Katherine’s words rang in his head. William stood in front of his dressing-room mirror, angrily tying his cravat. What had possessed him to dismiss his valet so soon? Hehadbeen dressed, but endless fidgeting with his cravat had made the linen lose its sharpness and droop, obliging him to untie it and choose a fresh one. And now his fingers would not work, and the knot simply wouldnotsit.
He should have known that Katherine would have something to say about the situation. Hehadn’tsnubbed Miss Brookford, not really. He’d simply… simply avoided her.
Wasn’t that sensible? His own feelings had taken him by surprise. If anything, their meeting at the horse paddock had shown him that he was becoming distracted from the woman heshouldbe pursuing – Miss Bainbridge – and that simply wouldn’t do.
Miss Bainbridge is the choice I have made. She’s perfect for the Duchess of Dunleigh. Why would I choose anyone else? And it’s certainly not fair to give Miss Brookford false hope. Well, notfalse, exactly, as my feelings towards her are…. Again, this matters not at all. I cannot marry her. She’s not suitable for a duchess. Even… even if I felt differently, I am tied to Miss Bainbridge now. The thing is done. Soon an announcement will follow, and then that will be that. It isn’t Miss Brookford’s fault. It is mine.
His hands dropped from the knotted mess of his cravat. His hair was wild – he must have run his fingers through it at some point – and the overall effect was entirely toodishabillefor a dinner party. His mother would be thoroughly displeased if she found him in the dining room presented in such a manner.
Sighing, he moved over to the bell pull at the corner of the room. It was a pity to summon the poor man back after he’d been dismissed, but really…
A gentle knock sounded on the door. William paused, hand inches from the bell pull.
“Who is it?”
“It is I, William. May I come in?”
He crossed the room at once, pulling open the door.
“Mother? What are you doing here?”
Mary was dressed for dinner. She wore a long lawn gown in dark blue, decorated with pearls and a few diamonds. The candlelight made her look younger and less gaunt than before.
William stood there for a moment, staring. Had his mother ever visited his room before? He couldn’t recall if she had. He certainly never visitedhers, not even as a child. He wasn’t even sure he could find his way to her room.
“Mother,” he managed again. “What is it?”
Mary blinked, waking herself up from a reverie. “Oh, I came to talk to you. Might I come in?”
“I… Of course. I am about to ring for my valet, though. My cravat is undone.”
Mary glanced at the wrinkled mess of linen at her son’s throat and sighed.
“I shall tie it for you.”
William blinked. “What?”
Mary slipped past him, stepping into the room. William closed the door after her, feeling as awkward as a child. He placed his hands behind his back, decided that it was a silly position, and after a moment, let them hang by his sides.
His mother went straight to the wardrobe, selecting a fresh-pressed piece of linen.
“Katherine spoke to me,” she said, after a pause. “I ought to be closer to my only daughter, I know that. Alexander’s wife – Abigail – says as much. I hold Abigail in high regard. She possesses a commendable sense and is remarkably considerate.”
William pressed his lips together. “Did you come here to tell me how much you prefer your daughter-in-law to your true daughter, Mother?”
That was entirely too sharp, and he could have bitten off his tongue as soon as the words were out. Mary, however, did not seem upset. She only came over to him, deftly untying the knot of his cravat and tossing the ruined linen again.
“My point,” she said, carefully sliding the fresh piece of linen around his neck, “is that Katherine rarely asks me for favours. Never, in fact. So, in light of Abigail’s rather stern advice, I have listened to Katherine carefully. I am here to speak to you about the matter of your marriage, William.”
He deflated. Of course, his mother had not simply come to see him. She had come to lecture him some more. Part of him longed to tell her that she had no need to worry about that, as he was engaged to Miss Bainbridge, and that was that. He couldn’t tell her, of course, as the secret engagement would quickly become public.
“I am not in the mood, Mother. Pray, from whence did you acquire the skill to don a cravat?” He observed, seeking to shift the discourse.
“My brother could never quite master it, and in our youth, we were rather impoverished. Our circumstances shifted, indeed, and quite dramatically, but for a time, we had to learn to attire ourselves and arrange our own coiffures. My brother would assist me in securing my tresses, and I would knot his cravat. It functioned admirably.”
William had never heard this before. He blinked down at his mother, wondering if he knew the woman at all.
“I… I had no idea, Mother.”
