Page 8 of The Pleasures of Passion
Now, as then, Niall noted that Bree’s mother hadn’t been listed in the cutting as thelateMariah Payne. So Father had been right about that, too. All that nonsense about Bree not wanting to marry because of her sickly mother had been naught but an excuse.
“My lord?”
With a start, he realized his valet was asking him something. “Sorry, I’m woolgathering. What is it?”
“Is the letter to be kept? Is it important?”
In a surge of temper, he crumpled the cutting in his fist and tossed it into the fire. “It’s naught but a bit of inconsequential old gossip.”
Inconsequential gossip that had destroyed him after he’d read it. But he was past all that now.
Granted, Bree had taken him by surprise a couple of weeks ago when she’d shown up at Stoke Towers, Edwin and Clarissa’s estate in the country, and then at the wedding of his cousin Warren to Delia Trevor. How could he have known that Bree’s husband was Delia’s brother? Or rather,had beenDelia’s brother before the man’s tragic death a year ago.
Niall had practically fallen apart at his first sight of the widowed Bree—no, Mrs. Trevor now—looking lovelier than ever, with a lusher figure and a haunting sadness in her chocolate-brown eyes. She was even out of mourning, which meant she was available again.
He gritted his teeth. Not to him. She hadn’t sent him so much as a word in all these years. If not for Father, he wouldn’t even have learned that she’d married. If not for running into her at the wedding, he wouldn’t have known she was widowed and had a son. Clearly she didn’t give a damn about him anymore.
If she ever had.
Niall’s valet cleared his throat. “One more thing, sir. Shall I lay out different attire for when you return from dinner? Will you be attending St. George’s this evening?”
Niall had been made an honorary member of St. George’s Club by virtue of being Edwin’s brother-in-law. And by virtue of what he’d done to protect his sister, though no one knew about that except Edwin and Warren.
“I may, if Edwin wants to. But if I do go, I’ll just wear this.”
“Very good, sir.” With a nod, his valet left.
Niall glanced at the clock, then swore. Stalking out into the hall, he called up the stairs, “Mother! We were supposed to be at Clarissa’s half an hour ago!”
“I’m coming, I’m coming,” she grumbled as she appeared at the top of the stairs.
A lump caught in his throat. Mother might be flighty and prone to exaggeration, but he’d missed her. The separation from his family had been a particularly hard part of his exile in Spain and then Portugal. And he still couldn’t get used to how much older Mother looked now.
“I don’t know what you spent your time abroad doing,” she added as she made her slow way down the stairs, favoring her bad hip, “but I swear it has turned you into quite the grump.”
“Sorry, Mother.” He hurried up to offer her his arm. “It’s just that this isn’t one of your society balls, where you can show up whenever you wish. This is dinner with your daughter and her husband. Whose company we both happen to enjoy.”
Apparently madly in love, the pair were happily expecting their first child. And that made all the sacrifices of his last seven years worth it.
Even losing Bree.
He grimaced. He’d never reallyhadher. He’d just thought he did.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Mother said. “Clarissa knows how I am. She won’t fret a bit over our being late. Besides, one always hears the best gossip late in the party, so there’s no point in showing up early.”
“Notearly, Mother—on time. And is hearing gossip the only reason you go to dine with your daughter?”
“Of course not. I do enjoy a good meal, and Edwin’s cook is exceptional.”
God, he hoped so. One thing he missed about Spain and Portugal was the food there—excellent cheeses, well-spiced dishes, and exotic fruits. It had spoiled him for the usual British mutton stews; he’d give anything for a good dish of paella orpulpo. Hmm, perhaps he should look for a Spanish cook. . . .
“I also wish to hear how Clarissa is feeling these days,” Mother went on. She shot him a sly glance. “Sheiscarrying my first grandchild, you know.”
That was Mother Code forWhen areyouproviding me with a grandchild?
Thankfully, she was easy to distract. “So, the best gossip comes later on, does it?”
A bright smile lit her face. “Oh yes! Why, we might even coax Lord Fulkham to tell us intimate details about the king’s death.” She leaned in with a conspiratorial air. “If anyone should know them, it’s the undersecretary of state for . . . for . . .” She waved her hand. “Important things of some sort.”
