by Eva Devon
How he longed to say he feared nothing.
But that would be a fool’s errand to say such a thing, and he was no fool, nor was he a coward, so he merely inclined his head.
“I see,” she said. She gave a nod of acceptance before running her hands over her wild hair. “Well, I shan’t be the one to tempt you to it nor drive you off that edge you so worry about. I love life,” she added. “I shan’t deny it. But I shouldn’t like to be the undoing you so fear. Not for a bit of fun with me.”
He looked away, his stomach hollow. “It was a pleasure, even if I cannot do as you wish.”
“Make no mistake,” she said. “You wish it too in your heart of hearts.”
He grimaced. “None of that matters.”
“Indeed, it does,” she pointed out with surprising strength. “To not be able to do what one wishes out of fear? It is a grave matter, indeed.”
“We will not be able to agree upon this,” he said tightly. And with that, he turned from her, even though every bit of him wished he could stay. No, he would not risk it. It was not worth the risk. He’d seen what happened to his father when swallowed up by feelings. . . He would never let that happen to himself. No matter the cost.
Chapter 9
“Mother,” Lock said plainly. “I am not going to the country.”
“But, Lock, my darling, you must.” His mother batted her long dark lashes, a praying mantis ready to strike. “I ache to spend time with you. You know that I do. You spend far too much time apart from me, darling.”
She was the most beautiful of women, the most determined and absolutely willing to use her words as weapons to get whatever she wanted. She also loved her children dearly.
“Mama, you shan’t sway me.”
“Shall I not?” She dabbed the corner of her eye with her napkin.
“Mama.” He tsked. “I know you are not crying real tears.”
“I could not do anything but,” she defended dramatically. “I do not know how to make fake tears.”
“Mama,” he said gently. “You taught me how to make fake tears when I was but a boy to manipulate my teachers at Eton.”
“I did not,” she protested, her spine straightening.
“Indeed, you did, Mama.”
She sighed, then smiled ruefully. “Well, I suppose I’ve been caught out, but, my darling, I truly wish you would come, for I do miss your acquaintance. I feel that you don’t spend enough time with your mother.”
“Mama,” he reminded kindly, for his mother had suffered a good deal, and he never wished to be a source of pain for her. . . Even if she did drive him to distraction at times. “I’ve spent a great deal of time with you since my return,” he explained as he leaned against the marble fireplace mantle. “And I adore you, but I don’t think I wish to go down to the country and see you become dearest friends with that American.”
His mother arched a delicate dark brow. “That American is a delightful creature, and I think it would do you much good to spend more time with her.”
He propped a boot on the grate. “No, Mama, it would not.”
“You like her,” his mother declared, stirring a spoon full of aromatic tealeaves into the silver pot.
“I do not like her,” he said tightly, doing everything he could to stay calm. His mother would sense any irritation on his part and pounce upon it.
“You are attracted to her,” his mother corrected as she placed the beautifully engraved teaspoon upon the tray.
“Yes, Mama,” he admitted, for in their family, they didn’t bother hiding or making nice about such things.
She clapped her hands together, urging, “Then, why not give in to it, my darling? She would do you good, to have an amour would be absolutely marvelous for your constitution.”
“Mama,” he began, resisting the urge to close his eyes. “I do not wish to discuss my constitution with you.”
She frowned, clearly finding his statement absurd. “Who else should you discuss it with other than your mother? I am most concerned for you. You will end up with the most terrible, terrible ague.”
“I shan’t catch an ague.” He drew in a long, steadying breath as he studied a frolicking porcelain shepherdess before continuing, “My constitution is positively sound. I’ve been all the way around the world, fought in India, sailed across the oceans, and been perfectly fine. I hardly think a little time away from you, and time not spent in the country, will do me ill.”
She shrugged her delicate shoulders. “If you insist it to be so, it must be so, for you are a clever boy, Lock. But I do hate to think you’re not going there simply to avoid a delightful person. Besides, you know how dearly your brothers would love to see you down in the country. Think of it, all of us together as a family. It would be nice, don’t you know? Especially with the nieces and the nephews.”
His mother was a woman to be reckoned with.
Devil take it, if there was one argument that might sway him, this was it.
He did now have a glorious family, and they all seemed to be much healthier and happier than they had been. He didn’t know how it had all happened, but Jack, Charles, and Gemma, well, they all seemed to have moved on from the past, which was a remarkable thing. Because he sometimes still felt as if one of his feet was firmly entrenched in the mire of it.
It was difficult to let go of memories, the memories of his father and his eldest brother, how happy they had been before the accident.
But it was true, one could not cling to old memories. Though everything about his soul told him the opposite.
Perhaps it was the right thing to do, to go down in the country and try to wipe that clean, to pull himself out of the mud of it.
Yet, why did she have to be going?
It seemed absolutely absurd, but of course, his mother had virtually invited her to be the guest of honor.
And that was the entire reason for the country house party in the first place.
He needn’t fool himself on that point.
He looked at his mother, askance. “Mother, are you planning something?”
She merely smiled her cat-with-the-cream smile. Her beautiful, perfect berry lips pursing. “My dear, how could you ever suggest something so nefarious? Me, plan something? What do you take me for?”
“I take you for an artfully scheming mama,” he said.
She gasped. “How dare you? I insist you take it back. I am not like those other mamas which scheme for their sons.”
He laughed. “No, Mama. I know that,” he said. “I don’t think you’re scheming to get me married, or any some such silliness. I think you’re scheming. . .”
“Yes?” she queried lightly as she took up a beautifully painted teacup.
“I think. . .” He groaned and stepped away from the fireplace, not quite willing to proclaim she was scheming to find him a lover. “I don’t know what you’re about, but I don’t think you’re doing this strictly out of the goodness of your heart.”
“Oh, my dear, that you should question the nature of my heart,” she said, her gaze positively wounded.
He sighed.
There was no winning this conversation. “Mama, I’m going to be staying in London. No doubt, I will be paying a visit to my barracks and having a frightfully good time with my friends.”
“Half of your friends will be in the country,” she pointed out as she poured out a steaming cup of tea. “I’m inviting absolutely everyone.”
“Mama,” he said, doing his best to bear up. “Must you?”
“Well, dear, you have such amusing friends, and I’d like to spend more time with them as well.”
He narrowed his gaze. “You told me it was going to be family.”
She cleared her throat as she delicately placed a lemon slice into the perfectly brewed liquid. “I did, I did. And, my dear, some of your friends are exactly like family.” She beamed unapologetically at him. “Why, look at Tony, for goodness’ sake. He’s the Duke of Aston’s son, so of course, he already is exac
tly like family. And that dear boy, the Earl of Ellesmere. He’s a lovely fellow. I like him a good deal. If I had another daughter of age, I’d insist she marry him.”
“Mama,” he groaned.
She pursed her lips. “Are you confused about my personage? My dear, you do keep repeating yourself, you know?”
He took the offered cup of tea from her and said, determined not to be driven to the brink, “I am going to go out, and I’m going to go have a drink with my friends.”
“Splendid, darling, splendid.” She began to pour her own tea as though she weren’t weaving an elaborate web. “Just the thing for you.” She put the teapot down and gave him a mischievous smile. “Perhaps you could find some nice female companionship, too.”
“Mama, stop,” he choked before he forced himself to swill half of his tea. “You wished me to be with Calliope Duke just a moment ago.”
“You seem determined that you wish nothing to do with her,” his mother countered. “So I must insist you find different pastures.”
“Oh.” Flummoxed, for his mother could run circles about anyone, he downed the other half of his tea.
He had no idea, sometimes, what to do with his mother, but she truly did believe that a healthy sexual appetite was a good thing for a person and that one shouldn’t repress themselves.
And his mother certainly had not repressed herself, nor had his father. They’d had the most glorious and romantic of relationships and been absolutely open for all their children.
It had been a remarkable thing, to witness the passion of his mama and papa. But it had made the crash all the worse.
So now, with his mother insisting he go off and find a bit of sport or something, at the very least, to invigorate him, he realized he had to escape. He placed his cup down on the mantle and gave her a quick bow. “Mama, I love you.”
“Yes, my dear. I love you, too. And it’s why I wish. . .”
He cleared his throat. “Mama, I think our conversation is done.”
She sipped her tea. “If you insist, my dear. But I still believe a little bit of an American rebellion might be just the thing for you.”
He said nothing to that, kissed her dutifully on her perfect cheek, and marched straight out of the house.
He needed to get drunk.
It was something that, occasionally, his mama did to him.
Not often.
The dowager duchess was a remarkable woman, incredibly powerful, incredibly intelligent, and he absolutely loved her, and she loved him.
She loved all her children, and she would do anything for them. He knew that to his core.
Half of London would have been so lucky to have a mother like her.
Not half, all.
All of England.
The Dowager Duchess Hyacinth of Hunt was a grand lady, and he was grateful to her and grateful for her honesty.
But at this particular moment, he wished she would keep her business to herself and allow him to get on with his life without machinations or manipulations.
He’d find Tony and Ellesmere for a good drink before they were both ensconced in the country. Once they were gone, he’d chose to do military maneuvers to keep his mind off of. . . well, her. And keep his mind off of her, he would.
Chapter 10
It was apparent that Lockhart Eversleigh was not coming.
She was not surprised.
She’d been very frank and honest with him, and it had apparently been too much.
So, whilst she was not surprised, she was disappointed. That talk in the garden had fanned her interest into a roaring blaze. She liked being with him.
Well, like was perhaps the wrong word.
She enjoyed him.
She enjoyed the way he prickled and rankled, and the way she could make him sit up and grumble.
It was really good fun.
The fact was she liked the depth of his emotions.
He clearly felt things as deep as any sea, and she admired that in a man. He did his best to keep it contained, she could see that, and he was desperately afraid of losing that containment. She wished it weren’t so, for she had a strange feeling that he’d be a much happier fellow if he didn’t try to hold on so hard.
She wished she could explain to him that if he was not careful and if he did not give himself some slack, he would become like a rope that was held too tightly. Eventually, that rope which had no give, would snap apart and break. And in that breaking, could cause a great deal of damage.
Alas, she felt certain she would not be able to convince him of such a thing.
It was difficult because, honestly, the one best thing for him might be the very thing he thought he needed the least. . . A bit of time with her.
But she wouldn’t pursue him.
It wasn’t her style.
She didn’t think running after a man who’d made it very clear he was not interested was healthy for a young woman.
No, a lady needed her confidence, after all, and throwing herself at a man once was fine, twice foolish, and thrice absurd.
So, she’d gone down to the country in a beautiful coach with Adam, Alexander, and their wives.
The noise alone was shocking.
She thought she was used to a boisterous noise with her crew, for they did like to sing, curse, shout, and make merry.
But they had the jolliest time she could have possibly imagined.
Champagne was involved, possibly three or four bottles.
It made for quite the jolly trip.
The children had already gone down to the country the day before with their nannies and a veritable army of servants, for it seemed that children did require a great deal of looking after.
She had been told that there were mountains of laundry involved.
She’d drunk quite a lot of champagne, and it was absolutely delightful.
She had always liked the bubbling liquid, and apparently, it turned out to be an Eversleigh family tradition. She quite liked them for it.
Lock, she thought, would do well to drink the happy, bubbling, frothy stuff.
One did need a pick-me-up every now and then, and it did the trick much better than rum, in her opinion.
Rum had its purposes, of course, but champagne was the glory of life.
They arrived at the Hunt estate, and she was properly awestruck.
But the truth was, she wasn’t completely flummoxed, as some people might have been.
She had been to several estates in France and in Italy, and they had been truly grand.
So, as lovely as the duke’s estate was, it wasn’t quite as palatial as some she’d known. In all reality, she liked it better for that.
Yes, it was massive. It was an estate worthy of anyone in power, and the gardens sprawled in absolute splendor.
They had apparently been on Hunt land for hours and hours before she even realized it. But she liked the fact it wasn’t overly grand, that while it was imposing, it wasn’t a prince’s place. It wasn’t Versailles. It wasn’t Fontainebleau.
It wasn’t one of the great palaces of Italy, where the princes liked to puff themselves up even when they didn’t have particularly great power to speak of.
No, the Duke of Hunt’s place spoke of gentle elegance, of power held for hundreds of years, and likely, of a nation that would continue when all else was dust.
It was one thing she could agree on about the English. They would likely be there when everyone else was gone, no matter how ill things became.
Still, as she strolled down the elegant black-and-white parquet floor of the foyer towards the conservatory, she felt her heart sink.
Oh, she was going to have a wonderful time.
Of course she was.
The company was marvelous, and she didn’t mind going into the country for a while, strolling through green fields, riding upon a horse, that sort of thing.
It was all well and good, and getting away from the sea every now and then was a good thing for her, too.
&nbs
p; It gave her perspective.
But if she admitted it, she had hoped that Lockhart would come.
Obviously, he had decided he must absolutely avoid her to protect himself.
It was amazing to think he really believed she might cause such devastation to him that she needed to be entirely avoided like the plague or dangerous waters.
But there it was, and there was no getting around it.
“My dear, my dear!” Lady Gemma enthused. “Please come. You must come join us for tea.”
Tea, she thought.
Tea, that inexplicable beverage which was transported for thousands of miles from the fields of India and China to the households of English peers where it was kept in locked boxes and dosed out in small portions to the very wealthiest of the land.
It was hard to say no, though, because tea truly was a delicious beverage. So, she took a good look at Gemma with her curling dark hair and merry eyes, and nodded.
How could she say no to her sister-in-law, after all?
It was her duty to become at least acquainted with her.
And the truth was, she already quite liked Lady Gemma.
Her brother Alexander had not been mistaken.
She liked his wife.
She liked Lady Beatrix, Adam’s wife, as well.
It was shocking to her, but she found that the ladies of the ton were not quite as awful as she had thought they might be.
Well, truth be told, Lady Gemma and Lady Beatrix were not typical ladies of the ton. That, she knew for certain.
She followed her sister-in-law into the beautiful salon, the walls an ice-blue, watered silk brocade and the chairs a delicate ivory wood with matching cushions artfully filling the space.
The fireplace was a work of art in itself, towering and large enough for someone of her height to stand up in.
Its mantle was carved, the stone made into birds, berries, leaves, and other animals.
In the corner was a pianoforte, not a harpsichord, but one of the brand-new Broadwood grands.
It was an elegant instrument, and she wondered if any of them actually played.
