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Mrs. Mallory had been a baronet’s daughter and had been declared an Incomparable the year she made her come-out. Due to her beauty and charm, she’d married the son of an earl. While not perfect, since he had no title, it had moved her up a bit on the social ladder.
In addition to Miss Mallory, there was a son, Marcus, who Berkshire knew from Eton, although Mallory was four years behind him in school. They also belonged to a few of the same clubs, however, Grayson spent very little time at his London clubs since his marriage ended and he’d relocated to Bath to lick his wounds.
“Adeline tells me your son has a hearing problem.” Mrs. Mallory took a sip of her sherry, but appeared to be genuinely interested, not just making conversation, which relaxed him a bit. He was always a tad on the defensive side when the subject of his son was brought up.
“He is deaf.” Might as well call it what it is. “The doctors don’t believe he can hear anything at all. They are not certain if he was born that way, or if it occurred due to a childhood illness.”
“I understand it is your purpose in making this trip to visit with an organization of deaf-mutes here in London,” Mr. Mallory said, leaning forward, his brandy glass dangling between his spread legs.
“Yes, sir. I have been in contact with the man who heads up the group and he has agreed to meet with me—and your daughter—to provide us with information and names of those who might be interested in teaching my son sign language.”
Mrs. Mallory studied her drink, running her fingertip over the rim. “How interesting that you requested Adeline to go with you.” She took a sip and smiled at him, saying no more.
Ah. Now was the time to be very careful. Mrs. Mallory had a look upon her face that had been directed at him numerous times from numerous mamas in numerous ballrooms before he married Margaret, then again after he’d come out of mourning. “I respect her opinion, and she has shown a great deal of interest in my son—”
“Oh, yes,” Mrs. Mallory jumped in, “Adeline just loves children. Don’t you dear?” She patted Miss Mallory’s hand then looked back over at Grayson. “She would make a wonderful mother. And wife, of course.” She smiled in his direction; her eyes bright with . . . something.
Miss Mallory made a slight groan and he downed the rest of his brandy in one gulp.
Chapter Seven
Addie suffered through the dinner with her parents and Lord Berkshire, barely choking down her food as Mother raved on about her accomplishments—very few—her social graces—absolutely none—her love of children—what woman doesn’t love children?—her household management skills—Mother never let her do any of that—and, what a wonderful wife she would be. Groan.
To his credit, his lordship swallowed every bit of nonsense she threw at him, right along with the roast beef and potatoes. He smiled and nodded so much he began to look like a marionette with Mother pulling the strings.
“Adeline, why don’t you show his lordship our gardens?”
“It’s raining out, Mother.”
Her mother glanced out the window at the downpour, the rain pelting against the window like pebbles. The wind whipped the trees, the last of the autumn leaves scattering over the yard. A flash of lightning lit up the room. “Oh, yes. I had not noticed.” She turned to Lord Berkshire. “Adeline just loves flowers.”
“And thunderstorms,” Addie mumbled.
Lord Berkshire choked on his tea.
“In that case, I insist you entertain us with the pianoforte, Adeline.” She beamed at his lordship again. “Adeline sings like an angel.”
No, Mother. I sing like a pig frantically racing from the butcher’s knife.
“My throat is a bit sore, Mother. Perhaps we can just retire to the drawing room. Maybe play a game of cards, or chess?”
To her eternal gratefulness, Berkshire wiped his mouth and placed his napkin alongside his plate. “I am afraid I must return home, Mrs. Mallory. I have things I must do this evening to prepare for my meeting with my man of business in the morning.”
Mother’s shoulders slumped slightly, and her brilliant smile lost some of its glow. “Oh, how very sad. Not that your meeting is sad, of course,” she quickly added, “but we would have enjoyed your company much longer.”
“Maybe he can move in,” Addie spoke so softly that only Berkshire could hear her. He grinned.
“I must thank you for the charming company and wonderful dinner. Your cook is to be commended.” He pushed his chair out and stood.
“We are having a dinner party next week. You must attend. Just a small gathering.”
“Dinner party?” Adeline asked.
Mother glared at her. “Yes, dear. Remember I told you about it earlier?” Her smile would give nightmares to a young child.
Can one die of embarrassment?
“My lord, did you bring your carriage?” Mother glanced out the window, finally acknowledging the ferocious storm raging beyond their walls.
