“If our family has been tainted by scandal, the fault is mine alone,” he told his mother pointedly. “Direct all your ire toward me, where it belongs.”
A bitter smile curved his mother’s lips. “I am not certain it belongs solely to you.”
He was weary of her refusal to accept Bess. Or to, at the least, treat her with the kindness she deserved.
“Who does it belong to, if not solely myself?” he demanded curtly, keenly aware of his wife’s gaze on him.
Yes, she had asked him to not to speak up on her behalf. However, his patience for his mother had been worn threadbare.
“I’m sure you know,” the dowager said frostily. “The one who orchestrated this entire sordid mess. It rests solely on her shoulders.”
That quickly, his anger boiled over. Torrie’s fist slammed down on the table, rattling the cutlery and eliciting a gasp from his mother.
“No one orchestrated any of this,” he said succinctly. “My marriage to Bess was caused by my own failures. However, I am doing everything in my power to make amends for my past mistakes. My wife has been compassionate and understanding throughout this entire ordeal, which is more than I can say for you.”
By the time he had finished his tirade, his mother was gaping at him, mouth open like a fish. He was dimly aware of the presence of a footman at the sideboard, doing his best to blend in with the wall coverings. Blast. It wasn’t done to argue in front of the servants, but he’d endured quite enough of his mother’s ill treatment of Bess, and he would be damned if he allowed it to carry on for another moment without putting her in her place.
Belatedly, he dismissed the fellow, who hastened from the breakfast room as if his arse were aflame.
“You are not the woman of the house any longer,” he added sharply when the footman had gone. “Bess is now, and you will treat her with the respect she deserves.”
“Torrie,” Bess protested quietly at his side, reaching for his sleeve in a staying gesture, as if to keep him from saying more on her behalf.
But he would not stop until he had reached an understanding with his mother. This could not continue. She had to accept the fact that Bess was his wife and he would not allow her to insult or otherwise be unkind to her.
“This needs to be said,” he told Bess gently, hating the worry knitting her brow, the concern in her voice.
His mother suddenly stood, with such violent haste her chair overturned to the floor behind her.
“How could you?” she spat at him, tears brimming in her eyes. “The son I know would never treat me so horridly. He would never choose a greedy, grasping governess over me.”
He stood as well, recognizing that there was more to his mother’s anger toward Bess than the circumstances of their marriage. It was almost as if she had chosen Bess as the scapegoat for their failed relationship. For his absent memory. For the changes in him and the man he had become after the accident.
“Bess isn’t at fault for my amnesia, Mother,” he said calmly. “The phaeton accident was two years ago. I know you want me to return to the man I was then, to the son you knew so well, butIdon’t. Because the more I learn of the man I was, the less I like him. Before Bess came into my life, I was in danger of becoming him again, that same, aimless scoundrel without purpose. She saved me from that, and she’s made me a better man in the short time I’ve known her. A better man than he ever was or could have been. If you can’t accept me as I am now, and if you can’t accept my wife and treat her well, then perhaps the time has come for you to retire to the country.”
His mother was staring at him, mouth still agape, and he wasn’t sure if it was shock or outrage reflected on her countenance. He wasn’t certain he cared. She had pushed him to the edge of reason, and had been gradually doing so with her impatience to return to things as they were before. He would never be the old Torrie again. Not even if he regained all his memory.
He had changed, and for the better. He wanted—needed—her to understand that. But he wasn’t certain if she could.
“I cannot countenance it,” she said at last, shaking her head. “She has fooled you and taken you from me.”
Damn it, there was his answer. He wondered if a single word he had just spoken had permeated her stubborn mind. Why did she insist on clinging to her wrongheaded belief he would miraculously change and go back to being the son she’d known? When would she accept that Bess was her daughter-in-law?
“You are placing the blame where it doesn’t belong,” he repeated sternly. “Apologize to my wife for the disrespect you have shown her.”
His mother’s chin tipped up stubbornly. “I’ll not apologize to her. You cannot force the words from me.”
The remaining threads of Torrie’s patience snapped.
He held his mother’s stare, unflinching. “If you won’t apologize, then I’ll see to it that your belongings are packed and sent to my country seat, where you can go and reflect on the decisions you’ve made. You may return when you are willing to be reasonable.”
She jolted as if he had struck her, but Torrie didn’t regret what he had said. She had crossed a final boundary with him, and he wouldn’t stand for Bess being mistreated. She’d endured mistreatment enough in her life from everyone she had known.
His wife was on her feet now as well, her hand on his coat. “Torrie, please. You needn’t do this on my behalf.”
“I do need,” he told her firmly, before turning back to his mother. “The choice is yours, madam.”
His mother’s lips tightened, her fury toward him still palpable. “Forgive me.”
