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As the door opened, he stifled a groan.
His mother, a gentleman following behind her, swept into the entry hall. “My beautiful son, good afternoon.”
The butler helped her remove her fur-trimmed velvet pelisse and draped it over the outstretched arms of a waiting footman. Carelessly she dropped her red-beaded reticule on top of the coat.
“Mother.” He welcomed his mother and nodded at her companion. “Banbridge.”
The young fop nervously nodded back. “It’s an honor, my lord.”
Noting the boy’s extravagant dress, he couldn’t resist making an observation, “What an elaborate cravat.”
Mistaking his comment for a compliment, the young man responded enthusiastically. “Yes, my lord. It’s a Mathematical. Took me nine cravats and two hours to tie, but I finally got it right.” He then ingenuously offered, after looking at the earl’s plain black coat and simply-tied cravat, “I could show you if you like.”
The sound of tapping drew their attention back to Luc’s mother—the sound was coming from one of her small feet, elegantly shod in a fine, silk-trimmed, red leather slipper.
He smiled inwardly. One certain way to irritate his mother was to ignore her presence, even if only for a moment.
Seeing she had their attention, she turned to her companion and said, “Andrew, be a dear and pick up my new bonnet from Mrs. Bell. I will meet you at Rundell and Bridge’s. They have a particularly fine ruby necklace.”
At his hesitation, she drew her rosebud lips into a pout. “You will do this for me, won’t you, my dear?” As she spoke, she brought up one hand to her bosom, drawing the young man’s notice to her cleavage, accentuated rather than hidden by the scandalously tiny scrap of lace meant to make the gown more modest for day wear.
Luc w
atched, a small smile curving his lips as the young man blushed scarlet and tore his gaze away from the bounty spread before him. Banbridge hastily bid them both farewell and left on this important mission for his goddess. As he departed, Luc wondered how the young man managed to move his head wearing such an impossibly high collar.
Once again the sound of a small foot tapping on his black-and-white marble floor drew his attention back to his mother.
As soon as he looked at her, she turned and walked into the drawing room. Luc was tempted not to follow just to see what she would do, but quelling that imp of mischief, he went after her.
Beatrice swept back her skirts and sat on the silk-damask-covered settee. She patted the seat beside her, looking at her son expectantly. He ignored her obvious invitation and instead sprawled in the matching Chippendale chair opposite.
She didn’t react to his snub apart from a small moue of dissatisfaction. At the sight of her pout, he lifted one eyebrow in query, which was enough to stem any further reaction.
“To what do I owe this unexpected honor, Mother?”
“You know I prefer you to call me Beatrice.”
The best way to make his mother get to the point was to raise a subject she would not want to discuss. Luc asked, “Didn’t you amuse yourself with that young pup’s father years ago?”
Beatrice gave him a small frown. Flicking open her ivory and silk fan, she said, “Possibly. But I didn’t come here to discuss such matters.”
“So why did you come, Mother?”
“I came to visit my son. Must I have a reason?”
Luc returned to the topic of her companion. “Which one of Banbridge’s sons is he?”
The frown reappeared, and the fan was waved more vigorously. “I have no idea.”
In a conversational tone, he idly mused, “Banbridge has six sons, doesn’t he? It could be quite convenient. When you tire of this Banbridge, you can go onto the next one. That way you won’t have to remember their names, you can just call them all Banbridge.”
The fan closed with a snap. Ignoring his comment, she told him, “I have been to see that silly little man, and would you believe he will not give me an advance on my allowance.”
“I assume you mean our solicitor, Pemberton?”
“Yes, of course.”
“I was not sure, you understand, because of your use of the word silly. Pemberton is a very able, intelligent man.”
