Page 28 of Three Weeks with a Princess
“Very privately,” Jack said wryly. One never quite knew how Gillian would react in situations like this. With a boisterous degree of enthusiasm, he suspected.
Charles’s eyes glinted. “I agree with that assessment. Very well, we will look forward to speaking more about Miss Kincaid in the near future.”
Now all Jack had to do was run the infuriating girl to ground.
Chapter Six
“Lendale, a moment of your time, please.”
Jack had almost escaped, but fortune was not with him today. In fact, although Lady Luck had been with him for many a long year during the war, the fickle beauty had clearly abandoned him once he’d returned home to England’s verdant shores.
As he transferred his hat back to the footman who waited by the front door, the fellow gave him a slight, sympathetic grimace. Lady John had all the servants hopping these days, now that she’d finally gotten herself established in the Bedford Square mansion. It had been his mother’s fondest dream for as long as Jack could remember, and although her dream had finally come true, it presented enough challenges to daunt even his strong-willed parent.
“There’s no need to address me so formally, Mother,” he said to the dignified woman waiting for him in the door of the library. “Jack served quite well for my entire life.”
Her narrow, clever eyebrows pulled together in a slight show of disapproval, but she refrained from answering until the footman closed the doors of the library behind them. His mother crossed to one of the slender, Hepplewhite-style chairs grouped around a table that looked much too delicate for the masculine décor of the library. The furniture grouping was new, as were the gold window hangings. They were not to his personal taste, but he had no doubt his mother’s choices were bang up to the mark and expensive.
She took a seat, nodding for him to do the same. Jack waved a hand, preferring to remain on his feet in the hope that she would receive the unspoken message that he was pressed for time.
“Now that you are master of this house,” she said, “it would be inappropriate for me to address you with so negligent a degree of respect. What would the servants think?”
“That you’re my mother and that I’m your son?”
He heard her breathe out a tiny sigh. “My son, as much as I esteemed the previous marquess—”
“That would be my uncle and your brother-in-law, I believe.”
“Really, Jack, must you keep interrupting me?”
He laughed. “I’m sorry, Mother, but sometimes you are remarkably easy to tease. And I did get you to call me Jack, which I count as a small victory.”
The corners of her mouth tipped up, albeit reluctantly. When she forgot her worries—or her pride—she transformed into the good-humored woman he remembered from his childhood. Too many cares and too much bitterness had made that woman increasingly hard to find as the calendar turned one year to the next.
“Touché,” she said. “But my point remains. As fond as I was of your uncle, he was too lax in his domestic affairs, and that led to a degree of vulgarity in the tone of his household. For your sake, that state of affairs must not be allowed to continue. We may address each other informally when we’re alone, but it’s important to maintain the appropriate decorum in front of the household staff.”
Jack knew there was little point in arguing with her; she would do as she wished regardless. And hehadgiven the running of Lendale House over to her because he had more than enough on his plate dealing with Stonefell.
“I bow to your superior judgment in such domestic matters,” he said.
She studied him with a disconcertingly acute regard. “I know all these rules and restrictions are not to your liking, but the servants gossip, you know. And that talk never stays within the household because they all have friends and acquaintances working in other London establishments. You may think your secrets are safe, my dear, but they are not.”
Jack raised his eyebrows. “Mother, I have no secrets worthy of salacious gossip. And even if I did have something of interest to hide, I would not share it with any of the staff, including my valet. I know you think me guilty of a low sense of informality, but I am not a stupid man.”
Her slight flinch represented uncharacteristic vulnerability and immediately made him feel guilty. When it came to his mother, guilt was a constant companion. As much as he cared for her—for his entire family—that unpleasant emotion was one of the reasons he’d been happy to remain on the Continent. Life had been easier when he was Major Jack Easton. Then his only problem had been French soldiers, and sometimes he thought he’d understood those adversaries better than he did his own family.
“I apologize,” he said quietly. “You must know how grateful I am for all your help. It certainly hasn’t been easy for you these last several years.”
Her answering smile was warm but tinged with sadness. “And you must know that I would do anything for you, my son. I realize that I must seem like the worst sort of stickler, but for too long our family has been an object of mockery. It will take a lot of work to restore the appropriate sense of dignity to the Easton and Lendale names.”
He thought she overstated the case, but she wasn’t entirely wrong, given how both his father and uncle had misbehaved. No wonder his mother, who with quiet grace had suffered years of humiliation, longed to see the family’s reputation restored.
“I understand completely. Now, what did you wish to speak to me about?” He hoped to God she wasn’t about to hand him an unexpected set of bills. He’d given her a free hand to reorder the household, trusting in her good sense not to spend beyond their means. Unfortunately, he may have underestimated her eagerness to restore Lendale House to its former glory. To his mother, the family’s dignity was just as bound up in external appearance as it was in the appropriate forms of address.
“I was thinking it past time for us to host a proper dinner party,” she said. “It’s been some years since your sister has been to Town, and we should hold one to honor her visit.”
Jack’s sister had married a prosperous country squire with significant holdings in Somerset. Richard Kendall was a thoroughly decent man who adored his wife and children but abhorred city living. Although happy to indulge Anne, he put his foot down when it came to anything but short visits to London. Now that Jack was marquess, Kendall had finally agreed to let his wife come for an extended stay. She was due tomorrow and would remain with them at Lendale House for over a month.
“I’m sure Anne would like that very much,” he said. “And I suppose we’ve got to start entertaining sooner or later.”
