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“I miss her every day.”
He blinked, looking around the library his dear wife had loved so much. How often they had sat together on afternoons like this one, reading quietly and sharing the simple pleasure of one another’s company. It would be sacrilegious to allow another a woman to enter this intimate space of memories, to push aside Stella’s legacy. He would never allow it.
“It is only natural,” she spoke so quietly, unnaturally for a woman of her usual confidence. He recognised that she truly must mean every word she said if she was pushing aside all the fuss and bustle of her usual cadence.
“Is it?” Simon sighed heavily, gazing into the fire. “It has been five years and I still feel it as intensely—” Simon broke off, taking a deep breath. He couldn’t go on. He shook his head painfully and watched the flames flicker, his thoughts lost in his memories.
“Itisnatural,” his mother insisted. Simon noticed a tremor of emotion in her voice and looked up. “When you lost Stella you did not only lose a wife, you also lost …”
She didn’t need to finish. Simon nodded, unable to speak. It was something never spoken of in the household, and a fact not known beyond the family, but when Stella had been thrown from her horse on that fateful day five years ago, she had been a few months pregnant with their first child. Simon could still recall their shared excitement, their talk about the little heir of Reading that was growing inside her—the one that had then sadly perished along with her. Simon’s grief had been all consuming and he had sworn never to marry again. He could still taste the depth of that grief now as he sat by the fire and swallowed hard.
“Then surely you understand why I would be reluctant to replace her.”
“Of course I understand.” The dowager countess leaned closer, instinctively reaching across to grasp her son’s hand. “I understand the pain of losing your love. Do you not think I long for your father every day of my life?”
Simon nodded. His mother was as sharp as steel, appearing hard and cold to others, but in the ten years since Simon’s father had died and the title of Earl of Reading had passed to him, his mother had suffered quietly.
“But I put that longing aside,” his mother continued, “for duty. Duty to your father’s wishes. He would be distraught if the name that had been passed down through generations of his family died out with his son. All I am trying to do is honour his memory.”
“That is all well and good, Mother, but all I am trying to do is honour my wife’s memory,” Simon said, gruffly pulling his hand away from his mother. She sighed, leaning back in her chair and staring at him appraisingly.
“What would Stella want?” she demanded. “Have you asked yourself if she would be happy to see you like this? Alone, without a wife to comfort you or a child to bear your name?”
“Mother, please.”
Simon looked out of the window. The truth was that his mother was right; Stella would almost certainly be disappointed if she could see him now. She had been a lively, family-oriented woman who derided the idea of old bachelors sitting on lonely titles. She would dislike how he had wrapped himself up in his grief, but Simon couldn’t unwrap it. The thought of inviting another woman into his heart was unthinkable. He couldn’t bear it.
“Let us talk of it no more, Mother.” He reached for his teacup again, sipping it and tasting nothing.
His mother shook her head again but seemed to be accepting defeat. She might be opinionated and free-speaking, but even she could see when her son’s grief was close to overwhelming him.
“Well, let us talk of other things,” she said, reaching for a bite of scone. “I hear the Earl of Brixton is having a ball in honour of their expanding family.”
“Yes,” Simon smiled, thinking of his best friend Nathan’s happiness. “Dear Eleanor must have her hands full with the twins.”
Simon felt a small twinge thinking of how happy and vibrant their household must be now—the hallways and corridors filled with the laughter of happy parents and the merry gurgles of infants. His own house was filled with sadness and quiet.
“Well, she kept her friend on, did you hear? The daughter of the governess.” She waved her hand dismissively as she always did when talking about those in serving positions. “I think she has stayed on to help as a nursemaid.”
“Miss Laurie,” Simon said automatically. “Her name was Miss Laurie.”
Marion.Simon had met Marion Laurie previously, and she had left a firm impression on his mind. She was a tall, incredibly likeable woman with an open and friendly disposition that had immediately relaxed him. Not to mention she was a beautiful lady.
She and Eleanor could be mistaken for sisters from far away, both dark haired and beautiful, but Marion had stood out for Simon straight away. Her hair was as dark as a raven’s wings, and unlike Eleanor’s curly mass, hers fell in heavy luscious waves. Her skin was darker than Eleanor’s too, evidence of her French heritage, and her lips broad and dark, sensuous to look at. Simon hadn’t been unable to stop himself from imagining kissing those lips, or making her gasp with pleasure. Even now, in the company of his mother, he felt a twinge of desire at the thought of an aloof woman like Marion laid bare and panting beneath him.
He coughed and drank some tea, averting his eyes from his mother as he tried to dispel the vision.You honour no one with your carnality, he chided himself sternly.
“Well, I am sure she will be very helpful to them.” His mother raised her eyebrows at her son. “And I think the ball will be very helpful for us too.”
“Oh? How is that?” Simon asked, trying to put Marion’s quick, hazel eyes out of his mind.
“I believe that Lady Terrell shall be there.”
“Oh good Lord, Mother, really?” Simon groaned, rubbing his hand over his forehead.
“She is a good match for you, Simon.” His mother licked crumbs from her lips. “She is a widower, she understands the pain of lost love, but she is still young with a good reputation—”
“You mean a good title,” Simon interjected. His mother had made no bones about the fact that she would only support Simon making a match with a woman with an equal fortune to his.
