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"The best way to be sure of a woman is to have her fall in love with you. Eleanor’s been halfway there all her life, just get her the rest of the way there.”
It was almost too simple to be brilliant, but brilliant it was.
Somehow, the entirety of his marriage, Edwin had never really considered love. Like he had Eleanor, he’d taken his emotions for granted, accepting what was on the surface without examining them too closely. It hadn’t mattered to him why he constantly wanted his wife’s presence, despite the fact that she sometimes welcomed him and sometimes gave him the cold shoulder, he’d only known that he wanted it. He’d never considered why he danced attendance on her at balls, not that he’d ever cared about whether or not he was being unfashionable, he’d only known that he didn’t want her receiving too much attention from the rakes and roués of the ton without them knowing he was watching over her.
Of course he was in love with Eleanor, it was why he no longer cared to attract any other women. He admired them of course, he wasn’t blind, but no matter how beautiful or sultry or desirable, the woman he desired above all else was Eleanor. All he wanted was to make her happy and to spend the rest of his life with her.
Because he loved her.
So all he had to do was make sure she felt the same way about him.
“Lord Harrington, I do believe you’re right.”
Rolling his eyes, the older man shook his head at the silly grin that was plastered across Edwin’s face. “Of course I am.”
Epilogue
Not entirely surprisingly, when Wesley was giving the direction to the house his mother was residing in, it was not far from Lord Harrington's house in the most fashionable part of town. What he hadn't expected was to discover that the front drawing room was not filled with her friends having tea and chattering loudly enough to send a man running for a stiff drink. Normally his mother was an incredible social butterfly, it was highly unusual for her to not be "at-home" or at the very least to not have at least one or two friends over to have a coze with.
The open door to that empty room made him surprisingly uncomfortable as the butler took his greatcoat with a judgmental sniff. Wesley hid a grin. Good old Manfred. He'd been the butler for the Countess for as long as Wesley could remember and a stuffier, more upright example of the breed Wesley had never met. Old age hadn't made Manfred's eyes any less sharp and they took in every wrinkle in Wesley's shirt, the less than perfect knot of his cravat, the mud on his boots and the unfashionable length of his hair. It gave Wesley a sense of normalcy that his mother's lack of visitors had unbalanced.
"Thank you Manfred," he said politely as the butler folded Wesley greatcoat over his arm. The older man just sniffed, amusing Wesley even more. Who cared if he was the Earl now? Manfred obviously still saw him as the little rapscallion who had tracked muddy footprints through the entire manor when he was eight. "Where is my mother?"
"Her ladyship is feeling unwell and is in her bedchamber."
"Is she ill?" Wesley asked, pausing on his way to the stairs. She certainly hadn't indicated any such thing in her most recent letter.
The butler sniffed again, his dark eyes censuring. "I believe the responsibilities and trials of attempting to control your ward have had an adverse effect on her ladyship's health."
By which Wesley was given to understand that Manfred disapproved of both the ward and the fact that Wesley had left her in his mother's care. The man practically worshiped the Countess, and considering his own prudish and proper sensibilities would certainly have been just as appalled by the antics his mother had described in her letters as his mother was. Possibly more so. For a moment Wesley almost felt sorry for the chit.
"Where is my ward?"
"Confined to her bedroom," Manfred said darkly.
"I see."
He didn't see, not entirely, but he knew he would. Taking the stairs two at a time he found the third door on the right, which Manfred had indicated was his mother's, and knocked.
"Come in."
The room was surprisingly dark, with just a few candles burning next to the bedside. It was decorated in soft greens, which was his mother's favorite color, and was filled with the kind of delicately carved wooden furniture that she preferred and which always made him feel like he was about to break by touching it. His mother was laying on her bed, fully dressed, her maid sitting in the chair next to the window, knitting.
"Wesley," his mother said, sitting up and smiling.
"Are you alright mother?" he asked, coming closer so that he could see her better in the dim lighting of the room. The curtains were almost completely drawn, only letting in enough light for the maid to knit by, and the candlelight didn't give him much to go by from a distance. "Manfred said you were feeling unwell."
"A megrim," she said, pushing herself to her feet and holding out her arms. "But I feel much better just for seeing you."
Gently wrapping his mother up in his arms, Wesley felt rather shocked at how small and fragile she felt. He hadn't traveled immediately to see her when he'd returned home, which he should have done, but she'd been on the estates and he'd always hated that house. It had been easier to wait till the end of the Season, especially since she hadn't approved of his support for his brother's plans. When he'd left to go traveling, against his father's wishes, he'd been taller than his mother of course and more muscular... but now it felt almost as if she'd shrunken in his absence.
When she pulled away, her face tipped up to him, he could see the lines that hadn't been there before, the glints of grey in her mahogany hair and guilt flooded in. He should have gone to see her immediately, whether or not he hated Spencer Place. He shouldn't have left her alone with a young, hoydenish woman to handle on her own, even if she was better suited to guiding a young female. She'd never been very good at disciplining anyone, and he should have realized from her letters that she truly was overwhelmed and not just exasperated.
"Oh Wesley," she looked up at him in dismay, her fingers reaching up to his neckline. "Your hair!"
He couldn't help it, he burst out laughing.
