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“Be sure to tell Cook we will have two more for dinner,” Alex said as he straightened his jacket and strolled toward the library.
“Alexander.” His mother moved across the room, her arms extended, preparing to give him a motherly hug. Again, she’d only started this since he walked out on Mildred.
“Good evening.” He nodded toward his sister, “Denise.”
The girl had the nerve to pull out a handkerchief and pat the corner of her eye.
He rolled his eyes. “Why don’t we sit down. Can I get you something to drink?”
“A small sherry, perhaps,” Mother said. “I shall have the same,” Denise added.
He poured the drinks and, even though he’d already had a brandy at the club, he knew he would need fortification to get through this visit. He splashed a couple of fingers into a snifter, brought the ladies their drinks, and settled across from them, sipping his brandy. “To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?”
Mother moved her features into what he called the ‘Sad Mother’ mien. She sighed. “I so worry about you, Alexander.”
Oh, God. Here it comes. “Why is that, Mother?”
She began to shift in her seat, and he prayed she would not get up and sit alongside him, patting his hand like she was wont to do. “You should be happily married right now.” More sighing. “Are you sure you didn’t say something to Miss Walsh that can’t be corrected?”
“No, Mother. We’ve been through this before. Miss Walsh has gone on her way and so have I.”
“She hasn’t married, you know,” Denise said.
He downed the last of the brandy. “I know that, since you tell me every time you visit.” He stood, the itching starting that always did when this conversation commenced. “I need a bit of time to freshen up before dinner. Please have another sherry, if you like, and I shall return shortly.”
He climbed the stairs to his bedchamber, contemplating how close the tree outside his window was. Although, a grown man—a viscount—should not have to crawl out his window to avoid his mother.
After a wash, shave, and a clean shirt, he returned to the library, where his mother’s and sister’s heads were bent together, which did not bode well for the rest of the evening. Thankfully, Mitchell walked right behind him to announce dinner.
He escorted his mother in, with Denise following. Once they were seated, he signaled the footman to begin serving.
An amazing five minutes passed before his mother said, “Miss McIntyre and her sister, Miss Minnie McIntyre, will be attending Cousin Vivian’s wedding in two weeks. They are lovely girls.”
“Girls? Mother they are both nearing thirty years.”
“And more than ready to take on a husband.”
Feeling it was a much better plan to ignore as much of this conversation as he could, he tried very hard to enjoy his soup.
“Vivian’s close friend, Miss Walton, will be there, also.” Denise waved her spoon at him. “She always asks after you when I see her.”
If grunting had been permitted at the dinner table that was precisely what he would do. Miss Walton had protruding teeth, a long nose, and a figure as flat as a well-made bed.
They were into the second serving when the subject came up again. Mother patted her mouth with her napkin and laid it alongside her plate. She cleared her throat to make sure he knew this was important.
He looked up at her.
“Alexander, you have had plenty of time to come to grips with your fiancée’s poor decision to end your betrothal. It is always best after being thrown from a horse to get back on it again.”
“Are you comparing Miss Walsh to a horse?”
Mother raised her chin. “Do not be impertinent, Alexander. I am your mother.”
Yes, indeed. If she wasn’t, he would have shown her the door long ago.
“You know very well that I mean you should not let this one heartbreak keep you from searching for a wife.” Patting of the corner of her eye commenced. “I would like grandchildren before I die.”
Ah. Here it comes. If she could not move him with suggestions, hints, and sighs, she pulled out her cannon and mentioned grandchildren.
