When he left for the war, he’d been a young man filled with conviction and life. Now he was filled with cynicism and a wish to retire from the world. But that was not an option for a titled aristocrat, and if he’d learned anything from the military, it was that he must fulfill his duty, no matter how distasteful it might be, even if it meant dying.
He shook off the thought. Maybe it was time to stop hiding as Anthony also suggested. It hadn’t helped anyway. Now that he was Viscount Blackmore, he no longer needed the small cottage in Scotland. Maybe he’d give it to Anthony. It was the least the man deserved after France.
First, he needed to relieve his mother of the strain of being his gatekeeper. Though she enjoyed having visitors, the steady stream had to be difficult for her, her eldest son having died barely six months ago. She was all he had left of his family, and it was his duty to take care of her.
Stepping out of the study, he strode toward the servants’ stairs when Gibson stepped from the shadows.
“Do you need something, my lord?”
“Yes. Please tell the ladies calling upon my mother that she is no longer taking callers and have her come to my study.”
“Of course.” Though Gibson didn’t ask, curiosity filled his gaze.
Heading back to his study, he strode to the far window which had a view of the end of the drive. He waited impatiently before a carriage drove toward the edge of the estate. When another followed, he felt the stiffness in his shoulders ease. It was on the fourth carriage’s exit that the door to his study opened.
“Marcus, is something wrong?”
His mother’s worried expression had him hurrying to reassure her. “No, not with me.”
She placed her hand over her chest. “Thank the heavens. Gibson told me to send my callers away.”
He walked toward her, still amazed that she looked so beautiful even at two score and ten. Only the silver starting to streak her black hair gave any hint of her age, a silver that was not in residence when he’d left for the war. He held his hand out toward one of the two chairs before the unlit fireplace. “Please, join me.”
She strode forward as if walking on air and sat as befitted a queen. She’d never been petite, but she had always carried herself with grace. “Has something happened?”
“Yes. I’ve grown tired of the endless stream of ladies taking up your time. I wanted to steal you away during daylight hours for a change.” He gave her a warm smile.
She relaxed into the dark green chair, her lavender dress covering it like a fragile flower upon a rigorous vine. “I very much appreciate the change of venue. Spending time with you is always my preference.”
It was very typical of his mother to express her likes and dislikes in a positive fashion. She was the epitome of a lady.That was one of the things she had loved about Mariel. Ignoring his thought, he smiled. “And I enjoy your company over all others.”
“Marcus, I know you. You are only charming when you have a boon to request.”
He smirked, having forgotten how much she did know him, or rather who he used to be. “Actually, I want to offer my apology to you.”
“Whatever for?” She sat straight up, clearly puzzled.
He laid his hand upon hers where it rested on the arm of the chair. “I have ignored my duty as the Viscount of Blackmore and allowed you to suffer under the onslaught of femininity that has descended upon us since I came home.”
“Oh that.” She patted his hand with her other one. “It really has been no bother.” Her eyes lit up with delight. “Have you finally decided on a few ladies to call upon? Oh, you must tell me.”
He barely held back a grimace. It hadn’t occurred to him that she would think he’d taken her observations at dinner on all the ladies that had come to call to decide on a potential wife. But he should have. “I am still thinking on it. However, I feel that you have quite done your duty here and wish you to proceed to London for the rest of the season.”
She pulled her hands back and set them in her lap. “You want me to go to London without you?”
The hurt in her voice was a shot to his gut. “I was only thinking of you. Do you not wish to see your friends and enjoy the festivities?”
Her brow furrowed, clearly not excited by the prospect. “I am more concerned that you find a proper wife and allow me the pleasure of seeing my grandchildren.”
He stiffened. He could not tell his mother that her hopes for grandchildren had died with his brother. That the memories of what he’d witnessed made it impossible for him to have intercourse. Nor could he tell her he’d never marry. What the bloody hell was he supposed to do? As a child, he’d never been able to lie, an inordinate amount of blinking accompanying every one until all in his family had recognized the sign. However, he’d outgrown that problem for better or worse. “I understand, but I do not think the search should be limited to Northampton, do you?”
Her face brightened. “Of course! I can go to London and see who is available and best suited to you. Then you can follow, and I will tell you all that I have learned.” She clapped her hands together and held them tight. “I think that’s a wonderful idea. You send word to Blackmore House, and I’ll have Mrs. Hammons begin packing straight away. I believe I could be settled in at Town by week’s end.”
She rose and he stood with her, a stiff smile on his face. “I will tell Gibson to let any future callers know that you are not receiving. That should give you more time.”
“You think of everything.” She paused then took his hand. “I’m so very glad you came home to me.”
He swallowed hard. She’d been through so much in only three years. First, the notice that he had died, then his father’s death at the hands of a criminal, and most recently his brother’s and sister-in-law’s deaths from typhoid fever. He was all she had left, and that wasn’t much. “You always have my heart.”
