Would she like living here? Would she marry him if he could promise her that they would never return to London, would avoid Society, wouldn’t need it? Although even as he had the thought, he knew she would argue that the children would need London and Society in order to be accepted. They couldn’t hide.
With a sigh, he snapped his watch closed, tucked it away.
“You seem to spend a good bit of time checking the hour,” a soft voice said, and he closed his eyes.
It wasn’t the first time he’d been unaware of his mother watching him, that he’d been so lost in thought he hadn’t heard her arrive. The servant who saw to her needs, helped her navigate the residence, kept that contraption of hers well oiled so it seldom made a creak or a moan. Opening his eyes, he glanced back over his shoulder at her, gave her a small smile. It was an odd thing, but after such a short time, he felt as though she’d always been in his life. “It seems to rain often in Scotland.”
“Often enough.” She moved herself closer. “Tell me about the watch.”
“I stole it... when I was a lad of eight.”
She seemed neither surprised nor horrified. “But it’s not the hour you’re checking.”
So maybe she hadn’t been asking about the origins of the timepiece. Maybe he’d known that, had thought if he shocked her, she wouldn’t ask anything else about it.
“May I see it?” she asked.
Removing the watch from his pocket, he opened the lid and held it out to her, displaying it in the palm of his hand, not certain why he didn’t detach the fob, why he wouldn’t relinquish his hold on it.
“She’s pretty,” his mother said. “What’s her name?”
“Thea. Althea, but to me, she’s always been Thea.”
“Have you known her long?”
He glanced at the portrait before once again snapping the lid closed and slipping the timepiece into its place. “Sometimes it seems like forever. Sometimes not long enough.”
“You’ve never mentioned her.”
“I’d only declared my feelings for her a couple of days before the duke came to call.” For some reason he found it easier to view the duchess as his mother than the duke as his father. Perhaps because the duke was almost larger than life, and he knew at some point he’d be called upon to fill his boots.
“Is she a commoner?”
He nodded. “But she was born and raised in the aristocracy. Her fortunes changed when her father was found guilty of plotting to assassinate the Queen.”
“Her father was the Duke of Wolfford?”
“You know of him?”
“Your father was called to London when the misdeed was thwarted. He serves in the House of Lords, you know.”
“I’m still striving to get used to that. Do you go to London for the Season?”
“Usually, although we don’t attend many balls. I’m not very skilled at the waltz.”
There were times when she broke his heart. Not intentionally. She accepted her limitations, but he couldn’t help feeling a bit responsible for them. If he hadn’t been born, if she hadn’t needed to hide him . . .
“Are you going to marry the lass?”
He turned his attention back to the rain, remembering how it had fallen the day he’d taken Thea to the dressmaker. He wondered if every aspect of his life would remind him of her. How could she have made such an impact in such a short time? “She thinks her father’s actions make her an unsuitable wife for a lord.”
“What do you think?”
“Bollocks.” With a grimace, he swung around to face her. “My apologies—”
“Benedict Campbell, never apologize to your mother for being who you are. Besides, do you not think I’ve heard your father use worse language?”
Crossing his arms over his chest, he leaned against the window ledge. “It’s a man’s way, I suppose.”
