‘You should probably know that Luke is not yet returned from Cornwall and it is his housekeeper’s day off.’
The Marchioness blinked as if that inescapable fact could not possibly be the truth. ‘But he is due at mine for dinner tomorrow.’
‘He is?’ This was news to her.
‘We dine together every Friday, and he always tells me it is the highlight of his week, so I am sure he will be back in time.’ He had never mentioned a regular Friday dinner with his brother’s widow either. The Marchioness turned and sailed back down the steps, clearly put out beneath the regal smile. ‘Dear Lucius was devasted to have to miss the last two as he so looks forward to our intimate and cosy little suppers. But alas, his dull business in Cornwall couldn’t be delayed no matter how much he was desperate to delay it, though I sincerely hope for his sake it doesn’t inconvenience him still further as we are having lamb and lamb is his favourite.’
There was a strange undercurrent to her sudden chattiness which grated, almost as if she had a point to prove and wanted to put Hope in her place for some reason. Or perhaps it was merely the woman’s supercilious attitude which grated.
‘I hardly think Luke views fetching his mother as an inconvenience.’
The well-shod foot paused on the carriage steps, but when she turned around this time, she seemed more stunned than regal. ‘He is bringing his mother back with him?’
‘It was the sole purpose of his trip to Cornwall.’ Some devil inside her couldn’t help but stir the pot more by putting the Marchioness firmly in her place too. A little competition would do her inflated ego good. ‘He’s been making preparations to receive the Dowager for weeks. He’s even had the house redecorated for her visit. Surely he mentioned that momentous news during one of your many intimate and cosy little Friday night suppers?’
It was late afternoon when the other Thundersley carriage finally rattled up Bedford Place. Being reliably nosy and shamelessly tactless about being so, both Charity and her mother hurried out to greet it, leaving Hope to trail in their wake. Though for once, she was grateful they were so unsubtle because she needed to see Luke for herself to ascertain the lie of the land and she was more than a little curious to meet his mother. Before his heartfelt confession on the night of his departure, he had mentioned her often in conversation and always with the slightly put-upon affection which close families used when their beloved nearest and dearest exasperated them. However, now that she knew about the woman’s long battle with illness, she had no earthly idea what to expect. She pictured a frail and gaunt woman with tortured eyes, though that was certainly not what he was helping out of the carriage. Instead, she was robust, grinning and had the same dark colouring as her son but with a smattering of white at the temples. An insider’s peak at how well he would age.
After her came another smiling woman, perhaps a little older, significantly plumper, hair more salt than pepper and a kindly look about her. That had to be Clowance, his mother’s companion-cum-nursemaid, whom, Luke had confided, had been with them since his mother had been well enough to return home.
As if he sensed her, Luke’s eyes lifted to Hope’s, where she had hung back on the steps, and he slowly smiled, and in that moment she realised that everything was all right.
‘You are back, Luke!’ Her own mother had a talent for stating the obvious. ‘And this must be the Dowager.’ She beamed at her. ‘You are so like your son, my lady. The resemblance is uncanny.’
With his customary good humour, and despite the fact that he had been travelling for days and doubtless just wanted to stare at his own drawing room walls with a restorative cup of tea in his hand, Luke stepped forward to make the introductions. ‘Mama, this is Mrs Roberta Brookes, not only my good neighbour but also the famous soprano.’ Her mother preened at the perfect compliment. ‘And this is her youngest daughter, Miss Charity Brookes, who is also a supremely talented soprano...ladies, this is my nagging mother, Lady Maria Duff, and her long-suffering and sainted companion, Clowance.’ His mother jabbed him in the ribs with her elbow.
‘Please ignore my idiot son. He thinks he is amusing though heaven only knows why.’ She took both of her mother’s and Hope’s hands in hers. ‘I am so delighted to meet you, Mrs Brookes. Luke gushes about you and your family and I am humbled by the generosity you have all shown him. He says you have practically adopted him since he moved here and have even fed him, which was very brave of you considering he eats like a horse.’ She turned to her sister. ‘Miss Charity, you are as pretty as a picture, just as Luke described.’
Then those dark eyes turned to her with undisguised interest. ‘Andyoumust be Hope. I have been especially looking forward to meeting you. My son speaks of you most fondly...’
A statement which did odd things to Hope’s insides and made both her mother and Charity exchange a very telling look, before her instantly grinning sister decided to have some more meddlesome fun at her expense. ‘Can we offer you some tea after your long journey while your baggage is unloaded? You must be parched.’
‘I am sure the Dowager is exhausted after her journey. I am sure they all are.’ Hope looked to Luke for reassurance. ‘And would prefer to orientate themselves at home this afternoon.’
‘Not at all, my dear. We stopped for a delightful luncheon and a walk not two hours ago which quite revived us all, so some tea would be lovely.’ His mother threaded her arm through Hope’s. ‘And please, as you are already such dear friends of my son and because Dowager sounds so old and decrepit, I absolutely insist you all call me Maria.’
Chapter Thirteen
Luke barely managed to snatch two minutes alone with Hope that same evening before his mother hunted him down and demanded he play cards with her. Before she caught the pair of them smiling and skirting around each other tentatively on their scandalously adjoining balconies, and promptly informed her overprotective family of that fact, he’d had no choice but to bid Hope a hasty goodnight and rapidly close the French doors. The rest of the next day wasn’t any better because they hadn’t collided at all. So he was pinning all his hopes on stealing a moment with her tonight after his mother had readily agreed they should accompany the Brookes family to Vauxhall Gardens to watch the fireworks despite the prospect of crowds.
As much as he was concerned for her potential reaction to being confronted with more people in a single park than probably inhabited the whole of Cornwall, he was also encouraged she was prepared to give it a go. Since the moment they had left Tregally, his mother seemed to be on a mission to try and do things which she hadn’t done in years. Pushing and testing herself and surprising them both in the process. On their convoluted journey back to London, and at her insistence and without any words of caution from Clowance, they had stopped for a few days at both Exmouth and Bristol, where she shopped, took in the sights and for the most part seemed to enjoy herself.
There had been a couple of incidents where it all got on top of her. Once in Exmouth only a day or two in when she lost sight of him and Clowance and she briefly panicked. Then she became a little teary and anxious after she had visited Brislington House to pay her respects to Dr Long Fox to show him how far she had come in her recovery. He put the latter down to all the bad memories which had forced her to need that kind and forgiving sanctuary in the first place. Awful memories which must be constantly close to the surface now that she was confronting London again after nearly a thirty-year absence—but at least Bloomsbury wasn’t Mayfair. He couldn’t imagine her coping with those demons quite so well.
He stared at her across the carriage and saw none of the obvious signs she was overawed. If anything, there was an encouraging glint of anticipation in her eyes. Still, it was better to be safe than sorry.
‘If it all gets too much, I shall plead exhaustion and we will leave.’
‘Oh, do stop fussing, dear.’ She said that a lot to him of late. ‘I wouldn’t have accepted Roberta’s invitation if I did not feel I could cope. Some fresh air, pleasant company, an evening picnic and some fireworks sound delightful after a long week of travelling. I am tired of living like a hermit and now that your life has changed, so must mine. What if you decide to make your permanent home here in London? And you get married and have children here? I want to be part of that, Luke, and not from afar.’
He nodded, not wanting to acknowledge her casual comment about grandchildren because she had mentioned those rather a lot of late too. Besides, it was kicking another buzzing hornets’ nest which he also didn’t want to discuss with her in a carriage—or anywhere just yet—and that was Hope. The woman he had alternately fantasied about, lusted over, pondered and pined for constantly, for three long weeks.
Damn he had missed her!
Her presence, her conversation, her clever mind and her companionship, yet he had no earthly idea if she had decided to batten down the hatches after he’d brought up the subject of courting or if her drawbridge was down in welcome. He supposed he was about to find out and found himself on unfamiliar tenterhooks for her decision. He had never courted a woman before. He had dallied. Sometimes for weeks. But never with more permanent and daunting intentions. Was she even amiable? Was it even feasible with his life so complicated and his responsibilities so complex? All he knew, was he was prepared to give it a try if she was.
‘You smell very nice tonight, doesn’t he, Clowance? Are you wearing cologne?’
She knew very well he had never owned a bottle of the stuff in his life before. ‘Everybody wears it here, Mama.’
