“Hmm.” Lady Bradenton’s eyes narrowed to slits. “Are you in any sort of trouble, girl?”
She was asking if Hattie was pregnant.“No,”Hattie said emphatically. “I am an honest woman and I am honestly working to provide for myself. I don’t see anything to be suspicious about.”
“Oh dear,” Lord Iddesleigh muttered.
“I didn’t say there was,” Lady Bradenton said. “But I find itodd.”
“Yes, yes, odd and all that,” Lord Iddesleigh chimed in. “But she’s very good, madam, and as you explained to me, you need a good Christian woman to act as your secretary. Well, here is one. Will you employ her?”
“I don’t care if she’s Christian or not,” Lady Bradenton said, sounding perturbed by the assumption. “I care that she doesn’t steal from me.”
That was enough. Hattie stood up. “Thank you for your time, my lady.”
“Miss Woodchurch,” Iddesleigh said, and then to Lady Bradenton, “Lady Bradenton, I must insist you show a bit of respect. She’s given you no reason to suspect her, and I would not introduce a thief to you.”
Lady Bradenton groaned, then waved a hand at Hattie. “Sit down, sit down.” When Hattie didn’t move, the old woman sighed. “I apologize. I am without companions and my mind has turned to dust. Of course I don’t think you’d steal from me.”
That was better, but still, Hattie hesitated. Lady Bradenton did not seem an easy woman. But what choice did she have? None. No choice at all. Still, she would not stand for this woman’s disdain. She slowly sat. “Shall we begin again?”
The woman smiled a very little bit. “Yes, let’s.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
THEDINNERWITHthe Raneys went precisely as Mateo assumed it would. They put on quite a display for his benefit—liveried footmen, fine wine, a meal of soup, roasted stuffed goose, brussels sprouts, a Battenberg cake, and a selection of cheeses. The wine was French, Lord Raney said. “I tried to procure a bottle of Santiavan wine, but it is not readily available. Perhaps we can change that in the future.” He winked at Mateo, as if they were already conspirators in the pursuit of profit.
His mother was alive this evening, undoubtedly smelling victory. She dominated the conversation, chatting about her many travels and engaging Miss Raney in talk of all the places she would like to visit one day.
Miss Raney was lovely. She was dressed in a soft green gown and had her hair done up with pearls. She said she would be honored to travel anywhere her future husband might like, but that Paris sounded divine. She was demure and polished, refined and cultured. A perfect candidate for duchess.
Mateo preferred a duchess who was not afraid to speak her true feelings.
Still, he studied her as surreptitiously as he could manage. She was a perfectly fine match...but he wasn’t engaged. He wasn’t curious at all. And he was certain he could not simply force himself to love a woman he felt nothing for.
When at long last he and his mother took their leave—she tended to overstay her welcome—Lord Raney asked when he might see Mateo again. He was asking when Mateo would come and ask for his daughter’s hand in marriage. “I will call this week,” Mateo assured him.
“I should hope so, young man,” his lordship said grandly, and clapped his hand on Mateo’s shoulder. “I have a very good feeling about you.” He and his wife were beaming. Flora was smiling, too, but her smile was different than her parents’ smiles. She didn’t seem as enthusiastic. If he had to guess, he would say that was because she couldn’t make sense of him. He was used to that.
In the carriage home, his mother acted as if the offer had already been made and told him she was so very happy for him. “And soproud,mijo.”
“Proud?” he asked curiously. “Because I will offer marriage for a woman I have no attachment to and scarcely know?”
She clucked her tongue at him. “I don’t know why you make things so difficult. You’vealwaysmade everything so difficult!” she complained as they pulled up in front of the Abbott house on Grosvenor Square.
“It’s interesting, isn’t it, how two people can view the same thing and see something so vastly different. For me, it seems the other way around.”
His mother gaped at him. “For the love of God, am I supposed to wait for you to come down off the mountain and open your mouth and speak to a woman? Your father always said there was something peculiar about you, and I am beginning to think he was right.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Well, what was he to think, Mateo? You never showed any interest in the fairer sex.”
Mateo should have been stunned, but he wasn’t, considering the low regard his father had had for him. “On the contrary, Mami—I have always had a very healthy interest in the fairer sex. But I had no interest at all in the meddlesome ways of my parents. I kept my thoughts to myself.”
She gaped at him. “Mateo, darling!” she said, realizing she had offended him.
“Good night.” He leaped from the carriage and strode inside, leaving Borerro to escort her in.
That night, Mateo tossed and turned. This was not what he wanted. He had no desire for Miss Raney. He hated that he had such difficulty saying what he wanted. How long would he be ruled by the vague fear of censure and criticism? He was a grown man, his father long gone. He was the bloody duke, for God’s sake, and yet, he couldn’t seem to find his voice. Was he content to spend his life in the mountains, away from the pressures of his title and fear of criticism? Was he content to be married to a woman he didn’t love?
