A small rose embroidered on the corner reminded him that it was not one of his own monogrammed ones. It was the one Penelope had handed him after she’d nearly broken his nose. It had been washed and pressed and instead of returning it to her, he’d oddly found himself carrying it around.
Remembering the sheer fury in her expression after he’d spouted that nonsense about her becoming his estate manager gave him some comfort in the light of his present task.
He stepped closer to the coffin and looked down at the face that had been so very dear to him for the entirety of his life. “Ah, Mama,” he whispered. “Why didn’t you wait for me?”
She did not answer. Of course. He had not expected her to. The body spread out before him wore his mother’s clothing and had his mother’s hair, but it was not his mother.
There was no life inside of her. No animation to brighten her eyes or raise the corners of her mouth.
There was no longer a soul present.
Hugh swallowed around the lump that had formed in his throat and then lowered himself to the chair somebody had placed next to her. Margaret, perhaps. She would not have wanted to leave Mama alone.
Hugh knew he’d disappointed his mother by not settling down sooner in life. He’d known it had been her greatest wish, to see him married, to know some grandchildren.
He’d always assumed there would be enough time.
He’d been an ass; a selfish, thoughtless ass.
“I’m sorry, Mama,” he whispered. He tentatively placed his hand upon hers but did not leave it there. Her skin felt dry and cold. Dead.
“Would you believe I am an engaged man? Oh, not to Miss Radcliffe, as Margaret told you, you know this by now. I assume you know all.” Hugh leaned forward and rested his forearms upon his knees. He stared at his hands, calloused and dry from the long journey he’d just completed. Looking at her had been unfulfilling. He’d felt closer to her when he’d read the words written in her journal.
“To Penelope Crone, of all people. Would you believe it?” he chuckled to himself. “I wouldn’t have. And I’ve had several days riding to doubt myself but, the crazy thing is, it feels right.” He unfolded the handkerchief and spread it out over one knee. He wished he’d had the opportunity to tie things up with her father before leaving Town. He’d scribbled out a brief note but could barely remember what he’d written.
She was not flighty. She never had been. He had no reason to believe she’d do anything but sit tight in London until his returned.
He hoped so, anyhow. This was Penelope he was talking about.
It would be a year before they could marry, what with the required mourning period and all. Could he wait a full year?
He would have to. What with his dead mother in the room, he could hardly give himself permission to satisfy his needs with one of the local barmaids while in mourning.
WhatwouldPenelope think of that?
Would she be jealous?
They’d never said anything about love, romantic or otherwise. He’d kissed her and found himself wanting more. More than he’d ever wanted from any other lady, gently bred or not, for that matter.
But she’d not said anything of her feelings. She’d seemed to participate in their lovemaking as much as he had but she’d not said much about it.
Why had Penelope suddenly abandoned her convictions regarding marriage? Had it been seeing the familial bliss at Summer’s Park this past winter? Or was there something else?
She’d never told him why she’d fainted twice, nor why she’d shown up so unexpectedly at Augusta Heights.
What was she running from?Whowas she running from?
A soft tap heralded the butler’s presence. “I’m sorry to disturb you, my lord. There is a gentleman here to see you. I told him the family was in mourning, and that you were not receiving anyone today, but he says it is of the utmost urgency.”
Hugh lifted his gaze from his hands. “Who does this gentleman claim to be?” A long lost relative, perhaps? A solicitor already eager to discuss the transfer of his mother’s holdings?
“He says his name is Periwinkle, sir. And he says he’d like to sue you for breach of promise.”
* * *
“So, you say she sacked you without references. You say she did not allow you any severance pay.” Hugh was strangely relieved to be dealing with this scoundrel. He’d not found any comfort in seeing his mother. And he was even less enthusiastic to be contemplating the oddities of his newly betrothed. “But she did not send the magistrate after you since she’d already discovered and reclaimed the money you were attempting to embezzle. Do you not think that was rather benevolent of her?”
Periwinkle was not to be cowed, however, “You are the master of Augusta Heights, and we had an agreement. I’ve given my life for that estate and then some baron’s daughter takes it upon herself to have me physically removed? I’ll not have it, my lord.” He stuck out his chest and lifted his chin. “I am Matthew Periwinkle, and I’ll not have my good reputation as a steward slandered by Miss Penelope Crone or anyone else.”
