Sophie nodded agreeably, but her mind emptied of everything but one man as her aunt spoke. Lady Terrington was Rowan’s mother.
“And since it is their first hosted event since the death of the earl, I feel I must go to support my friends,” Louisa was finishing.
Sophie was brought back to the present with those words. Rowan had not spoken to her about the loss of his father six months before, but she knew that he mourned Lord Terrington deeply. It was common knowledge how close the earl had been to his second wife and third son.
“Of course,” she said, pushing her feelings aside for the sake of her aunt, but also for Rowan and his mother. “I’m sure they would very much appreciate the faces of…of friends in the crowd.”
Louisa beamed. “I knew you would understand. I will send our acceptance immediately. And I think you should wear that new green gown, darling. It is stunning and makes your eyes so bright.”
Sophie swallowed hard and nodded. The green gown had a rather daring neckline. It might very well give easy access if a man wanted.
She pushed to her feet and paced away from her aunt and from her own troubling thoughts. She had to control herself, damn it. And this was the perfect place to practice that control. After all, she couldn’t avoid Rowan forever. Even after this Season of Yes was over, she would encounter him. She had to practice her ability to be unmoved. To forget what they’d shared.
And tomorrow she would put that ability to the test.
Rowan wiped his brushes clean and stepped back from his work. He stared at the image he had created in the past week when he’d been trying to figure out his tangled emotions. What he’d painted spoke more volumes than he could have done in a month of deep conversation.
He sighed and slung a cover over the piece as his mother entered his studio. He smiled at her when their eyes met. Deep within them he saw her grief, lingering since the death of her beloved husband.
“You don’t need to have this party,” he said as he moved toward her and kissed her cheek.
She laughed softly and wiped a smudge of paint from his face. “Your older brothers are swirling about town, creating their own narrative about your father. I feel I must react so that everyone sees the love that is still felt for him.”
Rowan pursed his lips. His older brothershadbeen talking about their father. Cruel little backhanded jabs meant to make the earl seem less decent than he had truly been. Nasty comments about Rowan’s parentage or legitimacy.
God, how Rowan hated them for it. Not for himself, but for the woman before him. The mother who loved him and adored the man she lost.Shedidn’t deserve this extra pain.
“Perhaps I’m being unfair to you, though,” she said. “Having this event here rather than at my little home. You’ve been avoiding Society for the past week, I know. I recognize you may not wish to play host now.”
“You know I’m happy to do whatever you desire,” he assured her.
She reached up to touch his cheek, and through the sadness she still carried on her shoulders, he saw all her warmth and love. All her support. He had not told her about his brothers’ removing his settlement. She would try to share her own, and she barely had enough as it was.
And he somehow doubted she would approve of his pursuit of Sophie. At least not the ulterior motive of her fortune. His mother had never been that kind of woman, no matter what his brothers said to the contrary.
“I’ve had several more acceptances for tomorrow’s event,” she said, stepping into the room to look at his paintings. They were propped against walls and balanced on easels in a haphazard way. She smiled at the landscapes that represented the flowing hills around their old country home.
The one he doubted the new earl would ever let them visit again.
“Who has accepted?” he asked, not truly interested but filled with a desire to support her.
“Lady Wintergreen, Mrs. Swarthart, and Lady Louisa and Lady Sophie.”
He froze and lifted his gaze to his mother’s face. She reflected no ulterior motive of her own as she glanced at him.
“I didn’t realize you had invited Lady Louisa and Sophie,” he said, hoping he sounded nonchalant. Fearing he did not.
She smiled. “We are both a friend to Lady Louisa, and I’ve heard you and Sophie have been becoming friends of a sort yourselves as of late. Are you not pleased?”
He bit his tongue. Oh, he was so very pleased at the idea of seeing Sophie. Too pleased. He wanted to touch her, to kiss her, to hold her. It was all he’d thought about in the past week.
“I know it will be a very happy party, Mama. And I’m always glad to see my friends.”
She didn’t answer, for she had moved across the room to stare at a portrait he’d finished about ten days before. She had not visited his studio since, and now he saw how much the picture moved her.
“Your father’s painting,” she whispered, her hand fluttering out as if she could touch the canvas and feel her late husband’s cheek beneath her palm.
He moved to stand beside her and wrapped an arm around her. They stared together at the portrait of the man himself. Rowan had painted him as seated, his arm slung back over the chair, looking toward what, he wasn’t certain. It was a casual pose, one that reflected the hint of a smile.
