“Hello, Mama. How are you?” He leaned in slowly to kiss her cheek, never sure if she’d recognize him or be frightened.
She accepted the kiss, and he squatted in front of her to grasp her hands.
“What are you making?” While most ladies of the Ton did needlework, creating what he considered useless and ugly wall hangings, his mother had learned to knit from a nurse early on in her illness and had kept at it. He had found it soothed her and made it a requirement of all nurses after that.
She glanced at her lap and shrugged. “I don’t remember.”
“’Tis a pretty color, anyway. I hope it might be a scarf for you to wear on your walks.” He kept his tone light, despite the wild hope that she was present and aware of her surroundings and her son today.
His mother’s nurse stood and gestured that she’d make tea, and he nodded.
His mother reached out, touching his face. “You’re not Henry…”
He reached up to hold her palm to his face. “No, Mama. I’m Evan. But I look like him, don’t I?” He turned his head to kiss her hand, glad she remembered her beloved husband, his father.
“Yes, you do. Right, Evan. I haven’t seen you in ages.”
“I visited just…”
Lucy appeared in the kitchen doorway and shook her head, reminding him not to argue with his mother.
“Right, then. What have you been doing these past few days?”
His mother tilted her head. “There is quite a lot of carriages. Are you having another party? Where is Henry?”
Evan blinked back tears. He hated having to re-explain that his father had died suddenly four years ago. She’d been lucid less frequently these past months, after a year of occasional memory loss and confusion. Her father had experienced the same illness. He could not imagine putting a wife or child through this agony of losing a loved one before their eyes. He vowed again never to marry.
Unfortunately, he was an only child, and the next in line for the earldom was a spendthrift cousin who would run through the whole inheritance in less time than Evan had taken to amass it. Evan’s correspondence with his barrister was fast and furious, trying to find an alternate solution.
He tried to look on the bright side. Mayhap it was best she didn’t have full knowledge. She would never approve the type of gathering he hosted.
“So is this your favorite color this week?” Trying to change the subject, he fingered the yarn in her lap. “You seem to change your preference every time you find a new skein that interests you.”
“Isn’t it lovely? I thought the turquoise would remind me of a sunny sky in the cold dark days of winter.”
He chuckled and settled into a chair cornered with hers to sip tea and visit, chatting about London gossip that entertained her even when she did not recognize the names of those involved.
Chapter Seven
Beth quizzed Althea about Evan’s “free advice.” Althea in turn gave staccato answers and turned the questions to Beth’s adventures with Robert, at which Beth clammed up. After that, the carriage was abnormally quiet.
Once in London, Althea dove back into the business, catching up on the books and orders for the days she’d been gone.
Beth busied herself with the charity school and interviewing nurses she thought might be a good fit for life in the country with the Dowager Countess of Cheltenham.
The days flew by with Althea being no closer to finding an investor for her expansion. Until one day, she looked up from wrapping an order for a customer to find a familiar pair of broad shoulders browsing the shelves.
“Lord Cheltenham. Lovely to see you here. Can I help you find anything?”
He smiled. “What do you recommend?”
“Is this for you or a lady?”
“A lady.”
“Oh.” Her tone was flat. “Can you tell me a little about her? Does she like flowers or spice, sweet or citrus?” Althea firmed her lips, determined not to let the thought perturb her. She could not stop from asking, “Did she enjoy your party, or is she mayhap more, ahem, modest?”
Gads, she sounded jealous and prim.
