“Adam,” she repeated, now directly behind him. “Please may I say something before I go?”
He nodded. Mother eyed the footmen on either side of the doors with wariness.
“In the drawing room?” she requested.
Adam crossed the entrance hall and stepped inside the drawing room, preparing himself for an outpouring of pity over his lonely state and promises to reassure society that her “poor boy” was fine despite the disastrous outcome of his marriage.
“You’d best not keep the horses standing, Mother.”
“This will only take a moment.” She took a fortifying breath. “Your father and I had an arranged marriage.”
Adam turned away. He did not want to hear about his father, not from the woman who had, through her continued absence, caused him as much pain as Persephone was causing him.
“No accounting was made for the differences in our dispositions,” Mother continued. “I was raised in Town, among society. London, theton,was what I knew and needed. Your father was raised here, in quiet and solitude. We wanted very different things in life.”
He paced to the window.
“Your father was a good man, and we cared for each other.” The conversation seemed as awkward for her as it was for Adam. “We did try to compromise, to blend our preferences. There were lavish balls at Falstone. Your father allowed them, even took part in planning, then spent the entirety of each event in the book room. He never made calls with me nor accepted invitations to gatherings away from Falstone.”
Adam shook his head. “He wouldn’t—”
“I was away during your convalescences and found in the company of my childhood friends and family the companionship your father seemed unable to provide. They went about in society the way I wished to. For a time the occasional trips from Falstone were enough.”
“I do not wish to hear this—”
“Resentment grows quickly, Adam. He did not wish me to leave, and I found myself staying away longer.”
Was Mother predicting Adam’s future? Did she think Persephone was gone for good?
“Do you know why I stayed away?” she asked.
“Because you didn’t love—” Adam bit back theus“—him.”
“Oh, Adam.” Mother spoke with such sadness that Adam turned to look at her despite himself. The slightest sheen of moisture clouded her eyes. For the second time in two weeks, and the second time in all of Adam’s life, Mother was crying. “Of course I loved your father. He was a good man, despite his implacableness.”
“Then why did you go? Why did you stay away?”
She produced an utterly sad smile. “I was waiting, in my foolishly romantic heart, for him to come for me.” A tear streaked down her face. “He never did.”
“Did you ever tell him—?”
“Of course not. I was certain that if he truly cared, he would miss me enough to meet me partway. I should have—weshould have spoken of this, but neither of us was willing to.
“I saw you at your wedding ball, Adam. You are more willing to compromise than your father ever was. And Persephone is more suited to quiet and solitude than I will ever be. She is your match, Adam.” Mother stepped to where he stood at the window and laid her hand on his arm. “Do not throw away this chance by making her guess at your feelings.”
Mother kissed Adam on the cheek, an affectionate, maternal kiss. She had never kissed him before. If she had offered such a heartfelt gesture during his childhood, Adam might have grown up feeling quite differently about his mother.
“Good-bye, Adam.” For the first time in more than twenty years, she made her farewells without a single “poor boy.”
“Have a safe journey, Mother.”
“And you as well,” she replied mysteriously before sweeping from the room.
Adam stood at the front windows, watching as her carriage pulled away.You as well.What had she meant by that? He would not be wandering from Falstone grounds for months yet. Not until Parliament required he return to London. He didn’t want to be anywhere else. It was his home. Where he belonged.
“She has a point, you know.”
Harry.Adam spun from the window to find his friend sitting quite at his leisure not far away, feet crossed at the ankles and propped up on a footstool.
