Chapter 8

Chapter 8

Richard dipped his quill in his ink and put it to the parchment when his mother walked into the study, quite without knocking. He gritted his teeth, resisting the urge to roll his eyes at her behaviour.

"You're to join Lady Rebecca and I for afternoon tea," she said simply. She stood in front of his desk, her index finger tapping down on the wood.

He looked up at her from beneath his brow, his quill hovering mid-air. She couldn't be serious! Sometimes, it felt like she had forgotten that he was a grown man—and a duke to boot!

"I am rather busy, Mother. Taking time out for our walk this morning has left me with quite a lot to catch up on."

"Nobody is ever too busy for tea," she said. "Besides, finding a wife is as important as anything else."

Richard didn't agree, but with a sigh, he returned the quill to the stand, clasped his hands over his stomach, and looked up at her. "While I appreciate your sentiment, Mother, I really do need to get on. A duke's work is never done."

She eyed his parchment, trying to read the numbers upside down. Richard put a sheet of blotting paper over the top. It wasn't that the figures were a secret, but the surreptitious ways she tried to read them instead of just asking him outright irritated him.

"But you do want to find yourself a wife, don't you?" she asked.

Richard bit the flesh inside his cheek. His mother had a clever way of making him feel small and insignificant, which always made him angry. Even when he was a small boy.

"I also want to ensure that we as a family remain financially sound. I likewise want to make sure the duchy runs smoothly and that the people are happy with the status quo . Is that all right with you, Mother? Do you consider those to be useless pursuits if one does not have a wife?"

She tutted, shaking her head. "There's no need for hyperbole. You are behaving poorly, Richard Kingsley. Why won't you listen to your mother?"

Richard sucked in the air, his nostrils flaring. Did she really have nothing better to do than berate and pester him? His control snapped, and he felt the redness of his hot temper descend upon him.

"Because you are an interfering old witch sometimes. Why can you not understand that I am busy?"

His mother's eyes widened, and she held her hands in the air. "Honestly, Richard. That temper of yours is getting worse by the day. There is no need to speak to me like that. I am your mother , or had you forgotten?"

Richard closed his eyes and sighed, forcing his irritation away. She was right. He'd always had a temper, but since becoming duke, he'd found it all the more difficult to control. It wasn't that he was a bad man, nor a particularly grumpy one.

It was that he cared too much. Whether it was his role as duke or his love for his family, he was defensive and only wanted the very best. He was, by nature, resilient and protective, and when he felt someone was interfering in his plan, his emotions sometimes got the better of him.

As much as he loved her, his dear mother had something of a habit of interfering. While he was certain it was because she wanted the best for him, he couldn't help finding her ways frustrating. Before he passed, his father often said the same thing, calling her a hen for the amount of times she pecked at him.

Still, he had to learn to control himself. It was unfair on everyone else if he did not.

"Yes," he said, the word coming out on a breath. "I'm sorry, Mother. It's just, you know how important my work is to me."

"Of course, sweetheart," his mother said with a bright smile, as if nothing had happened at all. She trailed her fingertips along the highly polished desk as she ambled over to the shelves. She touched a spine or two here, pursing her lips as if in thought. Then she looked over her shoulder at him and said, "But isn't finding a wife important too?"

That was the problem. Finding a wife was indeed important to him, and it had been one of his primary objectives. He'd been extremely serious about it, and that had pleased his mother. Why, it was the reason for Lady Rebecca's presence in the house at all. And Richard liked her. Or at least, he had liked her. Everything felt different now that Celestina was back in his life.

"Of course it is." He looked up at her with a smile as she returned to his desk. "I shall join you for tea. All right?"

At his acquiescence, she stood up straighter and smiled a little brighter. "Excellent! I'll see you downstairs in ten minutes then."

With that, she skipped happily from the room, her shoulders held high. Richard sighed, looking down at his unfinished ledger. He didn't want to admit it, but he suspected that had it been Celestina at tea and not Lady Rebecca, he would have been somewhat more enthusiastic.

But Lady Rebecca is perfectly sweet , he reminded himself. Why, only a week ago, she had seemed the best option among many. Indeed, he'd been eager to know her better. But now … well, now everything had changed.

With a sigh, he pushed himself out of the chair to go and join them for tea.

***

"Ah, there he is," his mother declared as he walked into the drawing room.

The tea set was already laid out on the table, along with a cake stand littered with far too much cake for the three of them, each cut into bite-sized chunks, just as his mother liked them.

Lady Rebecca sat demurely in the corner behind the table, three small cakes on the gold-rimmed plate in front of her. She smiled up at him, but what once he would have found pretty, he now found insipid. It was as if she had no personality of her own but was a mere puppet at his mother's disposal.

On the other hand, Lady Kingsley sat with her back to the window. It was a ploy she used often. With the sun streaming in behind her, it darkened her profile so that people had to squint to see her. It gave her a sense of power and mystery that she rather enjoyed. It irritated Richard that she had decided to use it with him as if she didn't have enough control in his household as it was.

"Here I am," he replied with the best smile he could muster. "Pulled away from my work by the lure of tea and cake."

"An excellent reason for a break if ever there was one," Lady Rebecca said. "The lemon cake is especially delicious today."

"It's one of Mrs Johnson's specialties," his mother said, leaning over conspiratorially. "We are lucky to have one of the best cooks in England here at Exeter House."

Richard pulled out a chair and sat down just as the maid poured him a cup of tea. "Do you remember the cakes Mrs Everton used to make when I was a boy?" he said to his mother. "She made a wonderful lemon cake, too. They were always Celestina's favorite." He chuckled, lost in the memory.

"Lemon is my favourite, too," Lady Rebecca said, bringing Richard back into the room.

"Is it?" he asked. "I prefer honey cake myself. The boys at Eton always used to steal them for me."

"Let's not focus on the past, shall we?" his mother said. She took one of the tiny cakes, then cut it into even tinier pieces with a knife, which she proceeded to feed into her mouth with such delicacy that she might as well have been a doll.

"I quite agree," Lady Rebecca said. "The future is far more exciting."

Richard wondered what Celestina's future would look like now that her husband had left her destitute. How would she survive? Would she have to turn her hand to work? He bit his lip as the thoughts tumbled over one another. He only wished she would accept his offer of help. He worried for her, even though he knew she would hate that.

"Richard? Are you even listening?"

"What? Oh!" He blinked, finding himself once more in the drawing room, his teacup half raised to his face. "I'm sorry. I quite drifted off there. What were you saying?"

"Poor Richard," his mother said, glancing awkwardly at Lady Rebecca. "He works so very hard, you see. It's no wonder he sometimes can't keep his mind on the task at hand."

"I was saying how much I'd like to travel in the future," Lady Rebecca said, leaning over her teacup.

"Though that might be difficult with young children, of course," Lady Kingsley retorted.

"Celestina always wanted to travel," he said before shaking his head. "Again, please accept my apologies. I'm not sure where that came from."

His mother tried to chuckle, but it came across as discomfort. "I thought we agreed to leave the past behind?" she asked.

"We did." Richard forced himself to smile again, then leaned forward and selected a bit of the now-famed lemon cake. He chewed it thoughtfully. "Huh. You were quite right. This really is very delicious."

"Did you expect anything else?" his mother asked. "Lady Rebecca already told you as much."

"Of course."

The conversation slipped into an uncomfortable silence. Richard shifted in his seat. His mother cleared her throat. Poor Lady Rebecca stared down at her plate.

"Oh, there's a production of King Lear on at Drury Lane next weekend. I've heard it's wonderful," Lady Rebecca said.

Richard looked up at her gratefully for injecting a little energy and colour into the room.

"King Lear is one of my all-time favourites," he replied brightly. "It's been a while since I attended a production of it."

"Well, then we should go," his mother said.

He squinted at her shadow and smiled. "I think that's an excellent idea. What do you say, My Lady?"

"I shall have to check. I don't have any other prior engagements," Lady Rebecca replied, though Richard could already see that she was going to say yes. She wouldn't have brought it up otherwise.

"Very well," he replied. It was then that a memory entered his mind, and he smiled. "Once, many years ago, Celestina and I were going to the thea—"

"For goodness' sake!" his mother cried, throwing her cotton napkin onto the table. "Honestly, Richard. Do we really have to keep hearing that woman's name?"

Richard pulled himself away from her, blinking at her in shock. It was not that she was reprimanding him—she did that often enough that he was used to it. But to speak in such a manner in front of guests was unusual. She was normally the perfect host, and it was rare that she would find herself criticizing him in front of a guest who might one day become his wife. That was her goal, after all.

"I'm sorry, Mother. Have I upset you?" he asked.

She narrowed her eyes at him. "We are here at tea with Lady Rebecca . I would have thought you would do her the honour of at least not mentioning your childhood friend so often."

"It's called conversation, Mother," he retorted. "How else are two people meant to get to know one another if there is no conversation?"

"Converse all you like, but please, Richard! Stop talking about Celestina Thorpe."

"Courtenay," he corrected, staring at her still in disbelief.

"Exactly," she cried. "The woman is married!"

"Her husband has just died, Mother. Have a heart."

Lady Rebecca cleared her throat as if to remind them that she was still in the room. When Richard glanced at her, she was dabbing the corners of her mouth with her napkin, her wide eyes on the plate once more.

"I am sorry, My Lady," Richard said—and it was true. He was sorry. He didn't want to put anyone in an uncomfortable position, least of all her. But with Celestina on his mind, he couldn't focus, and he didn't understand why his mother was being so cruel.

"Whatever for?" Lady Rebecca replied with a false brightness. It was a lie that she hadn't noticed their bickering, but a polite one at least.

"Excuse my son," Lady Kingsley said.

Richard came to a realization then. He didn't want to be here. He didn't want to sit and listen to his mother and Rebecca, nor did he want to find a conversation where there was none—and he most definitely did not want to censor his thoughts. He put his teacup down with a clatter, then pushed his chair back so fast that it scraped noisily over the wooden floor.

"As delightful as today has been, ladies, I really ought to get on," he said.

He turned and walked out before his mother could try to convince him otherwise. It was simply no good sitting around and doing nothing, not when Celestina was in so much trouble. He headed towards the stables. He would go and see her again, and this time, he would insist that she accept his help.