Page 19 of Stick to the Deal
Or maybe I’m reading too much into things. After all, the couple reunited; the swans are maidens once more, and the sorcerer defeated.
Happy ending, right?
The theater empties and I use the crowd as an excuse to place my hand on Nic’s back again. She looks stunning in the black cocktail dress and her long legs are drawing eyes as she walks. The high neck and knee-length skirt shouldn’t be this sexy. Everything about the look is modest.
Maybe not everything.
My eyes dip to the black stilettos that glitter with each step. Already tall, the heels put her a couple inches over my height. I don’t understand why men complain about tall women. It is fantastic to not have to stoop down to be heard in this crowd.
The outside brings the relief of fresh air, and also a line of waiting town cars. I open the rear door for her, but almost wish she didn’t have to go.
She must feel the same way because she pauses and rests her hand on my arm. “Thank you. For tonight.”
“You rescued me, remember?” She smiles and I bend to kiss her cheek, then take her hand in mine to help her into the car.
“Reginald. We really need to go.” Leave it to my mother to bring me back to reality.
I repress a sigh as I step back, watching Nic drive off. My hand still tingles from hers, my fist clenches and releases at my side. “Ride with us.”
This time, the puff of exasperation escapes. Probably would be best not to mention my flat is in the opposite direction of the manor. Mother is clearly uppity about something and it would be better to get the lecture over with.
That’s my primary strategy with my parents. Avoid conflict. Just go along with it and do my duty.
I’m forced to sit in the middle, between my mother and brother. Luckily, the luxury automobile is spacious enough that I’m not completely squashed, but it’s not a comfortable fit. Foster shoots me a sympathetic wince in the rearview mirror as he pulls away from the curb. The seconds tick on my wristwatch as I wait for my mother to fill the silence. It doesn’t take long.
“Honestly, Reginald. That’s who you thought was appropriate for this family?” Mother’s blue eyes glitter with disappointment.
“She meets all the requirements Father gave to the matchmaker. What do you find so objectionable about Nic?”
An unladylike snort sounds as her coral lips curl. “That mutt is unworthy of being a countess.”
“Excuse me?” I grit out between my teeth. A rushing sound rises in my ears.
“Why, Mummy, I never took you for a racist.” Monty sounds bored as he stares out the window.
Mother’s eyes widen as they dart between my brother and me. “Racist? No. I’m talking about her social pedigree. Genevieve Atherton may have been a respected debutante in our society, but that was before she ran off to America with some penniless artist. It was quite the scandal. Abigail filled me in on the whole thing at intermission.”
I try to calm my stilted breaths. At least Mother is just a run-of-the-mill snob.
“Genevieve didn’t even marry the man! They lived some bohemian lifestyle before they got themselves killed, leaving poor Vivienne to care for a child, and so soon after her husband passed, too. The girl was wild, by allaccounts. Quite the reputation at boarding school—always breaking curfew and flitting around with a fast crowd.”
“Come now, Mummy, you can’t believe every piece of gossip Lady Wentworth tells you.” Montague is the last person I expected to provide aid. “Give the girl a chance. She seemed lovely when I spoke to her. Intelligent and cultured. She’s also very beautiful.”
“I never said she wasn’t.” Mother pouts sullenly and lifts her chin. “Abigail may occasionally exaggerate, but it still stands that she doesn’t have the finest lineage. I still don’t understand why you can’t marry Serena.”
“Enough, Mother. Your concerns are noted. Father said I can choose my bride, and I choose Nic. End of discussion.”
The rest of the car ride is tense but thankfully short. I shuffle across the seat and hold the door open for my mother. She glides up the front steps of my childhood home without a farewell or even a backwards glance. I wish I could say it was only because she’s miffed at me, but this is fairly standard with my family. Montague is already long gone.
I collapse back in the car with a groan and rake my fingers through my hair, completely upending the careful styling.
“It’ll be ok, sir.” Foster darts concerned looks back at me in the mirror.
“How can you know that? You haven’t met her.”
“Maybe not, but I know you. If you feel strongly enough to push back on your mother, the girl must be pretty special.” I merely grunt and sink further into the leather seats. “That matchmaker had excellent credentials and a thorough vetting process. More importantly, if the lady survived everything your mother described, she’s a formidable woman indeed. Sounds like the perfect partner for you.”
“Thanks, Foster.” I slip into a tense silence. Too burdened with my own thoughts to enjoy our usual banter.
