down,” he began, gesturing toward the chair beside the dowager's. “As it happens, I've been searching for you for weeks now. Actually, for you and your daughter.”

In the process of settling herself, Glynnis went rigid. “Emma? Why would you be searching for her?”

“On behalf of my client,” Royce said gently. “Emma's father.”

Shutters descended over Glynnis's eyes. “What do you know of Emma's father?”

Royce lowered himself back to the settee, speaking as frankly and objectively as he could. “I know who he is—the Viscount Ryder. I know you were em­ployed in his home when Emma was conceived. I know he treated you abysmally when you told him you were with child. I know he abandoned you, and ignored your message informing him of Emma's birth.'' A weighty pause. “And I know that he's aging now, and deeply remorseful for what he's done. He realizes he can never make up for his callousness and negligence. But he wants to try—if not with you, then with Emma.”

“Just like that.” Glynnis Martin gave an incredulous shake of her head. “He seduced me, threw me out when I conceived his child, and denied that child's ex­istence for eighteen years. And now he's remorseful. Tell me, my lord, how am I supposed to react? With compassion?”

“I'd be lying if I said yes to that,” Royce stated bluntly. “Were I in your shoos, I'd probably hate the man. But your scars aren't really the issue here.”

She looked taken aback, both by Royce's unexpect­ed support of her plight and by his equally unexpect­ ed bluntness. “I see.” She cleared her throat, her defensiveness visibly abating. “If my sears aren't the issue, then what is?”

“Emma is.” Royce didn't diverge from his straight­forward approach. “Look, Miss Martin. Despite all the insults we hurl at him, Lord Ryder is Emma's father. And—if it makes any difference at all—I can honestly say his regret at having rejected her, and you, is very real and very acute. He realizes he was a stupid, self­ish fool. He also realizes he can't undo what's been done. But he's old, he's alone, and he's aware that his life is drawing to an end. He'd like to meet his child, to try to afford her—and himself—the chance to form some kind of relationship, however tenuous, before he dies. He'd also like to leave her his title, his estate, and his fortune—which is considerable.”

Glynnis emitted a soft gasp. “I—I'm stunned. I had no idea.” She pursed her lips, recovered herself. “But Emma is not for sale, my lord.”

“I never assumed she was,” Royce responded, un­surprised by Glynnis's reaction. She was clearly a proud woman, and a protective, devoted mother. All of which he admired—and planned to use, not only to his client's advantage but, whether Glynnis Martin knew it or

not, to hers and her daughter's.

“I assure you,” Royce continued, his tone and gaze unwavering, “that Lord Ryder has no desire to pur­chase your daughter. He's not luring her with the promise of money. He's simply offering her all that's his to give.” A profound pause. “I'm a very good judge of character, Miss Martin, especially when it comes to my clients. The viscount has no ulterior mo­tives, nor is he stupid enough to believe he can buy Emma 's loyalties. He just wants to give her, her birthright—-and perhaps afford himself a measure of peace, a sense of having left something behind that's real and lasting. Surely you can understand that?”

Glynnis averted her gaze, indecision warring on her face.

“I believe that if you give this some thought...” Royce pressed.

“I'm not sure I want to.”

“Why?” Royce inquired gently. “Because you might find yourself softening?”

“Glynnis,” the dowager interrupted, reaching out to take the younger woman's hand in hers. “Listen to me. You're angry. You have reason to be. I share your anger and hurt, as I have from the day you told me what the viscount had done. But I'm a great deal older than you. And I have a perspective you have yet to acquire. Age changes people. They suddenly see things clearly that, in the past, they were blind to. I think that's what's happening here.”

“You expect me to forgive him?” Glynnis asked her employer in amazement.

“Of course not. I expect you to think of Emma. Don't let your bitterness, however justified, cheat her out of what’s rightfully hers. You'll regret it.”

“What’s rightfully hers,” Glynnis repeated bleakly. “The viscount's money.”

“There's a lot more involved here than money,” Royce put in.

“Such as what? A tide? Status?”

“You're missing my point. Greed is clearly not in your nature, so I'd be a fool to use it as an incentive to sway you into accepting Lord Ryder's request. I'm urging you to do so for a number of reasons: to give Emma a sense of heritage—something meeting her fa­ther would permit; to give her the formal acknowl­edgment she has been denied all these years; to ensure her future, so she's never out in the cold, alone and abandoned, the way you were.” Royce paused, glancing down at the carpet before lifting his gaze to meet Glynnis's. “And last—despite what you've claimed, despite what we've both claimed—to offer a shred of charity to a lonely old man. Pain and resent­ment aside, she is his daughter, Miss Martin.”

Her expression softened, and Royce watched her innate decency prevail over her bitterness. “Yes, my lord. I know she is.”

“Discuss it with Emma,” he suggested. “She's young, but she's hardly a child. I think she deserves the right to know her father has asked to see her, don't you?”

Wearily, she nodded. “Considering how often she's asked me questions about him—yes. She does.”