He checked his desk where another missive for the widow awaited delivery. A new appreciation for correspondence was forming. With Mrs. Chatham as his recipient, the chore was fun. Hadn’t she pointed out his need for more fun? He’d risen early and labored over three drafts before perfecting his message in this latest edition.
The balled-up rejections sat in the hearth. The dowager followed his sightline to those half-burned offerings, eyeing them keenly when she asked, “What are your intentions with her?”
He stilled as a poacher would when caught by a sheriff. Excess warmth gathered under the knotted neck cloth Simms had perfected. He was tempted to run a finger between its tightness and his skin.
“You speak of Mrs. Chatham.”
“Are we discussing anyone else?”
It was on the tip of his tongue to mention Lady Jacintha, but his mother was testy this morning. If she didn’t want to discuss the earl’s daughter, he saw no need to encourage that conversation. Taking a deep breath, he braced himself. The topic of their neighbor would be tetchy enough.
“I’m assuming her remedy worked?” Azure eyes speared him. The dowager was hunting for information. Did she suspect more had happened?
“As you witnessed last night eve. My stride was fluid.”
She nodded thoughtfully, her scanty brows pressing together. She searched the room from her grand perch as if the walls and furniture would speak. He was blessedly thankful they couldn’t.
Pushing upright, he dropped the serviette on his plate. “There is something I need to tell you.” Hands clasped behind his back, he paced a line to the mantle. “I have developed deep affections for Mrs. Chatham.”
The dowager’s head turned sharply toward him. Faintly painted lips firmed.
He and the widow had voiced their attraction in this room and sealed it with a kiss.
“I am going to ask her to marry me.” He’d tried last night and failed. His mother didn’t need that detail.
“Today?”
“Yes.”
She sighed a great gust of air. “Finally.”
For the second time that morning, he couldn’t move. Both times, his mother was the source of his befuddlement. She popped off the settee with startling energy and bestowed a relieved smile on him.
“I was worried you were considering asking her to be your mistress.”
“Mother!” he gasped.
“I don’t mean to be indelicate—”
“Then don’t be.” His stern tone earned a healthy pause.
The dowager was subdued, folding her hands together, wringing them ever so slightly. “Charlotte is my friend,” she said quietly. “Her good nature saved me more times than I can count.” The hand wringing slowed, and when his mother looked at him, light showed her age. Hurt etched the sides of her mouth and skin beneath her eyes. “I’ve known for a long time the two of you harbored an attraction for each other.”
“You have?”
The dowager rolled her eyes. Would wonders never cease?
“Give me some credit, my dear.” How sagacious, his mother. She smiled blandly at him with the tolerance one would give a dull pupil.
“Then you support my marrying her even though she’s…” He let his words trail because it was his turn to avoid being indelicate.
“I support your decision with all my heart. She will be exactly what Richland Hall needs. Her joy. Her laughter.” Hands fluttering, she tittered softly. “I can’t think of a better pairing of two souls. Opposite in many ways, yet a perfect, perfect fit in character and temperament.”
“You say this despite the fact she can’t…” He considered the carpet. Last night’s learned lesson was to speak the truth, and do it he would—as delicately as possible. “Despite the fact that she may never bear a child.”
“I have three more sons to carry on the Richland name.” A contemplative shadow flitted across her face. “This past year taught me that we must seize happiness because what we hold dear can be taken from us in the blink of an eye.”
The room was brighter for the honesty shared. It was a gift, adding dimension to their love. He strolled to his desk, plucked the folded letter from a mass of papers, and held it over his heart. Laughing gently for the sheer joy of it, he acknowledged another truth: love was softening him.
“You’ll have some convincing to do,” his mother said behind him. “A woman who can’t have a child carries a unique wound.”
“I know.” He’d love Charlotte Chatham through her trials as he suspected she’d love him through his.
Beyond the bank of imperious windows lining his wall, he spied his brothers emerging from the woods. They must already have finished their jaunt to the Roman folly. Their affection and brotherly camaraderie were dear to him. It was his place to lead their family now, and he’d do that by demonstrating love and fidelity.
Tucking the missive into his coat pocket, he was ready. It was time to launch the charge and win Mrs. Chatham’s heart once and for all.
CHAPTER 10
