A Lord Rotheby's Holiday Bundle (89 page)

“
You could see life from my
perspective if you fell in love. Try it.” Her eyes didn’t ask for
his cooperation; rather, they commanded his obedience.

He felt like a little boy again, one
who’d just defied his mother. Mama could always do that to him,
even as a grown man, even now that he was the Duke of Somerton. He
was one of the most powerful men in the entire kingdom, for God’s
sake. “And just how, pray tell, do you propose I try it?” Why had
he even bothered to ask? He dreaded her answer. Of course, he
didn’t have to agree to whatever her plan was. There was always
another option, even with Mama.

“
Make it clear you’re back
on the marriage mart. Let the
ton
know you’re looking for a wife. And humor me by
following through with it and attending balls, going to the opera,
and actually looking for a bride.” She neglected to crack even the
barest hint of a smile.

He groaned. “Mama, I
attended a number of balls last Season. I found no one suitable at
any of them.” The docile debutante daughters of meddlesome Mamas
always filled the blasted affairs. An unsightly combination of
unhappily married ladies and lonely widows were continuously on the
prowl, on their salacious hunt for male companionship. For some
reason,
all
of
these females typically marked him as their primary target any time
he attended such a rout.

Who was he fooling? He knew precisely
why they marked him as their sport.

Sometimes he wished didn’t not carry
any of his titles, that he was simply Peter Hardwicke and not the
Duke of Somerton. Then, perhaps, he could prove their attentions
hinged only on a desire for station and not on a desire for
him.

That, however, could never be. Like it
or not, he had been born with the knowledge that he was destined
for this position. He had been brought up with this singular
purpose forever in his mind.

One simply could not escape fate, no
matter how hard one might try.

“
You attended a grand total
of three balls last Season,” Mama countered. “I expect far more
effort than that this time around.” She pushed a stray piece of
hair behind her ear before resuming her position, regal as the
queen herself.

His eyes narrowed to slits.
“How
much
more
effort?” He doubted he could bear more than four or five balls at
the most. The Season only lasted a few months, after
all.

“
Total.” Mama raised a
single eyebrow, daring him to defy her.

He groaned aloud. With that
determination in her eyes, the woman would stop at nothing less
than insisting he attend at least two or three soirees for every
week of the Season.

She frowned across at him.
“You and Sophia
will
each find an eligible match before the year is out, so help
me. She’s already on the shelf despite my best efforts, the
stubborn girl, though she thankfully still has a number of
gentlemen admirers. If only she wouldn’t keep running them all off!
I honestly have no idea why she can’t find a single gentleman
suitable. And you, my dear boy, are hardly better off than she. As
such, I intend to have you escort your sisters and me to every ball
of consequence.”

“
Every ball of...?” Peter
raked a hand through his short hair, sending it into disarray. Good
God, his mother was relentless. He knew her well enough to know she
would never give in until she had her way. “Fine. You have this one
Season, and one only, to find me a bride. If I haven’t found a
suitable match by the end of the summer, you’ll leave me in peace
as the widower I am.”

Damnation. He really needed to keep a
better check on his temper so he wouldn’t be so sorely tempted to
speak before he thought. Fiend seize it, had he truly just agreed
to attend entertainments every night for months on end? He must be
barking mad. They should lock him in an asylum and toss the key
into the fiery pits of hell.

Mama smiled at him. “Excellent. But
mind you, I intend to see to it you hold to your end of the
bargain. You must do your very best to fall head over ears in love
with some proper and eligible young miss? I’ll hear of no
less.”

“
And what, precisely, shall
I gain in all of this, Mama?”

“
Why, happiness and love,
of course!” Her hands fiddled with the note she’d been holding
since she first burst through the doors of his library. “Now, there
is one other piece of business I wanted to discuss with
you.”

Wonderful. How could things possibly
get any worse? “What might that be?” he drawled. Peter saw no
reason to feign excitement over any part of this
conversation.

“
I’ve been corresponding
with my third cousin, Barbara Matthews, do you remember her? The
vicar’s wife? I’m certain you must. She’s really a dear, sweet
lady. Anyway, she has a daughter with no dowry, and they’ve been so
unfortunate as to be unable to provide her with a come-out either.
I should very much like to invite her to stay with us this Season
so I can sponsor her. Will you allow it?” Yet again, her tone
challenged him with an order more than asked a question.

“
So you propose I should
have
three
young,
unmarried misses in my home partaking in the marriage mart while
you force me to participate as well? I can think of nothing I would
enjoy more, Mama.” He couldn’t hold back the sarcasm. Not that he
had tried, precisely.

First there was Sophie, who’d already
been on the marriage mart for close to a decade. Now Charlotte was
due for her come-out. With the addition of this long lost cousin,
Peter thought he might drown in silks and lace before he could even
contemplate doing what his mother had asked of him.

She narrowed her eyes at
him for a moment but didn’t comment on his rudeness. “Yes, that’s
precisely what I suggest. How else will Jane ever find a husband?
The poor girl has no true prospects where they live. It’s the least
we can do for her. We
are
her relatives, after all.”

“
Since you will sponsor her
come-out, I suppose you expect me to give her official debut ball,
as well.” He waited for Mama’s nod. “Will you at least allow me to
combine Miss Matthews’s ball with Charlotte’s? These balls will be
the death of me,” he said, grumbling the last bit beneath his
breath and certain she would still hear it.

“
That would be quite all
right, sweetheart. I’m sure Charlotte and Jane will be quite
content to share their ball.” Mama stood and began to gather her
belongings. “Splendid. I’ll send my cousin a response today and
leave to collect Jane tomorrow. Might I use your carriage for the
journey? They live in Whitstable, you know, and I can’t imagine
traveling to fetch her in something less comfortable.”

Tomorrow? They would be back within
less than a week. How would he possibly get through his ledgers in
such a short amount of time? But it would be almost impossible to
sort out the problems with Turnpenny at Carreg Mawr once they
returned and he began to fulfill his newfound societal
obligations.

He needed Mama out of his library, and
the sooner the better. Every moment he could spare would be
necessary. “Of course you may take the carriage. I’ll have a room
prepared for Miss Matthews before your return.”

“
That won’t be necessary.
I’ve already ordered it done.”

Why had she even bothered seeking his
permission then, if she’d seen to all of the details? Clearly, she
had already made up her mind, no matter his wishes.

“
Is there anything else? I
have a great deal of work to accomplish this evening and would like
to get back to it if possible.”

“
No, dear, that’s all.” She
stood to leave the library, but turned just before reaching the
doors. “And Peter? Know that I only ask this of you because I love
you and want what’s best for you.”

“
Yes, Mama. I know.” If
only she would trust him to know what was best for himself. He had
been the Duke of Somerton and the head of the Hardwicke family for
over five years now. Yet still she treated him like a little boy,
for Christ’s sake.

“
Good. I’ll inform
Forrester which of those invitations he should accept before tea.”
Mama rubbed her hands together with a broad smile. “We’ll be quite
busy this Season.”

Too bloody busy for Peter’s comfort.
He settled at his desk and opened the first ledger for his Welsh
estate before checking the clock on the far wall. There was no time
to waste on Mama’s distraction of searching for a wife, but what
else could he do? If he neglected to follow through with it, she’d
badger him for the rest of eternity. One Season—one silly, fussy
little Season—would surely not kill him. It might make him itch to
strangle a libidinous widow or two at times, after they had
attempted to work themselves into his bed, or perhaps wish to jump
from the window of the highest floor at Hardwicke House, but it
wouldn’t kill him of its own accord.

Mama returned to his library only a
moment after she’d left. “One more thing, and then I’ll leave you
to your business. Jane’s dowry. What can you do about
that?”

Why would she not leave him be? “Her
dowry?” he drawled.

“
Yes, her dowry. She needs
one. You have more than enough to provide her with one. And
she
is
a relative,
however distant. How much will you offer her suitors?”

“
As much as it takes to
unload the blasted woman as soon as possible and convince you to
leave me alone, that’s how much.”

For the first time that day, Peter
earned his mother’s smile.

~ * ~

Jane set aside the gown she
had been sewing and chose a book from Mrs. Zachariah’s collection
on the nearby bookshelf. “How does
Pride
and Prejudice
sound for today? It’s high
time we start with a new book.” She leafed through the pages,
desperate to lose herself in the story. Of course, the village
matron would agree to whatever book she selected—their reading
sessions were merely a means to achieve Mrs. Zachariah’s afternoon
nap.

“
Oh, yes. That sounds truly
lovely, dear. Why don’t you begin?” Mrs. Zachariah pulled a quilt
high about her shoulders and struggled to keep her eyes open while
the late afternoon sun warmed her gray, papery skin.

Jane wondered how much they
would read before her friend nodded off from the lull of her voice.
She returned to her seat near the lounging chaise where the older
woman rested. A large ball of orange and white fluff leapt into her
lap almost as soon as she was seated. “All right, let’s
begin.
It is a truth universally
acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune,
must be in want of a wife.
What a terribly
odd sentiment.” Mr. Cuddlesworth purred his agreement as he kneaded
his paws against her bosom.

“
Was that in the story?
Jane, do please try to keep your thoughts to yourself. My feeble
mind doesn’t need any more distraction than it already has.” Mrs.
Zachariah coughed and cleared her throat, then settled in
again.

Jane pushed the cat’s paws away from
their inappropriate behavior and tried to readjust him in a more
decorous position curled up on her legs. Try as she might, she’d
never managed to break her cat from drawing attention to her
more-than-ample bosom with his antics. At least no one here cared
how thoroughly unacceptable the Mr. Cuddlesworth’s behavior was,
whether they were in company or not.

“
I’m sorry, ma’am,” she
said once he was resituated “I’ll try to do better.” After only a
few pages, Mrs. Zachariah’s all-too-familiar snores reached her
ears, so she continued to read to herself. She could always read it
again to the older woman tomorrow—and she likely would.

Several chapters later, she was fully
engrossed in the tale and had lost all track of the time. The
housekeeper poked her head into the drawing room. “Miss Matthews?
Your mother will be missing you if you don’t leave soon,
ma’am.”

Jane looked at the Bornholm clock by
the double French doors. “Drat!” She was more than an hour late.
Jane rushed to tidy the room and return things in their proper
places. Mr. Cuddlesworth grumbled at her from his new position on
the floor where she’d unceremoniously dumped him. “Thank you so
much, for the reminder, Mrs. Dennison. You are most
dear.”

Mother would be furious at
her tardiness. They had a guest arriving, some distant cousin or
something. A
dowager
duchess
, no less. One would think she was
the blasted Queen of England herself, the way Mother droned on and
on about the
Dowager Duchess of
Somerton
.

Why should a title matter one whit?
The woman was only a relative, and one who had never bothered to
visit before, at that. Nor had she invited any of them to visit.
She probably looked down upon them, because Jane’s father was
merely a country vicar and he held no title.

With the room set back to rights and
her sewing packed away, Jane carefully moved Mr. Cuddlesworth to
his well-worn (or rather, so terribly old and used it was falling
apart) basket. She wished he’d find something else to sleep in, but
her sweet cat was very set in his ways. The basket had been his
since the very first day she snuck him into the house. She’d tucked
him in her skirts when she was only nine years old to accomplish
the feat. He didn’t seem to care how it was too small to house his
body or how hideously the wicker broke about him. It was his, and
he would use it until the day he died. Jane rather thought he might
tell her as much himself, if he could speak.