Chase glanced down, momentarily forgetting that when he’d left that morning, he’d not cared at all about his appearance.
“What in the devil is going on up there?” He gestured to the ceiling pointedly. He’d be the one asking questions here.
Ingles, who normally handled the occasional commotion in stride, winced.
Oh, hell, it must be bad.
“Your mother was in one of her tempers—” More banging sounds. “And your wife…”
Chase held up a hand. Perhaps he didn’t want to hear this from his butler after all. “No need to go into details, Ingles. I’ll handle it.”
Taking the stairs two at a time, he followed the sounds of commotion coming from the chamber adjacent to his. God save him, just when he thought he could count on something in his household running smoothly. If Bethany couldn’t get along with his mother…
He scrubbed a hand down his face. One of them could remove to his country estate, Easter Park, and he already knew his mother’s opinion on this. Sending Bethany away was no way to begin a marriage.
He was already contemplating a third residence in Mayfair when Polly flew out of the baroness’s chamber, nearly colliding with him and carrying what appeared to be some of his wife’s belongings.
Was she leaving him? She couldn’t!
“You’ll be returning those to their rightful place if you value your position.” Chase rarely spoke harshly to any of his servants, and yet, he’d be damned if his own household would facilitate his wife abandoning him.
The possibility that she was leaving sent ice running through his veins.
“Bethany!” Chase slammed his palm against the jib door, sending it flying inward. Without waiting for permission to enter, he stomped into her chamber prepared to do whatever he had to convince her to stay.
Mrs. Maples hovered, Doris and Polly cowering behind her. “She’s asked us to move these for her, My Lord—”
Chase raised his arm and pointed at the dressing room. “Put all of it back. Now.”
At the look on their faces, he suppressed the urge to groan. In less than a single day, he’d managed to chase his wife away and alienate half his staff.
One glance around the room, and his mood plummeted farther. Was his mother reclaiming the chamber before Bethany had even vacated?
“There you are, darling.”
In all the moments he’d had to deal with his mother’s eccentricity, he’d never felt so much the urge to shake her. “What are you doing?” he demanded. But it was obvious. He easily recognized many of his mother’s belongings already restored to the room.
“Not to worry, Chaswick. Bethany doesn’t mind.”
“Did my wife tell you where she was going?” But he knew the answer to his question before he’d finished asking it. She would wish to return to her mother’s home—to Westerley’s townhouse.
“She’s around somewhere. Such a nice girl, insisting the servants restore my belongings without delay. And we’re going to put a lock on your side, dear, so you needn’t fear I’ll interrupt.” Had his mother just winked at him?
Chase scrubbed his hand across his face again. He should have come home earlier. Not only was he going to have to convince Bethany to stay, but he was going to have to have his mother removed from the baroness’s suite again.
Served him right for wasting the day wagering, drinking, and smoking in Greys’ study.
“Did you want these, Christine? I wasn’t sure if they belonged to you or—”
Chase stumbled backward at the sight of Bethany waltzing into the chamber as though she hadn’t a care in the world. “Do be careful!” She reached forward and nearly caught his fingertips before the backs of his knees met with some ill-placed immovable object, sending him tumbling onto the carpet.
Who in the hell placed furniture in the middle of the room?
Lying face up, staring at the golden cherubs painted on the ceiling, Chase cursed the present condition of his life. Everything he’d tried to hold together for so long seemed to be falling apart.
“My gowns!” His mother dropped beside him on one side at the same time Bethany crouched on the other.
“Are you hurt?” Bethany’s fingertips traced his hairline and then softly trailed around to the back of his head.
