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“Financial?”
She nodded.
“I paid off the creditors you sent me. Are there others?”
Beatrice fiddled with the lace on her dress, not looking at him. “I was playing loo the night before last. It was late, and, well, I got carried away and…”
He rubbed his brow. “How much, Mother?”
“You must understand it wasn’t intentional. It… well…”
“How much?”
She told him.
He stared at her, his headache for the moment forgotten. “You wagered that much?”
Beatrice nodded.
Speechless, he continued to stare at her.
Brushing off her skirts, Beatrice stood up and began to pace the room. “You know how it is. Sometimes you lose, and sometimes you win. It was just unfortunate.”
When he remained silent, she tossed her head, “You needn’t look at me like that. You probably bet more than that in a night’s play. I won’t believe you don’t game deeply.”
As he continued to merely look at her, she added, “How are you any different from me?”
“I don’t gamble or spend more than I can lose.” Damn, but he wasn’t in the mood for this.
“Blame your stingy father for that.”
“You have a very generous allowance,” he said roughly. “Learn to live within your means.”
“Why should I? Your father was as rich as Croesus, and so are you. I should get some compensation for marrying someone who not only didn’t love me but didn’t like me. We didn’t share the same interests, had nothing in common. At first I tried, but…” Beatrice shrugged. “In the end I gave up and found affection, pleasure, and satisfaction from other things.”
“From other people.”
“Don’t look so disapproving. Look at you—you have mistresses, spend as much on coats as Brummel, gamble. How are you any different from me?”
“To begin with, I’m not married.” He wished his head would stop pounding.
“I’m no longer married. I am a widow.”
“Even when you were, it made no difference to your behavior.”
“So if you were married, would it make any difference to yours?”
He stared at her, dumbfounded not so much by her question but by what he suspected was the answer.
“You will marry one day—unless you want that popinjay Albert to inherit, which I doubt.” Standing by his desk, Beatrice tapped her lips thoughtfully. “For the sake of argument, let’s say you marry… hmmmm… who is a typical candidate on the marriage mart at the moment? I know. Edith Brinkley. She is from a good family, modest means but well bred. Eminently suitable. What do you think your marriage would be like?”
He vaguely knew the girl his mother was talking about. She was pleasant. Pleasant appearance, pleasant manners, typical of what was usually found at Almack’s. He suspected they would have a pleasant, boring marriage. The pounding in his head intensified.
His mother sat down opposite him and resumed speaking, her voice very low. “I was in Edith’s position once. On, as she is, the marriage mart. Your father’s offer was joyously accepted by my parents, and I had no say in the matter. He was rich, he had a title, and that was all that counted. Once we married, his life didn’t change.”
Beatrice’s tone became bitter. “Mine, on the other hand, changed enormously, with my main duty being to provide an heir, just as your wife will be expected to.”
She eyed him across the desk. “You love expensive clothing, indulging in sporting pursuits, gambling, having a mistress, and doing what you please when you please. So I repeat—when you marry, will your life change?”
