Temporary Mistress (35 page)

THE DOWAGER'S PRESENCE at the house by the sea had a calming effect on her son, and shortly after her arrival, Dermott opened his eyes and for the first time surveyed the room with an unclouded gaze. Recognizing his mother seated in a chair beside the bed, he managed a small smile.

"I'm here, darling," she murmured, leaning over him and kissing his cheek. "And I insist you get better."

His chuckle turned into a groan as the slight movement jarred his afflicted body. And when he found his breath again, he whispered, "I'm hungry."

"You have your choice this morning, dear. Betty and the cook have been busy since dawn."

His gaze flickered around the room again. "My shirt."

The countess looked to Shelby, unsure what her son wanted.

"I have it, sir."

"Go and fetch it, Shelby," his mother ordered, intent on giving her son whatever he wished.

When Shelby returned with a wrinkled shirt in his hands, she raised her brows in surprise, but she kept her peace, and when Dermott tried to lift his hand to take it from Shelby, she saw that it was slipped into his grasp. The scent of perfume clung to it, the fragrance sweet on the air. And she came to her own conclusions.

Dermott's recuperation from that point was a slow but steady progression, his every whim seen to by his mother, her capacity for managing a household a surprise to Shelby, who had perceived her as a woman sequestered and unbalanced by the events of her marriage. She was neither, but capable, cheerful, and fully in charge of her son's recovery.

She and Dermott sat on the terrace one evening a fortnight later, enjoying the last vestiges of the sunset as the violet twilight crept in. Dermott lounged on a chaise, his awful gauntness having been relieved by a steady diet of his favorite foods, beefsteak a mainstay once he was strong enough to sit up again. The countess rocked in a chair she'd brought to the island as a girl when her father had owned the manor house. She was slender and fair, her hair untouched with gray, her beauty so well preserved, Shelby had once asked her whether she'd married as a child.

"I like the perfume on that shirt you keep." She'd not mentioned it before, but Dermott seemed in considerable good spirits. "Although it's none of my business, I'm sure," she added, smiling.

He softly laughed. "I was wondering when you'd ask." "The lady must mean something to you." He didn't answer for some time, and when he did, his words were hesitant. "I think she does."

"Why are you saving the shirt if you don't know?" she gently prodded, his mood veiled and somber in the weeks of his convalescence.

"Good question."

The sound of shore gulls filled the ensuing silence.

He recrossed his ankles, restlessly looked out to sea again, straightened the cuff of his robe, and when he finally spoke, his voice was unusually quiet. "Do you remember me telling you I'd been married?"

His mother's brow creased in concentration for a moment. "I don't. How strange that I'd forget something so important. Did I know the girl?"

He shook his head. "I married in India."

"You were in India?"

"For five years," he murmured.

She shut her eyes briefly, and when she looked at him again, she said, "I feel so wretched I can't remember."

"It doesn't matter,
Maman
," he gently replied. "You never met my wife and son. They died in India."

"Darling, how terrible." She reached over to touch his hand. "I wish I'd known. How impossibly hard for you—how you must have grieved…"

It took him a very long time to respond, a rush of painful memories flooding his mind, all the what-ifs and should-haves that had haunted him for years fresh and raw. "I haven't been able to forget."

His dark eyes held a sorrow she'd never seen. "You should have told me." She fluttered her hands as though to erase her words. "Darling, I'm dreadfully sorry I was so self-absorbed when you needed me most."

"It's not your fault,
Maman
."

"I should have recognized your sadness."

"I didn't want you to." He'd wanted to protect his mother from further pain; his father had caused her enough for a lifetime.

"I'm not going to need coddling anymore though." She smiled. "Now it's your turn to be coddled. Having you so near death made me deeply aware of all I truly have, how lucky I am to have you. And from now on I intend to see to your happiness."

He gazed at the sunset hovering on the horizon. "After so long, I'm not sure I'd recognize happiness. Although," he softly added, "I can look at a sunset now and actually see its beauty." His mouth curved into a faint grin. "That's definitely progress."

"Your brush with death has helped us both appreciate the simple joy of living. I think we've
both
dwelt in the past far too long."

"I can't ever forget though." His eyes filled with tears.

"You won't," his mother whispered. "No one would wish you to. Tell me about your family," she gently added. "I want to know everything. What was your wife like? How did you meet her? Did my grandson look like you? Did he have your smile?"

As the sun set and evening fell, Dermott spoke openly of his family for the first time since his return. He laid bare his suffering and heartache, disclosed his agonizing guilt, voiced the depth of his love for his wife and son, revealed a small measure of his intemperance in the aftermath of their death. That confession not without guilt as well.

And when he'd finished, his mother said, "How fortunate you were to have experienced such love. I know, because I love you very deeply too." She lifted her hand, the slight movement a gesture toward the expanse of starlit sky twinkling above them. "We can't always control what happens to us in this boundless world." She offered him a rueful smile. "Although I certainly wasted a great deal of my life trying. Don't waste your life too, darling. Please."

Dermott smiled faintly. "I'm going to like having you back,
Maman
. I won't feel so alone. And maybe the past—"

"Will be a memory you'll always carry in your heart." Her gaze was tender. "How few of us even have such loving memories."

He knew she didn't, and his heart ached for her.

She straightened her shoulders as though meeting an attack; he remembered that gesture from his childhood—seen whenever his father came into a room. "But consider, darling," she said with a kind of bracing resolve that matched her posture, "if we're going to try to live in the present, do you think perhaps it's due time to admit to your feelings for the woman whose perfume is on that shirt you saved? She's been in your thoughts, I know."

"I don't know if it would be fair to admit my feelings to her. I bring so much ruin in my wake."

"She might prefer making that decision herself rather than having you decide what's best for her. And if you don't think me interfering, I'd really like to meet her."

After being without his mother for so long, her interference was welcome. But he gave her warning. "I'm not sure Isabella will come."

"If you and I can forget, maybe she can as well. Ask her."

Dermott grinned, the thought of having Isabella in his life suddenly warming his soul. "Even if she agrees, I have to forewarn you,
Maman
—I don't know if she rides."

"If she doesn't, then we'll just have to teach her."

"She may not want to learn. She has a mind of her own," he added with fondness.

"Good for her. She'll be able to keep you in your place. Now, what do you think about my blue diamond for an engagement ring?" she briskly asked. "Just in case," she interjected quickly. "It was your grandmother's and very lucky for her and, oh, dear, I'm being dreadfully pushy. Although I feel as though I've wakened after a ten-year sleep and have to make up for lost time."

"You're allowed to be pushy,
Maman
." He took enormous pleasure in her excited interest, recalling his youth, when they would go off on wonderful play adventures. She made him feel alive again, although he cautioned himself against Isabella welcoming him with open arms. "Why don't I let her choose a ring—if she'll have me," he circumspectly noted. "I've not treated her well."

"I expect, darling, you're capable of persuading a woman to love you. You could always tell her of your wonderful collection of bird feathers."

Dermott chuckled. "You haven't thrown those away?"

"Of course not. You worked on that collection until you were twelve."

"Well, if all else fails, I'll use the bird feathers as a last bargaining chip."

"Then, of course you'll succeed. How can she refuse?"

But the dowager countess didn't rely alone on her son's persuasive charm. She wrote a letter to Isabella as well. It was easy enough to discover her full name and direction from Shelby, and justifying her interference as a mother's prerogative, she told Isabella about Dermott's feelings for her.

A week later Dermott walked into Molly's parlor in St. James's Place.

"Rumor had it you were dead," she said, her expression reserved.

"And so I nearly was, Shelby tells me."

"But with no black crepe on Bathurst House," she coolly remarked, "I began to suspect you'd survived." She didn't offer him a chair.

He took note and remained near the door. "I know you're angry about Isabella."

Her gaze narrowed faintly. "Very perceptive for a man who's considered only himself these last many years."

"I've come to make amends."

"To me?" Her brows lifted. "Don't bother."

"To both of you. But I can't find Isabella. She's not at home and no one will tell me where she went."

"Maybe you should consider that a due."

"I know what I did was wrong," he quietly said. "But almost dying makes one consider one's life from a new perspective. Please, Molly, if you know where she is, tell me."

"And why should I after the way you treated her?"

"Because I'm not the same," he softly said. "I feel as though I'm capable of having a future now. I
want
a future. I want Isabella to share my life, Molly, if she'll have me."

"I doubt she will." Molly couldn't so easily forget how much he'd hurt Isabella, how callous and cruel, how selfish he'd been. "She took nothing that would remind her of you when she left, not a gown, not a book or scarf. Nothing."

"Let me talk to her at least. I'm a changed person, Molly. My mother will tell you, Shelby will tell you—hell, Charles is concerned for my consequence because I've given up all my vices."

Her reserve melted marginally. He seemed sincere, not charming or glib. "She's not alone. Joe and Mike Thurlow are with her. So don't expect to just walk in and seduce her again."

"I understand. Seduction isn't my intent."

"You'll have to convince Joe, not me." Her mouth curled in distaste. "She's not rid of the Leslies either. Her cousin Harold called on Isabella. Mercer keeps me informed."

"Then her relatives are still a danger to her."

"Of course. Your disappearance from the scene left them free to pursue their nefarious aims. So tell me," she briskly said, "are you serious this time or just missing your amusements?"