“Mary.”
“Forget it, Gregory. I could use two weeks of peace and quiet to finalize this play. Don’t worry. When I see you next, I’ll treat you how you want to be treated.” After her pledge, she did something she had never done to him before, she bowed.
Then she turned on her heel and marched out of the room like the warrior she was.
Chapter 17
Gregoryhadbeensummonedto the parlor by his mother. She never did that. Suffice to say, as he trekked through the house to see her, he went through all the possibilities he could imagine. He was particularly terrified of and avoiding thoughts of her having received news from the physician of an unexpected decline in her health.
“Mother,” Gregory greeted her as he entered the parlor.
She sat ramrod straight on the couch looking out the mullioned windows. Matching the liveried footmen, the cerulean drapes were pulled and held open by gold cords and pooled loosely on either side. Without a response from her, Gregory would have thought she was intentionally ignoring his salutation, except that that was so unlike her, so he gave her the benefit of the doubt and assumed she was woolgathering.
Louder, he called, “Mother.”
She didn’t budge.
He studied her. This was the woman who knew him better than almost anyone, yet who he hardly knew. This was the woman who had borne two children, the first mild mannered and second to make up for it. This was the woman who had lost her husband, a love match if there ever was one, and still held herself together. She was the stalwart figure of hope and kindness, which was the reason he took her for granted. She would always be there, and if she wouldn’t, well he knew that end so avoided those thoughts altogether. If he had been a competitor, she would have been his most dedicated fan.
“Is it true?”
She still hadn’t turned to face him. At that moment, a footman carried in a tray with tea and scones. Gregory waited for him to set up the tea and leave before continuing the conversation. Private matters were not to be discussed in front of servants, though he knew it was probable that they overheard conversations of all matters in some manner.
Gregory’s brows leaned together, “Is what true?”
“Why did Mary leave?” She turned to face the tea tray and took the cup poured for her.
“She doesn’t live here.”
“For all intents and purposes, she does in fact.”
Gregory produced a mature harumph.
“Her parents are traveling and have instilled her care and protection with us for the season. Now, don’t toy with me any longer. Why did Mary leave?”
How could he explain to his mother that he had debauched their family friend of a decade and had no intention of taking the honorable path to protect her reputation? He could hardly explain it to himself except that he knew she wouldn’t accept anything less than her dream right now, and he was certainly not her dream. Maybe her desire, but that was purely physical. He couldn’t let this continue. He couldn’t marry her, she was everything he didn’t want in a wife.
“I asked a question, and I expect an answer. I will not repeat myself.”
This was the stern voice he rarely had to endure over the years. Typically discipline fell to his father, and even so, Gregory was not a willful child. He didn’t wreak havoc until adulthood, and by then, he was immune to parental censure.
But this tone and this request shamed him. Shamed him? He was an adult, in charge of his own life. He owed answers to no one. He was a duke.
“I asked her to leave for a while.” He didn't need to justify his actions. “I thought she would recover better in her own home,” but maybe a white lie would soften the blow. “With more familiarity and a staff not divided in their attentions. We have enough patients here needing recuperation.”
The scowl clearly relayed her suspicions.
“I don’t know what you’ve done,” she raised her hands to stop him from interrupting her tirade. In the pause, Gregory reflected on her hands. Hands that had held his fathers’ as the four of them took family walks on sunny afternoons. Hands that took flowers every week to his father’s gravesite. Hands could hold so much love and so much pain. Could his?
“I don’t care what you’ve done. She is family. She always has been and always will be.” Her voice lowered, “No matter what happens.”
She finally raised her eyes to meet his.
“Fix this.”
Gregory left the parlor to sit in the study. He poured himself a drink, realizing he hadn’t taken any tea and wishing he had. As he poured the swirling amber liquid into his glass, he reflected on his own hands. A flash of a memory stole into his mind. Mary held captive by the bookcase. Her reminding him that he couldn’t touch her. Other memories flashed across the amber liquid. His hands on the small of her back, crushing her against his body. He could feel himself harden at the memory and chose to drown the memory. Reliving the feel of her would do him no good.
***
