She gave him a proud smile before a footman entered with the tea service.
His mother immediately sat forward to pour their tea. There was a slight shake in her hand and as she fixed his, she hesitated over the sugar.
He quickly spoke. “I’ll skip the sugar today. I had a few too many sweets at White’s.” It was the truth, but he never took sugar in his tea. That his mother had forgotten concerned him. His father drank his with quite a bit. She knew her husband was gone, but she still seemed to expect him to be there.
She quickly added a dash of milk, which he also didn’t take, though his father did, and handed him the cup. “I always wondered why you men were off to your club so often. It’s a wonder no lady of substance hasn’t hired the cooks from those establishments just to keep their husbands home.”
He took a sip to avoid commenting on her unrealistic expectations.
“We are still planning to leave the day after tomorrow, are we not?”
He put down his cup. He had been, but for her health he changed his mind. “I’m afraid we may have to delay that a couple of days. I still have a few business transactions to complete.”
She visibly shrank, her posture usually so straight, curving as her shoulders slumped forward. “That’s just as well. It will give us more time to get everything packed. It usually doesn’t take this long, but this season we seem to have more than the usual.”
They actually had less than the usual, but he wouldn’t contradict her. It was simply too much for her now. He’d have his secretary make a note to bring less to London next year. Then again, if he were married, his wife would oversee the packing of the residence. Would his mother welcome that or resent it?
His mother’s eyelids drooped.
Upset with himself for not realizing what a toll this took on her to be in London without his father, he searched for a solution. Yes, he’d tried to fill his father’s shoes, but it wasn’t the same. His mother needed a lady companion. He’d look into that straight away.
He took her hand. “Mother?”
She blinked, looking around in a daze. “Yes.”
“Would you like to lie down? Since our departure for Lyonsmere has been delayed a few days, there’s plenty of time to rest.”
“Delayed? Oh, yes. That is a very good idea.”
He motioned for his butler. “Pratt will escort you to your room so you can rest.”
She nodded, still in a daze. “I’d like that.”
Pratt helped his mother rise and sent a look of silent understanding his way. Then the butler escorted his mother out of the room as if she were the most fragile item in the house.
He rose, running his hand through his hair. Though he itched to be off to Lyonsmere and then to Harewood’s, those in his care took precedence. With his mother ailing, having a new lady of the house would be of great benefit. He tried to envision Lady Amelia ordering about the servants, but the only image that came to mind was the lady sitting on the banks of the Seine painting Notre Dame.
Shaking his head, he headed for the study. Surely the Lady Amelia was well-versed in running a household as well as painting, but it couldn’t hurt to start a search for a companion for his mother. Maybe a widow of similar years would be interested. Satisfied with his plan, he sent a footman to fetch his secretary and strode to his desk before halting abruptly.
A companion would need to be paid.
His gaze unconsciously landed on the Jan van Huysum painting between the windows. The flowers in the work fit the space very well, and according to Lady Amelia, was authentic. He continued to his desk. There was no help for it. If he wished to lighten his mother’s burden immediately, he’d have to sell it. If he was lucky, it would be the only one he’d have to sell before marrying.
A flash of lightning lit the room before a boom of thunder echoed in the sky. The sound of hard rain hitting the windows followed, fulfilling the promise of the afternoon’s gray skies. He glanced at the painting again. It had to be coincidence that the storm hit immediately after his decision to sell the flowers painting. Shaking his head at his own thoughts, he opened his bottom drawer to withdraw his ledger.
Still, as another flash lit the room, he determined to get to Lyonsmere and Harewood’s as soon as humanly possible to secure the affections of one Lady Amelia Mabry and fulfill their bargain.
Chapter Six
October 1816
Bedford, England
Lady Amelia studiedthe sketches she’d drawn then looked out the window of her studio. She used to complain that the old replica Grecian temple reconstructed into her studio was too far from the house, but at times like these, she was happy for it. It gave her uninterrupted quiet and a perfect view of the gardener who was overseeing the preparations for winter.
She watched his movements as he pointed, turned, and crouched. Then she studied her sketches. They appeared to capture him exactly. Looking over her shoulder at the painting that had drawn criticism for how she’d portrayed three gentlemen as they stood talking after a hunt, she compared their figures to the gardener sketches.
Horse feathers! She dropped her cedar pencil on the table and rose, rubbing her back. Why couldn’t she determine what was wrong? The men she overheard talking about her painting during her one-week exhibit at the London Art Academy clearly found fault with it. She understood art was subjective and not everyone would be amenable to the subject or even the style in which she painted. But when one gentleman had chuckled and said the artist clearly had never seen a man’s naked anatomy and his male companion laughed, she recognized it for what it was, a true flaw in her work.
