Margaret shook her head. “But it is hopeless. I have accepted that.”
“Perhaps,” Penelope conceded. “But perhaps not.”
27
His Mother
London March 2nd, 1829
“Lady Asherton.”The refined butler bowed as he exited the room, leaving Margaret alone with the Duchess of Standish.
Sebastian had his mother’s eyes. And her smile.
The woman rose and took Margaret’s hand graciously. She wasSebastian’s motherand yet she didn’t seem all that old—five and forty perhaps. “I am pleased to make your acquaintance, Lady Asherton. I understand you have just returned to London. You must be pleased to be home. Sit down, won’t you?” The duchess gestured toward a high-backed emerald velvet chair before lowering herself onto its twin. “When Rockingham informed me of his uncle’s disgrace, I was mortified and am utterly grateful that I can apologize to you finally for my brother’s atrocious behavior. If I had known his intentions, I never would have sent Sebastian with the ring.”
Her heart lurched to hear his name but, remembering why she had come, Margaret reached into her reticule and withdrew a small velvet pouch. She’d carried it with her all the way from Land’s End, despite her brother’s protests. “I apologize that it’s taken me so long to return this to your family.”
Returning the ring to the family gave her a sense of closure. Or it ought to have, anyway.
“George is lucky you didn’t toss it into the Atlantic. He deserved nothing less.” The duchess tipped the pouch and dropped the auspicious jewelry into her palm. “I’ve never cared for it myself.” She examined it. “But I suppose it is something of a family heirloom. My sincere thanks, all the same.” The duchess turned and tugged at the bell pull, summoning a servant almost instantly. “You will have tea with me.”
It wasn’t really a question, so Margaret remained seated and nodded. “You have a lovely home,” she offered, uncertain of what else she might have to discuss with the sister of her former fiancé. The mother of her former lover.
“My son spoke highly of you,” the duchess ventured.
Margaret straightened in her chair. “He is a very special gentleman.” Sebastian had shown strong moral character in that he’d been honest with her and in his vision for his future. So much of her own outlook on society, on love, on life, had been altered merely by knowing him. He was a talented artist, well-read, and something of a philosopher. The thought gave her reason to smile.
“I quite agree. I’d hoped initially that he would settle down and marry last spring, but he was determined to have that ship of his built. He insisted his father and I tour it the day before he set sail. I declined, of course. A mother is never happy to lay her eyes on a vessel intended to carry her child far from home. Standish was quite impressed though. And my other son sang his brother’s praises through the holiday.”
“Andrew,” Margaret said without thinking, almost to herself.
“Why, yes.” The duchess stared at her curiously.
“Lord Rockingham spoke fondly of his younger brother.”
“My sons are the pride of my heart but also the reason for these gray hairs. Do you have any children, Lady Asherton?”
Margaret shook her head. “I do not.”
“When they were young, I naively believed I would stop worrying about them once they reached their majority.” A footman entered, carrying a silver tea set and a plate laden with small sandwiches. He set it on a low table, and the duchess began to pour. “How do you take your tea? Milk? Sugar?”
“Both please.” She accepted the teacup balanced on a delicate saucer. “I imagine a mother never stops worrying about her children.” Even after they were gone. She stared at the duchess and wished she could ask her a myriad of questions.
Questions about Sebastian’s marriage and the loss of his daughter. What had they done to support him afterward? She wanted to ask what Sebastian had been like as a small boy. She wanted to ask if the duchess knew of his plans for the future. All subjects that were none of her business.
“My son was not quite himself when he returned from your brother’s house party. He was somber, thoughtful. I think he was embarrassed by my brother’s behavior. The change in him was perhaps also due to his impending journey. Whatever the case may be, in the face of such resolve and determination, I could no longer be set against his travels. He is a complicated boy.”
“A complicated man.” Again, Margaret didn’t squash her thought. But it was true.
“Indeed, you are correct.”
“Have you received word of when he intends to return?” Margaret couldn’t help herself. In all his letters, he’d not mentioned returning to England.
She casually sipped her tea while carefully watching the duchess over the rim of the cup.
“He wrote to Standish, his father. He is well. He is alive. It is all that I can hope for. I suppose I can also hope he does not return married to some American chit.” The duchess’ words stirred all sorts of disturbing emotions in Margaret. “He’s insisted he will never marry, that he does not want children… But he is young. And if he were to fall madly in love with a beautiful young American…”
Something tight and cruel and cold squeezed Margaret’s heart at such a possibility.
