Page 15 of The Duke Who Loved a Widow
Oh no, I need to divert her from the need to marry and produce an heir, he thought in desperation. Rosalind’s face floated into his thoughts, as did the misery associated with her betrayal.
Lost in his thoughts, he stopped listening to his mother until he heard a word that brought him back to reality.
“Of course, not everyone will be a stranger. Simon will be here.”
He looked at her in shock. He saw that she hesitated for a moment. She must have seen the expression on his face.
“Simon?” he queried.
“Well, he is your brother. He isn’t here much now he’s living out at Cobbydale Park.”
Simon had inherited Cobbydale Park, an estate further north.
“Can’t you visit Simon at Cobbydale Park? In fact, Mama, why don’t you ask Simon to host this house party there?”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” she retorted. “This silly feud has gone on long enough.”
“Silly feud? He stole my fiancée. He may not have married her because she jilted him, too. The fact remains, though, that he took Rosalind away from me, and for that, Mama, I shall never forgive him.”
“I have to believe that you will reconcile with your brother. He will visit for a few weeks, and that’s settled.”
Robert’s stomach twisted, almost in physical pain, but he determined not to let his mother know the extent of his discomfort. He felt a rising rage.
I might not live here, but Montbury is my house. Mother has no right to invite Simon without first discussing it with me.
Years ago, they lived together at Castle Montbury. At some level, he missed his brother’s company and the camaraderie there used to be between them as boys. That had ended the day Simon told him he was in love with Rosalind.
I was engaged to her. The wedding invitations had been sent out. We were within weeks of the wedding. Then, one day, Simon told me that my bride-to-be was in love with him. She didn’t even have the decency to break off our betrothal herself.
I loved her. My every moment, every thought was about Rosalind and how we would build a life together here as Duke and Duchess of Montbury.
Dreams shattered, humiliation in the county, he left immediately and took up residence in the townhouse in Mayfair.
Yet his mother loved them both, and he had enough compassion to know that the feud between her sons distressed her. Let her have her party. He could tolerate Simon’s presence, and if not, then he could return to London.
“Very well, Mama. You know how I feel about this, but as it is a tradition to have this house party, I won’t stand in your way.”
“Excellent,” she said, smiling brightly. “And, of course, tomorrow we dine at Horton Hall. I accepted the invitation on your behalf.”
This time, his fist thumped the top of the polished walnut table. He was immediately sorry as his hand smarted from the impact of the table.
“Please, please, don’t accept any further invitations on my behalf.”
“Well, if you insist,” she continued. “I must say, though, that there is nothing unusual about dining out with a local family.”
“Speaking of local families … Do you know a young woman late twenties, with a son of about seven or eight years old? She has jet-black hair and, I believe, lives around here somewhere.” He decided not to mention those green eyes.
“Come to think of it, a young woman matched that description at St Mary’s on Sunday. I didn’t stop. I never linger after the service; it’s far too tedious. I believe she was talking with Lady Thraxton.” She looked at her son curiously beforecontinuing. “If you like, I’ll ask Lady Thraxton when we dine there tomorrow evening.”
Check, he thought, but not checkmate.
Sometimes, his relationship with his mother resembled a game of chess. He parried forward on the board, and she pushed back, manipulating her pieces and usually getting to checkmate before he did.
***
Needing to escape from the house, he rode into the village, planning to return by the lake path and find his sister Elinor and Freddy on the way.
St Mary’s church stood proudly in the centre of the village next to the village green. It was unusual that Castle Montbury had no private chapel, so his family always attended the services in the village. Inside the church was a side chapel with the family vault where generations of Montburys had been laid to rest. He felt a momentary sadness, thinking of his father being the last to join them. He’d died five years ago, far too young, following a short illness.
