She laughed. The duke had told Gareth that upon his arrival in her home, he had found Wiggins close to tears, holding his head, while Rebecca lectured him. Wiggins had told Lance he would rather be sent to the hulls than spend one more minute listening to her.
“We are entering the town,” Gareth said, pointing out the window.
“Are you going to tell me which town it is now? Your secrecy has been peculiar.”
“It is Coventry. When we pass through the oldest section, you can imagine Lady Godiva riding slowly on her horse. Out of respect, everyone went inside and shuttered their windows, so her gesture on their behalf would not carry the humiliation her husband intended.”
The carriage took them to those lanes, then turned off onto another one with fine houses lining it. It stopped in front of one that looked to be the sort that would house a prosperous merchant. Three stories high and built of cleanly dressed white stone, it had a small garden in front surrounded by an iron fence and gate.
Gareth opened the carriage door and stepped out. “I want you to meet someone.”
She accepted his hand and joined him on the pavement. “Who?”
“My mother.”
She instinctively dug in her heels. “You might have warned me.”
“I might have, but I didn’t.”
She felt her hair, to make sure it had not been too ruined by an indiscretion that took place in the carriage an hour ago. “Under the circumstances, you should not have been wicked. She is sure to know just looking at us.” She gave him an examination and found no evidence at all. “Fine. By looking atme.”
“Do not worry. A mother knows her son. If she guesses, she will blame me, not think badly of you.” He took her hand. “Come now. You will like her.”
They entered the house through a door held by a manservant. A footman escorted them to a drawing room. Upon their arrival, a woman looked up. No one had to say this was Gareth’s mother. They looked much alike. She was not a pretty woman. Perhaps not even beautiful in the usual way. But her dark eyes and hair, and wide mouth and chiseled face created a memorable, striking visage that might make more predictable beauty appear shallow and boring.
Her eyebrows rose when she saw Eva. This visit was equally a surprise for her, it appeared.
“Mother, I would like you to meet Miss Russell, a neighbor of mine. Miss Russell, this is my mother, Mrs. Johnson.”
***
“She is not only a neighbor.” His mother stated that as soon as Eva left the drawing room. On hearing the house had a good garden, she had asked to see it, after suffering through a pointed interview in which his mother asked about her family, her life, her education, and a number of other motherly questions.
“No.”
“You have never brought one of your lovers to meet me before.”
“No.”
His mother sipped the remnants of her tea. He waited.
“She has almost no fortune. Her family lands are much diminished, and what there is must be shared with that sister. She has been on the shelf for some years already, and while she is attractive, she is not a great beauty like some of the women you have known.”
Had the list of deficiencies come from anyone else, he would have responded harshly. She was only being a mother, however. He was just lucky that Eva did not have one who could point out what he lacked.
“She suits me.”
She laughed. “They have all suited you, for a while.”
“I think she will suit me for a long while. A very long while.”
She appeared a little dismayed.
“I came to tell you that the property is mine now. Lance withdrew the petition. The house is mine, and the property, as my father wanted.”
Her face lit with joy. “I never thought I would see this day. I am happy for you, and glad that Allen’s wishes have been respected.”
“It should be habitable by summer’s end. I would like you to visit Albany Lodge in the autumn, and see what I have made of it.”
