Page 20 of A Lady, Her Lord, & Their Duke

Neville pressed his lips together. Why did his mother always have to be so damned supercilious? Especially to the woman who funded their life? It wasn’t like the Carlisles held high favor at court or possessed an ancient line or prized title—they weren’t the Stanforths or Whitmores of the world. “How can we assist, Mother? Ara and I have evening plans, so this must be a short visit.”

“Very well,” said his mother. “You force me to be direct. Next month it shall be two full years since the passing of our beloved Harvey. Remembering such a profound loss has clarified my thinking. I did my duty and bore two sons, but alas, I have just one grandson. No burden could be greater.”

Oh God.

Neville’s fists clenched. This argument was so old and rancid it was liquified pulp, and he could practically feel the searing fury now radiating from Arabella. His mother would shortly end up in the Thames with anvils attached to her ankles. “Mother—”

“Do not interrupt, Carlisle. It is past time you two stopped this defiance. Ten years I have been lenient, but now I must insist. As well as a gross dereliction of duty, everyone knows it is immoral and ungodly to remain childless by choice.”

“Excuse me?” said Arabella in the kind of soft, deadly tone that any sensible person would run from. His mother was not sensible.

“I have devised a plan. Tell them, Valerie.”

His sister-in-law blinked, looking utterly miserable. “I’d rather not—”

The dowager scowled. “Woeful girl! I shall explain. Valerie’s maid has black hair. For generous compensation, she would bed with you, Carlisle, and give you an heir. Arabella already has a rather rounded belly, but she could tuck cushions under her gown to make it bigger. And if the procedure fails and produces a daughter, you simply try again. This is the best and only way forward. And my plan can begin at once!”

For a long moment, Neville could only gape as his ears rang and his vision blurred. Had this lunatic really just said what his mind insisted she had? Bed a woman other than Ara, get that woman pregnant, then have Ara feign a pregnancy…all to satisfy his mother’s desire for another grandchild?

For the first time in his life, he was speechless. Entirely unnerving for a man who could speak on any topic at any time to any crowd.

“I think it’s best you leave,” he ground out eventually. “At once.”

“Yes,” said Arabella coldly as she rose to her feet. “Mrs. Carlisle, it is regrettable that you were dragged into this.”

Valerie nodded, but the dowager gasped. “I beg your pardon?”

“Let me rephrase, my lady,” snapped Arabella. “If you do not remove your vile, poisonous self from this house in twenty seconds, I will cut off all funds forever. Oh, and believe me when I say there is a higher chance of ice skating in Hell than that horseshit you just spouted. You are nothing but a fool.”

His mother pressed a hand to her chest. “Carlisle. Surely you’re not going to permit this…this…dock whore to speak to me like that?”

“Why would I censor a truth teller?” said Neville, more outraged than he’d ever been in his life, and that was saying something. “And I say no to your plan. No to your remaining here. No to your insults. Do not make me toss you out a window, because I will do so. Arabella is the only woman I will ever bed. Arabella is my love, neither of us want children, and that is that. Forever. Now, either move or be catapulted from this townhouse.”

For a long moment, his mother stared at him like she might have the audacity to argue. Then she sniffed, rose to her feet, and curtsied. “Harvey would never have spoken so—”

“OUT.”

And with that, the pinch-lipped dowager and an apologetic-looking Valerie departed the room.

Neville exhaled slowly and turned to his wife, mortified beyond belief. “I do not know what the hell that was. A maid? Cushions? She’s demented. If I was charitable I might say enduring grief, but…all I can do is beg your forgiveness, Ara.”

Arabella walked straight to him, wrapping her arms around his waist and resting her head on his shoulder. “My darling, you’re shaking.”

“Shaking with rage,” he burst out. “I refuse to have that conversation one more time.”

Immediately, she began rubbing his back, and Neville leaned down and pressed a kiss to her forehead. Could a man legally disown his mother? He would do it tomorrow.

“No forgiveness required,” Arabella said eventually. “Although I do like it when you beg. You’re going to be doing a lot of that this evening. As is a certain duke.”

Relieved beyond measure at her strength, Neville shivered. “I cannot wait.”

In the small but well-appointed powder room of Sanctuary’s diamond chamber, Arabella finished combing her hair and stared at the looking glass in front of her. Then glared.

Even now, anger and frustration clawed at her insides, emotions that were entirely unwanted and unhelpful before commencing play with a new submissive. She should be excited and in command, not imagining hurling an elderly woman into a pit of feral weasels.

And yet that was her current state of mind after the earlier confrontation with the bloody dowager.

Arabella concentrated on taking slow, even breaths. Anger and frustration were two emotions, but there were others equally troublesome: hurt and fear. Hurt that no matter what she did, no matter how many lives she improved or donations she paid or parish schools she supplied…she would always be judged on her choice not to have children. Why were people so ridiculously bothered by others following a different path? And they always demanded a reason. A defense of the choice lest she be branded unfeminine or selfish or a child-hater. Apparently the truth, ‘I simply do not wish to be a mother’ wasn’t acceptable. It was altogether bloody unfair, because Nev felt exactly the same about fatherhood, but didn’t receive a tenth of the criticism she did.