Friend or Foe?
The Dowager Marchionessof Hereford swept into the dining room at precisely eight o’clock, her silver-streaked dark hair arranged in an elegant coiffure that made Amelia conscious of her own simpler style.
“Charles, darling,” she said, kissing the air near her son’s cheek before taking her seat. Her eyes swept over Amelia with the kind of practiced dismissal that only decades in Society could perfect.
“Mother.” Hereford signaled for the first course. “I trust you had a pleasant journey from Hampshire?”
“As pleasant as one can expect when traveling alone.” The dowager’s smile turned pointed. “Usually, a son would escort his mother, but I understand you had more pressing matters to attend to.”
“My heartfelt apologies. I was utterly captivated by my wife’s intellect and beauty,” Hereford replied with a warmth that seemed to surprise even his mother. “My heart could not wait for your return. I feared if I escorted you to Hampshire, another suitor might steal her affections in my absence.”
“Ah yes, love’s urgent demands.” The dowager turned her attention to Amelia, skepticism evident in her arched brow. “I understand that’s what precipitated this… extraordinarily hasty arrangement. Though I must say, my dear, you’ve caused quite a stir with your latest publication and now this whirlwind marriage to my son. Your views on women’s property rights were particularly revolutionary.”
Amelia felt heat rise in her cheeks. Of course, the dowager had read her editorial arguing that married women should maintain control of their own assets. “I merely suggested that economic independence needn’t threaten the sanctity of marriage.”
“Indeed?” The dowager’s smile didn’t waver as her eyes flickered briefly to Amelia’s waistline. “And how fortunate that you’re now in a position to observe such matters firsthand. Though I wonder, does your newspaper intend to continue operating now that you have more appropriate duties to attend to? I imagine you’ll soon have other pressing concerns that require your attention.”
Before Amelia could respond, Hereford spoke. “TheReview’scirculation has doubled this quarter. It would be poor business sense to interrupt such success.”
Amelia nearly dropped her spoon. How did he know theReview’scirculation numbers?
“Business sense?” The dowager’s laugh tinkled like breaking glass. “My dear boy, a marchioness has no need for business sense. She needs to focus on more important matters. The Hampshire estate requires significant attention, and of course, there’s the matter of securing the succession…”
“The soup is particularly good tonight,” Hereford interrupted, his voice pleasant. “Cooper, please ensure Mother has a fresh glass of wine.”
Amelia noticed how he’d smoothly redirected the conversation before it could venture into more dangerous waters. She’d seen him deploy similar tactics at social gatherings but never realized how skillfully he wielded such small deflections.
“I was thinking,” the dowager continued undeterred, “of hosting a small gathering next month. Just family, of course. It would give dear Amelia a chance to learn our traditions before the Season begins.”
“Unfortunately,” Hereford said, “we’ll be quite occupied with the railway expansion. The investors’ meeting alone will require significantpreparation.”
“The investors’ meeting?” The dowager’s eyebrows rose. “Surely you don’t intend to involve your wife in business matters?”
“Why not? Her networking prowess is precisely what the venture needs.” He gave his mother a lazy smile. “Besides, isn’t that what you always taught me? To recognize valuable assets?”
Amelia nearly choked on her soup. Had Hereford just defended her capabilities? He had certainly saved her from tiresome lectures from the dowager.
“Charles.” The dowager’s voice held a warning. “You know how I feel about women involving themselves in men’s affairs. It’s not natural. And with her condition—”
“I find nothing unnatural about intelligence,” Hereford said mildly, though Amelia saw him signal for the next course, cutting his mother’s comment short. “Though speaking of natural talents, I hear cousin Beatrice’s daughter is making her debut this Season. Perhaps we should discuss her prospects?”
The dowager brightened at this more appropriate topic, launching into a detailed analysis of eligible bachelors. Amelia realized with reluctant gratitude and admiration what Hereford had done—redirected his mother’s attention to safer waters while simultaneously preventing any further discussion of Amelia’s “condition.”
The rest of dinner proceeded in similar fashion. Whenever the dowager approached a potentially cutting remark about Amelia’s background or capabilities, Hereford would smoothly interject with a new topic or casual observation. He did it so naturally that Amelia might not have noticed if she hadn’t been watching for it.
It wasn’t until the final course that the dowager managed to land a direct hit. “I do hope, my dear,” she said to Amelia, “that you’ll consider redecorating the family drawing room. It’s been quite some time since a woman’s touch graced these halls. Though perhaps something subtle would be best. Given your background.”
“Actually,” Hereford drawled before Amelia could respond, “I’ve given the drawing room considerable thought. It needs a complete overhaul—something bold and modern. TheReview’soffices are particularly well designed. Perhaps you could offer some suggestions, my darling wife?”
Amelia looked at him sharply, but his expression revealed nothing beyond mild interest. The dowager, however, looked as though she’d swallowed something sour.
“Bold?” she repeated faintly. “But the drawing room has been the same since your grandmother’s time…”
“Exactly.” Hereford smiled. “Time for a change, wouldn’t you say? Though we can discuss the details another evening. You must be tired from your journey, Mother.”
The dismissal was gentle but clear. As servants appeared to escort the dowager to her carriage, Amelia found herself studying her husband with new eyes and reluctant appreciation. Every barb had been deflected, every potential insult redirected, yet he’d done it so skillfully that his mother likely hadn’t even realized she’d been managed.
“Something on your mind, my lady?” he asked, catching her scrutiny.
