“Ingles has yet to iron them.” His mother shot the butler an admonishing glance and, if Chase were to take a guess, he’d wager he’d withheld the papers intentionally. Chase nodded a silent thank you to the servant.
“I stayed the night at Greystone’s. You remember him? The marquess?”
“Oh. Yes. Lovely man.” Already her eyes seemed calmer. “But have you not broken your fast? A fine gentleman such as yourself oughtn’t to go hungry. Mr. Ingles? Have Cook put out some luncheon, won’t you? Now, Tell me all about the ball. I do wish I tolerated gatherings.” She fanned herself with one of the scarves. “But the masses give me the vapors, you know. Did Lady Willoughby’s decorations surpass expectations again? It’s a wonder she manages to dazzle year after year.” She looped her arm through his elbow and led him toward the dining room.
Chase covered her hand with his and provided answers to most of her questions. By the time he’d finished eating and his plate was removed, he could delay the announcement no longer.
“Mother.” He inhaled through his nostrils and then met her gaze somberly.
“Did she put out peonies this year? I’d heard she was going to be rather daring.”
“Mother.” Chase raised his voice ever so slightly.
“My favorite was the year she featured white roses. Although the scent was almost overwhelming.”
He was going to have to just come out with it. “I’ve decided to marry.”
Her eyes opened in surprise but then she blinked, almost as though shuttering off her emotions. “Of course, you’ll marry, darling. And you’ll provide me with dozens of grandchildren. Has a particular lady caught your eye, then? You’ll want to speak with her father first. Do I know the family?”
“Today, Mother. I’m going to marry today.”
She stilled and pinned a somber, suddenly alert gaze on him. These flashes of lucidity never failed to affect him. They taunted him because they were usually gone as quickly as they appeared. “Not until the banns have been read. You’re teasing me, of course. You can’t marry anyone today.” She shifted her gaze to the clock. “Besides, it’s already afternoon. Weddings take place in the morning.” She stared down at the table and began rearranging her utensils around her empty plate.
Upside down.
Chase leveled his voice. “Arrangements have been made. I’ve a special license.” He watched her closely, concerned that today would be one of those days when all that nervous energy would erupt.
She stilled, however, and lowered her hands to her lap. “What’s happened? Please, don’t tell me one of those Mayfair ladies trapped you? I knew it was a possibility. Oh, but this is all my fault. If only I’d been there…”
“I wasn’t trapped, Mother.” He’d simply been stupid. “But… I was caught in an indiscretion with a very proper young lady. It wasn’t her fault.” He couldn’t explain to his mother that he’d been waiting for Lady Starling—and why. And he refused to go into the details of what he’d been caughtdoing.
“Dreadful, dear, dreadful. And such a shame. And there’s no other remedy, I imagine? I don’t suppose there is, or you’d take that route. You think I don’t know of your escapades, but I do, young man! Ah, it is, I suppose, what it is. Not to worry. Everything will turn out just fine.” Her eyes lit up. “Have I told you the story of the day your father proposed? It was the summer of 1798, and I’d just met him that spring. Our families had both traveled to Brighton and a group of us went walking on the beach at sunset. He’d already asked my father’s permission, you know. Your father was a proper one, indeed!” Her eyes shone, and she stared across the room. “Under the moon and the stars, he dropped onto one knee. Right there in the sand.” She exhaled a soft sigh. “He was so handsome, just like you—”
“I’m to meet her at St. George’s at four this afternoon,” Chase interrupted softly. His mother would go on and on if he allowed her to do so.
Her lashes dropped, and she fussed with the end of her scarf. “I would go… you know. A mother ought to be there. But…" There was no need for her to finish her sentence.
He was under no delusions as to what she was capable of.
She couldn’t very well continue living in her own little world if she dared venture outside of it. Chase squashed his resentment immediately. It wasn’t her fault that she was like this.
“I’ll bring Lady Bethany to meet you tonight. She’ll live here, of course.” This marriage was happening, regardless of how anyone felt about it.
“She can have one of the guest suites, then.”
Chase returned his mother’s smile but squeezed her hand. “She’ll have the chamber adjacent to mine, Mother. The servants will move your belongings into the Gold Room before I return. It’s larger, and you can decorate it as you please.” He ought to have insisted she vacate the mistress’s suite years ago, but she’d resisted, and allowing her to remain had simply been easier. Even so, this was all rather sudden. He held his breath, waiting for some sort of outburst.
“What if she doesn’t like the room? She might not. Wouldn’t it be easier to put her in the Gold Room? It is larger, as you know—”
“As my wife, as my baroness, she’ll have the room that adjoins mine.”
“What if I don’t like her?”
“She’s a delightful young woman,” Chase ventured carefully. Most days his mother walked a fine line between sanity and madness. It was his duty to ensure she not lose her balance.
“Tell me about her then. Are you certain she didn’t trap you? Is she pretty?”
“I’m certain, Mother. She’s not the sort of lady who would sink to anything so unscrupulous as that …” And was she pretty? “She is. She’s the Earl of Westerley’s sister—Lady Westerley’s eldest daughter.” Her relationship to Jules was likely why he’d never considered her as a potential… well—mate—before…
