Matthew, who had plans to rejoin Wellington as soon as they had settled Sarah in place to run the duchy, objected strenuously to that possibility, as he wanted Mark to remain in England to help Sarah. Judith had remained silent in the heated discussion that followed, observing all of them instead of participating. Mark had also said little, as he had long since stopped caring about his own reputation and did not wish to discuss any of his intentions at the moment. Too many of them were still not fully formed. He did worry about how all this would affect Judith and her family, especially if they were not able to rectify Edmund’s financial difficulties.
The main point of the evening, however, had been to introduce his family—and Judith—to Olivia and that had gone as well as could be. And Mark reluctantly realized that his mother’s suggestion for Judith to bring William had been a good one, despite the initial awkwardness.
Mark tucked the coverlet beneath William’s feet, then eased backward out of the carriage, trying not to rock it much. He moved away as the footman helped Epworth and Judith into the vehicle, then peered in through the door as they settled.
“I appreciate you coming, Lady Sculthorpe. I believe your presence made the evening progress much smoother.”
Her eyebrows arched. “You consider that a ‘smooth’ evening?”
He smirked. “Where my family is concerned, remarkably peaceful.”
“Hm.” She leaned back against the squabs. “Something to keep in mind.”
Mark chuckled and stepped away as the footman latched the door, mounted his post, and thumped on the roof. The driver clicked the reins, and the carriage moved forward, down thestreet and out of sight. He waited as the Embleton ducal carriage pulled into its place. His brother escorted their mother and the lovely Sarah down the steps from the foyer, where they had been waiting. As the footman opened the door, Phyllida stopped, studying Mark.
“What is it, Mother?”
Her next words were a pronouncement. “You need to marry that woman.”
Matthew and Sarah looked as startled as he felt. “I beg your pardon. I thought you said she was a—how did you put it?—a ‘damnable hussy.’”
“As she is. But so are you.”
Matthew laughed.
“I’m sorry, what—”
“But I have never seen you with a woman so well suited to your outrageous personality. And she looks at you with affection instead of lust, as so many other women do.”
“Mother—”
“Do you think I am blind? Or that I sit in ballrooms and not observe how people look at you? I have tried to steer you toward the ones less obvious in their lascivious gazes at you, not that it has had any effect.”
Mark’s patience evaporated. “Then stop trying. I think it is time you put off your mourning clothes and got up and danced instead of nosing into everyone else’s affairs.”
“Mark!” Matthew moved forward as if to step between them. Phyllida threw up a hand, stopping him as Mark went on.
“Father once told me that you were the finest dancer he had ever squired onto a floor. You had no equal. And it has been almost a year since he died.” He gestured to his brother. “Matthew is the duke now. The head of household. Let himbeit. You are a beautiful woman, and you do not need to spendthe rest of your life doing nothing but overseeing and prowling through the lives of your children!”
The air went still. No one moved or spoke. Then his mother snapped toward their stoic-faced footman and held out one hand. The man leapt to her aid, and Phyllida disappeared into the carriage. After a moment, Sarah joined her with a bare glance at Mark.
Matthew shook his head as he reached toward the carriage door. “There will be repercussions.”
Mark let out a long breath. “Of course, there will be. There always are.”
Matthew clapped him on the shoulder, then joined the ladies. The footman secured the door, and Mark stepped backward as it lumbered away from the pavement.
He and his mother had fought often, starting early in his life. Spats, mostly. His father had explained that Mark and his mother shared a similar temperament, something he could not see then—or now. He had been ten when the first major row had occurred, but for the life of him Mark could not remember what it had been about. Something to do with Matthew going off to school probably. He did remember spending the night in a tree in their back garden. His mother had forbidden anyone to help him or bring him food or drink. He had even pissed from his high perch, much to the amusement of his younger brothers. He had not eaten for two days, until he had apologized.
The first of many rows... and many punishments. “But I am not in a tree anymore,” he muttered as he entered the house.
“My lord?”
Mark jerked, startled by Howe’s presence in the parlor doorway.
“Pardon me, my lord.”
Mark motioned for Howe to close the front door. “Let us bring this evening to close, shall we? Tell the maids they canreset the parlor tomorrow. I will not be using it.” He turned toward the stairs.
