Why, indeed? Eliza bit her lip for a moment while she thought of a plausible reason to ask such a question. “Er, I’m to hire a maid soon myself and I want to ensure I avoid the one you dismissed. She sounds positively dreadful.”
Henrietta’s frown disappeared. Apparently, she was satisfied with the answer. “I have no intention of giving her a reference, of course. She’s a most egregious thief. Her name is Madeline Atwood.”
Chapter Eleven
Justin sat on the sofa in the blue drawing room reading the morning paper while his mother perched on the settee opposite him, looking over the new calling cards for the twins that the print shop had sent for her perusal. Jessica sat straight-backed at the pianoforte, practicing her Bach for the hundredth time. Elizabeth lounged in an overstuffed chair in the corner, reading a book.
Justin paused for a moment in his own reading to glance around. He smiled to himself. It was nice to have company in the town house for a change. For some reason, his usual pursuits—the gambling and the drinking and the women—hadn’t been quite as entertaining this past year. When Mama and the girls arrived, he’d welcomed their presence as a nice change of pace and surprisingly he hadn’t missed the gaming hells as much as he’d expected to. Though no doubt it was only temporary. Once his sisters were married and Mama was back in the country, he would return to his usual pastimes with all due haste.
Of course, he’d understood this Season would be unlike the others. He had a duty to perform. He was the marquess, after all. Therefore, it fell to him to ensure his sisters were introduced to Society in the proper manner. Mama would take care of all the details. All Justin need do was escort them to a ball or two, host one himself in their honor, and then field the scores of marriage offers they were certain to receive. He would choose the best man for each of his beloved sisters, taking into account their desires, of course. Then they would marry, and by this time next year, they would be out of his hair, happily installed in their own households, and he would be back to his bachelor lifestyle. Precisely what he longed for.
Oh, he would have to marry as well, eventually. But he’d managed on his own all these years, and after seeing what Edgefield had been through with Veronica, Justin wasn’t in a particular hurry to tighten the parson’s noose around his own neck. He would enjoy a few more years of fun, thank you very much. After all, he was his father’s son.
“Keep up, boy,” Father said, as Justin attempted to spur his mount to keep pace with the larger horse.
At thirteen years of age, Justin wanted nothing more than to please his father. He rarely came to the countryside to visit Mama and his children and when he did, Justin was usually at Eton. But this was the summer holiday, and Father had come home expressly with the purpose of teaching Justin about running the estate. “You’re my heir,” Father said proudly each time he showed him a new bit of the property, “and all of this will be yours one day.”
Justin had done his best to listen to Father and make him proud, but truthfully, he was wary of the man. Wary and not a little…disgusted. Father had a habit of coming home and making Mama cry. It had happened time and again since Justin’s earliest memories. At some point he and Veronica had come to expect it. Mama and Father would shut themselves in the room down the hall from the nursery. Mama would beg her husband not to return to London and his mistress, and Father would apologize and agree. Only to leave months later to Mama’s sobbing.
At first, neither Justin nor Veronica had even known what a mistress was, but as they’d grown, they’d worked it out. While Veronica had turned angry at their father, Justin had resigned himself to disgust. Justin loved his mama so fiercely, he hated to see her cry. He couldn’t understand why Father would ever make her weep.
Justin had followed his father all the way to the far end of the pond that graced the middle of the property when Father stopped, dismounted, and tied his horse to a nearby tree. He waited for Justin to do the same before clapping him on the back and guiding him down toward the water’s edge.
Justin sucked in his breath. He’d been waiting for a moment like this for months, years even. He was so rarely alone with his father. Today he intended to confront the older man about his abominable treatment of his wife.
“I’m glad we’ve had the chance to spend the day together,” Father began, staring out across the still water. “I daresay it’s long past time I should have begun teaching you how to go about being the marquess.”
“Indeed,” Justin replied, his tone sharp. He straightened his shoulders and folded his arms behind his back, summoning the nerve to say what he must. “We could spend more time together if you weren’t so often in London.”
Father’s bellowing laughter rang across the pond. “Ah, now, you cannot blame me for that, my boy. London holds much more excitement than the country. You’ll see soon enough. I intend to take you back with me.”
“Pardon?” Justin’s head snapped to the side to face his father.
“That’s right,” Father said, a wide smile on his face. “You’re nearly fourteen years of age, Justin. Your birthday is next week. It’s high time I show you the pleasures London has to offer a young man of your station.”
Justin swallowed hard. He wasn’t at all certain he was ready for whatever pleasures his father was speaking of, but spending more time with his father and getting to see more of London—he’d only visited a time or two—was intriguing.
“I’ll take you around, introduce you to some of the girls,” Father continued.
“The girls?” Justin replied, his throat going dry.
“Oh, they’ll love you. Especially the younger ones.” Father waggled his brows.
Justin swallowed again. “Yes, well, I wanted to speak with you about something…else.”
Father frowned. “What is it?”
“It’s mother. She’s terribly upset about your m-mistress.” There. The word had nearly lodged in his throat, but he’d managed to get it out.
Father’s face turned to a mask of stone. “Your mother shouldn’t speak of such things to you.”
Justin cleared his throat. He’d gone this far, he had to see it through. “On the contrary, she hasn’t. It’s just that I…I’ve overheard your arguments and Veronica and I—”
“You and Veronica have no business listening to my private conversations,” Father snapped.
Justin forced himself to lift his chin. He refused to back down. “I don’t like to see Mama cry.”
Father’s countenance softened, and he moved closer and clapped Justin on the shoulder. “Neither do I, believe me. It’s hardly my choice that she gets so emotional. But men…we have…needs…and those needs are often best fulfilled by, well, the types of ladies one encounters in London. You’ll see.”
