The woman appeared uncertain despite the cheerful smile she sent in her son’s direction. Perhaps it was the smile that gave her away.
It was similar to the one Bethany had forced on many occasions.
“Mother, may I present my wife, Bethany Corbet,” Chase announced as though marrying her had not been at all out of the realm of normalcy.
“I am pleased to finally meet you, My Lady.” Bethany dropped into her best curtsey. Lady Chaswick’s hands fluttered in the air before settling them at the exposed skin above her décolletage.
“Welcome to our home.” From any other woman, Bethany would have considered the words something of a slight but the wince punctuating her words revealed vulnerability. “But it is to become your home as well. You must call me Christine. Unless you’d prefer to call me Mother, although I found that rather awkward when my dear departed William—when Chase’s father’s mother that is—demanded I address her as such.”
“Christine is a lovely name. And you must call me Bethany.”
The older woman relaxed and turned to her only child, almost as though she was seeking approval.
Chase dropped Bethany’s hand and gently took his mother’s. “You look lovely this evening. Is this amber scarf new?” He indicated one of the many silks draped around her shoulders.
“No. Dear me, no. This is one your father bought me.” Christine’s expression softened when she turned back to Bethany. “My husband was always bringing home gifts. He positively doted on me. God rest his soul. How I miss him.”
Bethany realized in that moment that in all the time she’d known Chase, all those conversations she’d eavesdropped on between him and her brother’s friends, he’d never once mentioned his father.
Even now, while his mother heaped compliments on the man, Chase declined to comment.
Thankfully, Mr. Ingles appeared in the open door, alleviating what had begun to be an uncomfortable stretch of silence. “Dinner is served, My Ladies, My Lord.”
Chase escorted his mother to the dining room, and Bethany followed. Only one end of the long table had been set, much the same as it had been the night before but with three settings instead of two.
Bethany cringed at the memory of her ill-timed accident and then winced outwardly when the same footman who’d witnessed her crash over backward rushed to aid her into her seat.
“Not to worry, Collins.” She met the servant’s concerned gaze. “I promise not to flip my chair over in between courses this evening.” She’d do better tonight. “At least not until after dessert.”
She’d been raised a lady, and ladies weren’t supposed to give in to such a temper as she had. Especially not on the day of her wedding at what some might have considered to be a potentially romantic dinner.
Chase chuckled.
“Flipping over chairs? What did I miss?” Christine asked. “Good heavens! Were you hurt, dear?”
“When I went to excuse myself, I tipped my chair over backward. Just banged my head a little. Nothing to be concerned about.” The memory of staring up at the ceiling, her feet in the air, was not something she was proud of. It had not been one of her finer moments.
Bethany straightened her shoulders, determined to keep her composure this evening while Mr. Bradford filled her wine goblet.
“So long as you came away unscathed,” her mother-in-law commented.
Bethany resisted the urge to rub the back of her head. It had ached for a while that afternoon but had subsided already.
“Likely you know better than I,” her mother-in-law smiled knowingly, “that you are of the luckiest women in all of England. I couldn’t begin to count how many mothers have thrown their daughters at my son.” Christine winked across the table. “If he proves to be half the man and father my husband was, you’ll forever know unqualified contentment.”
It was a silly thing for her ladyship to say, and Bethany laughed softly. But when she glanced over at Chase, he wasn’t laughing. His jaw ticked from clenching his teeth and the knuckles showing on his fist had turned white. If she was reading him correctly, he was resisting the urge to run.
Why would such a compliment upset him? More to the point, was he angry at his mother or angry with Bethany for forcing him to marry in the first place?
But he had been the one to insist they stop blaming one another.
He was staring down at his plate, all but forgetting her completely.
Bethany forked a section of tender meat and pretended that nothing was amiss. She hated tension. Ironically, it made her… tense.
As the meal progressed, his mother regaled Bethany with anecdote after anecdote illustrating every possible scenario the previous Lord Chaswick had gone about proving himself beyond reproach.
And with each story, it became more obvious that Chase resented the subject. No matter how many times Bethany attempted to steer the conversation in some other direction, his mother brought it back to his father.
