Page 12 of Marry in Scarlet
“Only if you drowned, and I believe there are muscular females at the dipping sites whose job it is to prevent that. It’s perfectly safe.”
She sat up and glared at him. “Don’t be so obtuse, Redmond—my darling boy. You must know that the only thing that keeps me alive—theonlything, dearest—is the desire to see you settled. Married.”
“Then I shall postpone my nuptials indefinitely and provide you with a long life.”
“No! No—oh, but I see you are teasing me, and you really must not.” She waved the smelling salts feebly but with delicate emphasis. “Dr. Bentink says my constitution is extremely fragile and any shock, even a small one, could carry me off.”
Hart didn’t bother responding. Dr. Bentink knew which side of his bread was buttered.
Fleming entered then, followed by a footman carrying a tea tray, containing a teapot, two cups, a glass of barley water, a dish containing several almond rusks and a plate of luscious-looking cream cakes.
The duchess waved them away. “Oh, how pretty, but I couldn’t, I couldn’t eat a thing.”
“You must keep your strength up, your grace,” Fleming murmured. He produced a small table and placed it on the other side of the duchess. He poured out the tea, added milk and two lumps of sugar, stirred it well and placed it, the glass of barley water, the dish of rusks and a plate containing two small pink cakes oozing with cream on the duchess’s table. Then he poured black and sugarless tea for Hart and set it pointedly next to the chair opposite the duchess.
“I’ll just finish this.” Hart blotted, sealed and addressed the letter. When he looked up there were still two cakes on his mother’s plate, but there were now several fewer on the larger plate. As always, Fleming had calculated his mother’s tastes exactly.
Hart left his desk and sat down opposite his mother. He sipped his tea.
“I couldn’t eat a morsel, Redmond, I am in such distress.”
Hart drank his tea.
“Perhaps a rusk. One must force oneself for the sake of one’s loved ones.” She picked up a rusk and toyed with it. “Dear Lady Salter—”
“Came the other day and delivered your latest suggestion for a bride. I sent her off with a flea in her ear.”
His mother gasped. “Don’t tell me you were uncivil to her, Redmond! Apart from being my godmother, she is one of my dearest friends.”
“I was blunt rather than uncivil, and I’ll tell you what I told her. Stop meddling in my life, Mother, or—” He broke off, as his mother fluttered back in her chair, gasping in apparent distress. He waited.
After a few moments she registered his indifference and stopped gasping. “Or what?”
“Or one of these days I’ll return the favor.”
She narrowed her eyes. “What do you mean?”
“Perhaps I’ll give my consent to one of those puppies you encourage to hang around you. They’re always pestering me for your hand.”
She sat up. “You wouldn’t!”
Hart shrugged. “Jeavons has approached me three times already.”
She patted her hair complacently. “The dear sweet boy, but of course it would never do.”
Jeavons was several years younger than himself, an impressionable puppy.
“I should think not. He’s barely out of leading strings.”
She sniffed. “Hardly.”
“No, Bullstrode would be far more suitable.”
She stiffened. “Bullstrode! That arrogant bully! He’s an oaf! A ruffian! He’s, he’s... vulgar. Ungentlemanly!”
“He adores you, Mother. He has several times importuned me for your hand.”
“Then you must refuse! What am I saying?Irefuse!”
