Page 29 of The Marchioness of his Desire
“But Nicholas does,” Laura replied.
“And it is the truth, I will not allow it,” Nicholas hissed. “You do not know her as I do. You were not subject to her indifference as a child; you did not have to suffer her taunts and ridicules, her inability to even offer an embrace or word of comfort. She is a cruel and unforgiving woman. I remember once when I was but ten years old, she told me that I am merely a burden to be endured, rather than a son to delight in, and that I could never make her proud.”
“Can a person not change? Perhaps she is simply lonely, just as she says. I do not mind keeping her company, besides, if you are to go off to the colonies like this, then I too will need some company,” Rebecca said, and it was clear that she could be just as stubborn as Nicholas as she folded her arms and fixed him with a defiant gaze.
“You have your sister,” Nicholas said, pointing at Laura, who nodded.
“I do not like her; she reminds me of our uncle.”
“She is nothing like our uncle. She is staying, and that is final,” Rebecca said, and before Nicholas could respond, she had opened the drawing room door and marched back inside.
“Sorry, I did try,” Nicholas whispered to Laura as he followed Rebecca back into the drawing room, where his mother appeared as though she were holding court, sitting stiffly in her chair, resplendent in her pearls and couture.
“Well, Nicholas? Am I to be cast out?” she asked, and Nicholas glanced at Rebecca.
“No, mother, we shall make the arrangements,” he replied, and his mother nodded.
“Very good, and we shall start by changing the fabrics in here, they are quite hideous.”
“Do you see what you have done?” Nicholas whispered to Rebecca, but his new wife was not listening.
“We can change the fabrics, I am sure, and perhaps you might have some ideas for the garden, I have always wanted a garden,” she said, and his mother smiled.
“Oh yes, I have plenty of ideas,” she replied, and Nicholas knew all too well that they were neither of fabrics or gardens but of interfering and scheming.
Chapter Eleven
“Waltham, I want the green fabrics here; the ones with the fleur-de-lis, and gold tassels for the curtains. This red is ugly. Do you not agree, Rebecca?” Nicholas’ mother asked, and Rebecca nodded.
“If it is what you wish for, then yes, of course, the color goes well there,” Rebecca said, in her most deferential tone, for she really had little opinion on the matter, having little interest in fabrics and being only too willing to submit to her mother-in-law’s demands.
“It is what I wish for. I will not be comfortable here until everything is just as I want it,” she said, casting a beady eye around the drawing room, before summoning Rebecca to follow her.
It had been three days since Nicholas’ mother had moved into the house with them, and she had been nothing but a disrupting influence ever since. Rebecca had tried her best to be gracious and welcoming, but there was a limit to her patience and having been dragged around the house for most of the morning, she was growing tired.
“Perhaps you would like some tea, Your Grace?” she asked, and her mother-in-law paused.
“Tea? Yes, then we shall see to the dining room. Last night at dinner, it felt awfully dark in there. I think we could improve it with different curtains and blue on the walls. Blue is in fashion now,” she barked, as Rebecca called for Mrs. Thrip to bring them refreshment.
Nicholas was out on business, and they sat together in the drawing room as tea was served, and the windows opened to let in fresh air from the garden.
“It can be awfully stuffy in here,” Rebecca said, glad for a moment of rest amidst their hectic morning.
“The warmth is good for the constitution. I think we shall have them closed now,” Nicholas’ mother said, nodding to Waltham, who proceeded to slam the window shut.
At that moment, Laura peered around the door, but the Duchess only gave a start and shooed her away.
“She was only curious,” Rebecca said, frustrated by the way in which her mother-in-law treated her sister, often prone to shouting at her and always critical of her appearance.
“Children should be seen and not heard. That is how I was raised and how Nicholas was raised; it is how any child should be raised,” she said, taking a sip of tea and frowning.
“What was Nicholas like as a child? I knew him in his youth, of course, but as a child?” Rebecca asked, keen to change the subject.
“The governess saw to that,” she replied as though Nicholas had no childhood in her estimation and was fully formed as a man before she took any interest in him.
“And you played no part in his childhood?” she asked, and Nicholas’ mother raised an eyebrow.
“I carried him, did I not? Is that not part enough? I do not care for children, Rebecca. That is the concern of others,” she replied, and Rebecca nodded.
