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Chapter One
“Mother, what are you doing here?”
Simon Burfield, the third Earl of Reading, put down his book and looked up as his butler, Hughes, assisted the Dowager Countess of Reading into the leather-backed chair beside the fire opposite his own.
“I am here to see my son, of course,” Lady Reading huffed, removing her fur stole and passing it off to Hughes as she looked distastefully at the small table at Simon’s elbow. “Coffee? In the afternoon? What has the world come to? Hughes, bring tea, please, and scones, as is only appropriate after four.”
Simon smiled as his mother bossed and tutted, nodding gently to Hughes to bring what she desired. She was a fussy woman, set in her ways since her husband, the second Earl of Reading, died. She ran her own household like a navy ship. Simon preferred a freer, more relaxed household, which his mother found infinitely irritating.
“What can I do for you, Mother?” Simon set a leather bookmark on his page and set down his book.
“Goodness, Simon, you are turning into an old man, locked away in here on a lovely afternoon. And reading, of all things!”
She eyed the book distastefully. Simon sighed impatiently. His mother did not prize such introverted pastimes. She viewed every hour spent in the company of a good book a wasted hour when a man could have been riding or shooting or socialising with important associates. It had been humourous when he was a child, but now that he was her sole heir with no heir of his own, her distaste had grown.
Unlike other ladies of the Ton, the Countess was renowned by all the household servants in the county as a woman with a formidable temper and a free-speaking mind behind closed doors, especially when it came to her family. Simon didn’t find it unusual, and his father had found it charming, secretly disclosing to Simon that, “It is always best to have a wife who will agree with you in public and berate you in private! You always know where you stand!” Simon thought it sounded exhausting.
“I don’t know if you noticed, Mother, but it is raining.” He sipped his coffee, watching her roll her eyes. “Seemed the perfect afternoon for expanding the mind.”
“Oh tosh!” she grumbled. “You are dragging your feet!”
“In what manner, Mother?” Simon tried to keep his voice light, though he had a sense where this discussion was going. He was not looking forward to it.
“Oh, you know what I mean!” she snapped. “Get married!”
At that moment, the door opened and Hughes entered, giving Simon the blessed relief of his mother’s silence since she did not believe in ‘airing family laundry’ in front of the help. She sat, tapping her foot furiously, clearly desperate to continue her tirade against him as Hughes slowly served the tea and placed scones on plates. Hughes had finally prepared everything and winked at Simon as he straightened up, letting his master know he had given him as much time as he could to quietly prepare for whatever verbal onslaught his mother had prepared. It was only when Hughes had closed the door behind him that his mother leaned forward, eager to continue. As always, her quick tongue was only reserved for her family.
“Jam, Mother?” Simon asked, quickly cutting her off and offering up the jam jar to her infuriated face.
“Put that down!” she snapped, stirring a lump of sugar into her tea. “We must discuss this, Simon—”
“I have heard everything you want to say,” Simon interrupted and sipped carefully, trying to hold onto his patience. “I have no desire to marry. Again.”
“You are being nonsensical!” she tutted, tapping a silver spoon against her tea cup and glaring at him over the rim.
“I am in my perfect right mind, thank you, Mother.” Simon pushed the sweet scones towards his mother, wishing he could have stuck with the dark, bitter coffee that he much preferred.
“You must be out of your wits if you are truly dedicated to this notion of being a bachelor.” She shook her head, her grey curls bobbling under her severe black hat.
“Mother, the topic is not open for discussion. I thought you understood this.” Simon’s voice was growing sharper. He was losing his patience with his mother. “I have been perfectly clear.”
“And I have been perfectly clear!” His mother’s eyes flashed angrily. “It is not your decision that the Earldom of Reading should perish because of how you feel about remarrying!”
“It is not your decision how I live my life!” Simon snapped, his own temper flaring. His mother could always find exactly the right words to inflame his anger.
“Oh, yes it is!” His mother sipped primly but her eyes were flickering furiously. “You are the last heir of the Reading estate, and your one duty. Your only duty is to produce another heir. You need a wife!”
“I have one.” Simon slammed his teacup down, making the tea tray rattle. “But the only issue there is that my wife is dead. I will not dishonour her memory in the way you suggest! Not for you, for me, or for the future of the Reading estate. Never!”
His mother didn’t jump or seem distressed by his outburst. Rather, she set her cup down neatly and folded her hands gently in front of her.
“Look at me, Simon.”
Simon hesitantly met his mother’s eye, expecting a deluge of comments about propriety and duty. Instead, when his eyes rested on her old grey ones—which were a mirror of his own—he saw they were shiny with emotion.
“You miss Stella,” she said softly. “She is sorely missed.”
Her words were gentle and kind, and struck him right to the core. Used as he was to his mother’s strident opinions, her tenderness was striking. Simon stiffened, clenching his fists.
