It had been five years since the carriage accident that took the life of Cal’s best friend Ned, Lord Edward Manning, and left him with a broken shoulder that hadn’t healed properly and debilitating headaches. It had also effectively ended his budding career as a portraitist.
Though Will had paid for dozens of specialists and all manner of cures, Cal insisted that the peace and quiet of the country gave him the most relief. But Will suspected it was the whispers about the true nature of Cal’s friendship with Ned that swirled in the wake of the accident that had led him to largely withdraw from society. Will protected his brother’s reputation as best he could, and being out of the ton’s crosshairs had helped, but it wasn’t enough.
Last fall, after their mother had gone off to bed and they stayed up enjoying a generous nip of port, Cal admitted that the worst thing he could imagine was becoming the duke.
“We both know they would tear me to pieces,” he said, unable to meet Will’s eyes. “And you wouldn’t be there to protect me.”
Will had been silent with shock. He had no idea Cal was carrying around this worry, all while Will had been off dallying with widows.
“That won’t happen,” he finally said. “I’ll make sure of it.”
So a-bride-hunting he had gone. An arduous task that would become even more difficult once he rejected Lady Gwen.
Will’s mother looked past him out the window, lifting up just a bit in her seat. “Your roses are looking well.”
“I’ll be sure to tell my gardener.”
The words came out sharper than he meant them to, but he wasn’t in the mood for small talk. His mother was here for a reason and it certainly wasn’t to take tea and admire his roses. Just before the moment could grow even more tense, a maid entered with the tea tray.
She visibly perked up and set about pouring their cups. “So then,” she began briskly once they were alone again. “Areyou enjoying the season?”
“As much as any man does.”
She gave him a scolding look. “Could you at least try to sound a little more enthusiastic? You’re here to find your duchess, the future mother of your children. Why, this should be exciting for you!”
Absolutelynothingabout this was exciting, but Will managed a weak smile that seemed to satisfy his mother.
“I hear Lady Gwendolyn Fairbanks is very popular,” she continued breezily. “Though I always found her rather dull myself. She’s too much like her mother. The countess is always blathering on about something tedious, like wallpaper or shoe buttons.”
And there it was. He should have guessed that she was here to check up on him. Her casual tone didn’t fool Will. His mother may have just arrived in London, but she had amassed a large circle of aristocratic friends in the years since his elevation to the dukedom. Friends who no doubt had been keeping her abreast of all the latest gossip.
He narrowed his eyes as she took a sip of tea. “If you have something to ask me, I’d rather you just come out and say it,” he said curtly.
It had been many years since Will had spoken to his mother in a manner that couldn’t be described as coolly polite. He really must get some sleep.
She raised a dark brow the same shade as his own and set down her teacup. “Fine.” As his mother folded her hands on her lap, the afternoon light caught on her dazzling emerald engagement ring—a pointed reminder thatshehad married for love despite the fervent opposition of his father’s family. “Are you going to propose to her?”
It was a perfectly reasonable question, but Will felt the urge to rear back. He rolled his shoulders instead.
“I haven’t decided.”
It was a bit cowardly of him, perhaps, but it didn’t feel right to tell his mother he wouldn’t propose before Lady Gwen herself.
Her lips pursed at his evasive response and he had the distinct sensation she knew the truth anyway. “The earl won’t like hearing that.”
Will was finding it harder and harder to give a damn what Lord Fairbanks thought. “Well, it isn’t up to him, is it?”
“No, it isn’t.” His mother’s eyes softened. “I only want your happiness, darling. Whatever you do decide, I’ll support you.”
Will’s cheeks heated. “I know,” he muttered and turned away from her sympathetic gaze. They were rarely affectionate toward each other. And certainly not since he inherited.
“I only ask that you let me know once youdofind your bride. I’d hate to learn about my own son’s engagement in the newspaper.”
“Of course.” He titled his head and took his teacup.
While she chattered away about her circle of friends and her London plans, Will listened politely, offering an “Oh?” and “Naturally” every so often. They were back to their usual routine, and though it wasn’t exactly comfortable, it was familiar.
Their relationship had never been the same after Will’s father died. She had been too distraught to do anything other than lay abed, so everything had been left up to fifteen-year-old Will. He worked very hard to make sure they could keep the house, even when it would have been far more cost efficient to sell up and move them all to London. But Margraves never took the easy route, it seemed. When she finally emerged from her cocoon of grief months and months later, Will still continued to act as the head of the household.
