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“Well, here is something you may not know. The gentleman the Haversham woman was to have married, Grenville, told someone that a few days before he’d intended to propose to her, he learned she’d gotten herself with child by another man. She was going to tell everyone Grenville had compromised her and pass off her lover’s offspring as his. He eloped with the current Lady Grenville to avoid becoming a cuckold.”
Indeed, he’d not heard this version of the tale. “Who told you this?”
“It’s not important,” she replied, a triumphant gleam in her eye. “What is important is that you know the type of people with whom you associate and select your circle with more care.”
A frown pulled at his brow as he folded his arms and contemplated his mother. “And where is this child?”
“Lost,” she said with a negligent wave. Her face darkened. “Presumably, your friend, Harrow, paid to be rid of the inconvenience when he made her his whore.”
He didn’t believe it. Not for one instant. Of either of them. Sighing, he passed a weary hand over his face. “I happen to know them both well enough to know neither of them would do such a thing.” He pinned her with a hard stare. “You know, I would not have expected you to be spreading such fabrication.”
Her eyes widened. “You doubt your own mother? I’m only trying to help you—”
“No, you’re trying to help yourself by ensuring I don’t embarrass you,” he drawled. At once, her look went from wounded to sullen. “Again, from whence did you obtain such enlightenment?”
“Lady Atherton said she overheard it when her husband was talking to Grenville one evening at a dinner party. May I now assume my information is acceptable, since it reportedly came from the gentleman himself?”
“Reportedly,” he retorted drily. “I find it…interesting…that this new information comes from Lady Atherton, who happens to be one of London’s worst gossipmongers, known for embellishing hearsay and propagating whole-cloth lies. That woman is a menace, and I cannot believe you tried to sway me with such twaddle.”
The offended look she wore now was quite genuine. “I have only your best interests at heart—”
“Save your protestations, Mother.” Tired of playing games, he held up a hand to forestall any further objection. He loved her, but she could be such a trial at times. “I’ll do as I please. Your disapproval of me is already well known to your friends and liberates you of responsibility for my actions. I don’t see how my befriending Harrow—or his mistress—can make one jot of difference.”
The Countess of Markham drew herself up, her face reddening. “Then you are blind and deaf to reason. Your past disregard for Society’s sensibilities may be owed to youth and forgiven, but no more. People are saying things about this friendship of yours. Unpleasant things. Things no girl of decent lineage will forbear to overlook in a potential husband.”
Now his temper did get the better of him. “Any woman that refuses my suit based on the opinions of others does not deserve the honor of bearing my name. When I finally marry, my bride will know exactly what she’s getting and accept me as I am. I, in turn, will grant her the same courtesy. You have my love, Mother, but I won’t change who I am or desert my friends in order to impress anyone.”
The careful mask his mother had built over the years crumbled, and he saw she was, in truth, quite distraught. “Then you may expect your father to make a show of his displeasure, as well. He asked me to speak with you first in the hope you would alter your course for my sake. That failing, he will do what he feels he must.”
He stiffened, surprise sending his eyebrows skyward. They’d not communicated in years save through their solicitor. “You’re speaking to each other again?”
“Briefly, yes,” she said in a clipped tone.
Somewhere in Hell, the devil is building a snowman… A smirk tilted his lips before he could prevent it surfacing. “I must have committed a grave offense to warrant such a miracle.”
Her glare should have turned him into a pile of smoking ashes. “It was a most unpleasant meeting. And now I shall have to write and tell him of your disappointing answer. I’ve little doubt but that you may expect to see him not long after he receives it.”
“I’m not leaving London to answer the summons,” he said with a cool smile.
“You won’t have to.”
When it dawned, comprehension sent a feather-brushing of alarm skittering down his spine. “He’s here? In Town?”
“He is, and I don’t expect his mood will be congenial when you see him. You know how he dislikes leaving his lair,” she added, her lip curling with contempt.
His father loathed London, preferring the “smaller, but infinitely more wholesome” society of the English countryside. He was a man content to live like a country squire rather than a wealthy earl, and Society would likely have forgotten him entirely but for his notorious prodigal son.
Lucas couldn’t let her know the thought of his father coming to chasten him in person gave him any concern. Adopting an expression of supreme indifference, he sniffed. “Then I hope for his sake the visit won’t be a lengthy one.”
“As disagreeable as I find your father, I hope you won’t say or do anything foolish enough to truly anger him,” she replied. “Tread carefully with him, my son. He fears for your future. As do I. We only want what is best for you.”
He’d expected sarcasm and bile, but her manner was instead both sober and sincere. Instead of snapping back with a biting retort, he looked her in the eye and nodded. “I cannot promise to alter my course, but I’ll hear what he has to say and make every effort not to speak rashly.”
Maternal affection softened her features. “If I could, I would tell you to do whatever makes you happy.” The faint smile faded from her lips, and she laid a gentle hand on his cheek. “But the world does not often reward such people. Often, we must do what we dislike in order to survive, which means putting needs above wants and practicality before sentiment.”
Though Lucas had grown up knowing she’d broken his father’s heart, he’d never been able to hate her for it. For all that she was a terrible wife, she’d been a wonderful, loving mother. “Then it will comfort you to know I’m not a man governed by sentiment.” He’d found most desires could be fulfilled without emotions getting in the way.
“No, you’re not,” she replied with sad eyes. “But neither are you ruled entirely by reason. You may not require your father’s support or approval to be happy, but consider how much easier life would be if you have them. Weigh your choices carefully.”
