Page 3 of Finding Hope
Hope suspected Carew had his own reasons for doing this to her, but Rotham had seen them coming, and it was too late to draw back.
He looked as darkly handsome as ever, and Hope prayed that her reaction to him was not outwardly obvious. She still clung to Lord Carew’s arm, and hoped she wasn’t bruising him.
Hope noticed the Duchess stop her conversation and look Hope over from head to toe with pursed lips and a disapproving gleam in her eye. She was probably in her mid-forties and striking—or would have been were she not looking so censorious.
“Carew, Miss Whitford.” Rotham bowed. “Mother, have you had the privilege of meeting Miss Whitford?”
“I have not,” she replied tartly, in a tone that said she would rather not ever have that privilege.
“Mother, Sister. This is Miss Whitford. Miss Whitford, this is my mother, the Duchess of Davenmere, and my younger sister, Lady Claudia.”
Hope curtsied, but deliberately not low enough for royalty. She would not toady to one who felt her consequence so strongly. The Duchess was not tall, but her presence was all intimidation. Hope barely noticed Lady Claudia beside the wrathful stare of the mother.
“Are you acquainted with Miss Cunningham? She has been Rotham’s intended from the cradle,” the Duchess returned.
Hope smiled her sweetest smile and curtsied to the beautiful girl. “It is a pleasure, Miss Cunningham,” she said.
She returned the courtesy, which made Hope like her a little, even against her wishes. It was hard to hate someone who was kind. Perhaps Carew was correct that Miss Cunningham was not the enemy.
“You are new in Town, are you not?” she asked in a soft, angelic voice. “My brother has mentioned you and your sisters.”
“Yes, we lived a secluded life near Bath with Lady Halbury until Lord Westwood became our guardian.”
“I believe my brother invited you to our garden party. I do hope you will attend.”
“How very kind. I will consult with the Dowager. I do believe my sister and her husband are preparing to say farewell. If you’ll excuse me?”
Hope began to pull away, but Carew stayed with her as she walked away. “The Duchess has thrown down the gauntlet, has she not? Rotham will not be pleased.”
“He is a grown man. If he chooses to allow his mother to lead him around by the nose, that is his choice.”
“She is a dragon,” Carew agreed good-naturedly.
“Miss Cunningham is lovely.” So lovely that it hurt Hope to compare herself to the young lady.
“Rotham sees her as a sister.”
Hope stopped. “It matters not. I am resolved not to wear my heart on my sleeve.”
“Good girl,” Carew said with an approving smile.
Hope only wished she felt as resolved in her heart as in her mind.
***
Max watched Miss Whitford walk away on Carew’s arm, and it was difficult not to go after her. A strange sensation of jealousy pulsed through his veins, but he dared not show any hints of affection lest his mother try to destroy Miss Whitford. He had no right to monopolize her and, at this point, he was not ready to acknowledge more than a genteel friendship.
The Duchess was ruthless in trying to get her way—as witnessed by the announcement she had just made.
“I will call on you to discuss this in the morning, your Grace. Miss Cunningham.” He made a curt bow to both of them, then left the wedding breakfast.
What he hated the most was that Vivienne was caught between he and his mother. Max had been brought up by the Duchess and knew she would do anything to have her way. Vivienne knew his family, but not the lengths his mother would go to, either to be right or get what she wanted.
Her determination had come between them more than once, and Max refused to let her run his life, nor make such monumental decisions for him.
Max dismissed his carriage and walked home. Part of him hoped he would be set upon by footpads because he was itching for a fight. It was not even dark yet when he left, though he scarcely noticed his surroundings. He did not go to one of his clubs that night, but passed them without going inside. Insteadof returning home, he walked and walked, considering the matter.
Besides being twelve years his junior, Vivienne was like a little sister to him, and he could no more consider marrying her than his own flesh and blood. Thankfully, Vivienne understood, and professed to feel the same. However, his mother saying such things in public would only harm Vivienne. He must—would—put a stop to her madness, once and for all. Unfortunately, short of matricide, the only way to stop her from spreading the falsehood was to marry someone else.
