Page 33 of The Marchioness of his Desire
“I thought ye might be findin’ the conversation a little difficult, ma’am,” Lyddie said, and Rebecca nodded.
“I do not know why he came to see me, but his presence here must remain a secret, Lyddie. I cannot have the Marquess discovering such an indiscretion,” she replied, and her maid nodded.
“Ye know ye can trust me, ma’am; there is nae secret I cannae keep for ye,” she said, and Rebecca smiled.
“I presume Laura is quite well?” she said, and Lyddie laughed.
“Aye, she is playin’ happily in the nursery. Why nae take a little rest, ma’am. Ye look as though ye could use it,” she said, and Rebecca gratefully returned to the library, settling down by the window and taking up her book.
But Edward’s visit had unsettled her, a dozen thoughts rising in her mind as to his purpose. Why had he chosen that day to pay his call, and what had prompted it? Could he not simply move on and find someone else, rather than cling to a friendship which seemed largely pointless, and which Rebecca, though she had claimed differently, had little interest in pursuing? It was all very puzzling, and as she awaited Nicholas’ return, she could not help but think that there was more to Edward’s call than a simple desire for friendship.
Chapter Thirteen
It was three days later, and Nicholas had spent a pleasant morning browsing the shelves of Mr. Hatchard’s bookshop in Piccadilly. He had met with his friend Ian Bennet, and the two of them had enjoyed lunch at Boodle’s club, a fine brace of grouse followed by a steamed pudding. They had drunk three bottles of claret between them, followed by brandy and port, so that Nicholas had arrived home merry and mirthful, the thought of Rebecca foremost in his mind.
With his passions aroused, he called out for her, only to be met by the voice of Waltham coming from the stairs. He had little love for his mother’s maid, who could be as sly and devious as she herself. He had once caught her listening at his door as he entertained a young lady to drinks, and ever since then he had been wary of her. Now, he looked at her through blurred vision as she called out to him again.
“Duchess Sinclair wishes to speak with you, my Lord,” she said as Nicholas removed his hat and gloves.
“She can wait,” Nicholas growled, but Waltham fixed him with the stare of one who believes her own authority far outweighs her rank.
“She insists, your Lordship.”
“I wish only to see my wife,” he replied as though speaking in such a magnanimous tone could spurn Waltham from further insistence.
“It is about your wife,” Waltham said, catching Nicholas’ attention.
“Rebecca?” The maid nodded.
“Your mother would speak to you regarding her behavior,” she continued.
“Tell her I shall be there in a moment.” Waltham nodded curtly before returning up the stairs.
The maid’s words had sobered Nicholas, and he wondered what it was that his mother now wished to speak with him about. It was true that he had done his best to avoid her since she had come to live with them, her presence like a lingering and unpleasant odor, but he could not ignore such a summons when it concerned the one thing in all the world he genuinely cared about: Rebecca. His mother was no doubt stirring trouble, but what choice did he have but to hear what she had to say?
The stairs appeared in double vision as he climbed to the landing, steadying himself upon the handrail and cursing himself for the excesses of the afternoon. His mother had taken chambers overlooking the street, it being her pastime to observe the comings and goings of wherever she might be, storing up the information for later use. She was like a scandal pamphlet, filled to the brim with all manner of insidious information, the likes of which could be brought out at whim to tarnish and discredit whomsoever she chose.
He found his mother in the precise position he had expected, peering down into the street, her favored china teacup perched upon a table at her side, the scent of the tea leaves filling the air. Waltham attended her, growing ever more into her likeness with every passing day, or so Nicholas thought. His mother did not look up at him as he entered the room but merely waved her gnarled, ring covered hand in the direction of a chair by the fireplace, still peering through her pince-nez at the scene on the street below.
“I see it all from up here,” she said, her words sounding smooth as treacle and menacing like the hiss of a snake.
“Then that is why Waltham was so quick to summon me to an audience,” Nicholas replied, “You had seen me coming.”
“I had been waiting to speak with you. Where were you all day?” his mother asked, turning to him with a scowl upon her face.
“Out, mother. As is my right. I am a grown man. I make my own decisions and am not subject to your whims. You are fortunate that I deigned speak with you now, for I am tired and wish to rest,” Nicholas said, already growing frustrated with his mother’s tone and adopting the sulky and belligerent attitude more expected of a youth than a man set to inherit one of the grandest estates in all of England.
“Do not use that tone of voice with me, Nicholas, for I have something to tell you which may well be of interest,” his mother continued, taking a sip of tea from her china cup, and allowing her words to dangle in the air like bait on a fishhook.
“I am not in the mood for your games, mother. If you have something to tell me, then do so, whatever it may be. You have done nothing but sow seeds of discord and division since your arrival here, and I think it is high time that you …” he began, but his mother cut his words short.
“You have had an unusual and … regular visitor here these past few days,” and she glanced out of the window, an unpleasant smile playing across her lips.
“What sort of visitor?” Nicholas asked, for he had been informed of no callers, or of anyone visiting the house on business.
“Oh, the caller was not for you, but for Rebecca,” she replied, her words cutting through the air like a knife through soft fruit.
“She has friends, does she not? Samantha Crawford and Catherine Ferguson to name but two. Is it any surprise that she has callers? I can hardly expect her to be in the company of her sister at all times of the day,” Nicholas said, his exasperation growing steadily.
