His gut clenched at the thought that he hadn’t been as careful as he’d believed. That he had brought shame and gossip down upon Joceline. But he still didn’t know how much anyone knew just yet.
He kept his expression carefully blank. “Oh? And what, pray tell, can be her worry about Mrs. Yorke?”
His mother shuddered. “Her lady’s maid suggested that there is a great deal of tongue-wagging among your domestics that you have been improper with the woman. Indeed, Lady Diana’s lady’s maid said that you were seen belowstairs in the early hours of the morning, and that you were leaving the housekeeper’s bedroom. Lady Diana is desperately overset, for she was hoping for a match between the two of you, but no lady can, in good conscience, wed a man who would commit adultery with one of his servants. It is the height of disgrace.”
Damn it. He had somehow been seen, and now it was Joceline who would pay the price for his lack of discretion, because he was a duke and she was a domestic—and a woman at that—and that was simply the way of the world.
“I can scarcely believe a young lady of good breeding would carry such a shocking tale to another,” he pointed out grimly. “And likewise for her lady’s maid.”
“I’ll own that it was quite irregular,” his mother huffed, her eyes flashing with indignant fire. “However, I can hardly find fault with her for trying to make certain that her marriage bed would not be shared by her housekeeper. Tell me it isn’t true, Sedgewick, I beg you. Tell me that the lady’s maid is engaging in baseless gossip and that she should be sacked at once.”
He didn’t want to admit it, confound the tongue-wagging lady’s maid. He had intended to do things properly. To announce to his mother his intentions to court and marry Joceline. But now, his hand was being forced.
“Mother, I do not now, nor have I ever, harbored any inclination toward marrying Lady Diana,” he said instead.
His mother’s hand flew over her mouth, stifling a gasp as her eyes went wide. “It’s true, then, isn’t it?”
He scrubbed at his jaw. “What is true?”
“That you have been indecent with your housekeeper.”
“I’ll not answer such a question, madam,” he denied tersely. “What I will tell you is this. I intend to make Joceline Yorke my wife.”
His mother went pale, and this time, she truly did fall backward, nearly collapsing to a heap before he caught her and guided her to a seat.
“You cannot do such a thing,” she protested.
“I can, and I will,” he said, seating himself nearby, lest she fall out of her chair. “There is nothing you can say to sway me from my course.”
“Good God, Sedgewick,” she gasped. “Only think of the scandal. Have you gone mad? Of course you must have done. It is the sole explanation for such a ludicrous notion to have entered your head. I knew that no good would come of locking yourself away here at Blackwell Abbey. I warned you of it when you left, did I not? And how many letters have I sent, imploring you to return to civilization? Dozens upon dozens, I’d wager. Instead, you lingered here, allowing your brain to rot.”
He might have laughed, were not her accusations so dire.
He gripped the arms of his chair. “Is that what you think, Mother? That I must be mad to wish to marry the woman I love?”
“The woman youlove? You cannot love her. She’s your inferior in every way.”
He held his mother’s stare, unflinching. “On the contrary, I rather think Mrs. Yorke is my superior ineveryway. And need I remind you that if not for your meddlesome interference, she would not have come to me here at Blackwell Abbey? You sent her to me.”
“I sent her to you so that she could gather your house into order, and so that when I brought Lady Diana to you, she would not run screaming back to London. I did not send Mrs. Yorke to you for any reason other than for her to be your housekeeper. Yourservant. A gentleman does not dally with his domestics. Need I remind you?”
He smiled tightly. “Fortunately for me, Mrs. Yorke will be my duchess. Not my servant.”
“But Sedgew?—”
The blistering look he gave her stopped herin medias res.
“I am marrying her,” he repeated firmly. “Not Lady Diana. Not anyone else. I’ve fallen in love with Mrs. Yorke, and I intend to make her my duchess.”
His mother’s shoulders stiffened, and her countenance took on a mulish expression he knew too well. “But Lady Diana is perfect for you in every way. She is young and lovely, and she comes from one of the very best families in England.”
“How nice for her. I’m still not marrying the chit.”
His mother gaped. “And yet you propose to marry this…this…common trollop who has taken you to her bed before all the servants?”
Fury had him shooting to his feet, to the devil with remaining seated in the presence of a lady. At the moment, his mother was certainly not conducting herself like one.
“Apologize for paying her insult,” he demanded.
