Page 57 of Needs Must
She might have lost everything else, but she still retained her standards.
And her pride.
Cal barely noticed the torrential rain as he returned to Andale Hall and surrendered the horses to the care of their grooms. He strode into the house, scattering raindrops in his wake, and handed his greatcoat and hat to the hovering Metcalf.
‘Her ladyship has enquired as to your whereabouts several times, my lord.’
Cal rolled his eyes. ‘Lady Celia?’
‘No, my lord. The dowager countess.’
Before Cal could tell Metcalf to keep her at bay for a while longer, an imperious voice calling his name from the other end of the hallway told him it was too late.
‘Blast!’ Cal muttered.
‘There you are, Caleb. I began to think that you must have drowned.’
Drowning, Cal decided, would have been almost preferable to the interview he had hoped to delay. His mother would be a much harder nut to crack than his sister, but a moment’s reflection was all it took for Cal to decide that it would be better to get things settled now.
Immediately.
‘What can I do for you, Mother?’ he asked, entering his library when Metcalf opened the door for him. His mother followed immediately behind him, with Celia in her wake. It seemed he was about to be attacked on both flanks. ‘For both of you,’ he added, a sardonic twist to his lips.
‘I cannot believe how cruel you are being,’ his mother said, flouncing across the room and sinking into the nearest chair. ‘You know how much I depend upon Celia. She is my one comfort since your dear father departed this world.’ As anticipated, a handkerchief was produced, and his mother used it to theatrically dab at her eyes. ‘I have precious few pleasures to look forward to nowadays, and you make matters ten times worse by constantly forgetting the duty that you owe to me, your mother.’
‘If that particular duty does slip my mind, I always rejoice in the knowledge that I can always depend upon you to remind me of it.’
Both ladies were now seated, and Celia had yet to utter a word. She made do with holding their mother’s hand and uttering soothing sounds, much like a broody hen.
‘Keep a civil tongue in your head, Caleb, and have some consideration for my nerves.’
The only thing that Cal knew for a certainty about his mother’s nerves was that they were in danger of severely testing his own. ‘Let us get to the point, Mother. Daventry and I have reached an agreement. He and Celia may stay here for a further two months, by which time his tenants will have quit his estate and the two of them will be able to occupy it.’
‘But it’s miles away!’ Celia wailed. ‘And totally unfit to live in. It requires complete renovation.’
‘Celia will catch her death in that draughty house. You know how delicate her chest is. I cannot possibly allow it.’
‘Celia made her own bed, so to speak, by being deliberately rude to a guest I invited intomyhome,’ Cal said sharply.
‘Ah, so it is true.’ His mother looked most dissatisfied, but then when did she not? ‘You do have a serious interest in her. I did not think that even you would sink to such depths.’
‘Why not?’ Cal asked. ‘You have of course misinterpreted the situation, but I shall not waste my breath trying to convince you of the fact. I know from experience that once you make up your mind on a point, there is no changing it.’
‘Why not?Why not?’ The dowager countess threw up her hands, looking perplexed. ‘Surely that much is obvious to you?’
‘If it was, I would not seek clarification.’
‘She is destitute.’
‘I am not.’
‘That is precisely Mama’s point.’ Celia tutted impatiently. ‘Mrs Harte probably heard about your eligibility and moved here with the deliberate intention of garnering your sympathy. A damsel in distress and all that,’ she said, with a dismissive wave. ‘You are a man of the world, accustomed to having females throwing themselves at you, and yet you appear to have fallen for her very obvious ploy.’
‘Absolutely!’ the countess said with alacrity. ‘Her intentions would be obvious to a simpleton. She has lost no time in setting you at odds with your own family.’
‘Enough!’ Cal held up a hand, assured that his authoritative tone would deliver immediate silence.
‘Mrs Harte is a lady as respectable as either of you.’ Cal ignored the scoffing sound that his mother made at the back of her throat. ‘She may well have fallen upon hard times, but I should have thought that her situation would have invoked your sympathy and a desire to help her, rather than the attitude of aloof censure that you have chosen to adopt. After all, Celia, since you claim that your husband’s estate is uninhabitable, then your situation is not that far removed from Mrs Harte’s.’
