tell her that he didn’t need her permission. Or agreement. But he’d rather have her approval, however grudging, if only to smooth Sophia’s entry into his world. “Mama, I would appreciate your blessing. You’ll like Sophia. She’s a modest girl and a sweet one.” And too easily biddable by someone as forcible as his mother.
For once, Max was glad his mama didn’t live in his house. “She is a competent manager and prettily behaved.”
“I cannot imagine how a woman of that background will manage in society. Will she expect me to sponsor her?” She sighed. “I suppose it is my duty.”
“Mama, I will give you your house back.” Expecting his mother’s opinion to change, he continued, warming to his subject. “I can reopen Devereaux Place, restore the parts we had to close down, and complete the others. Finally you can have the house you spent do long creating.”
She gave him a long unsmiling look. “I hope you haven’t entered into this bargain just for that.”
“No, Mama.” Not the response he’d hoped for.
All his mother needed to set off on a diatribe on the modern way of life that looked as if it might continue for some time.
Ten minutes in, Max had had enough. He recalled another factor. He hated appealing to his mother’s innate sense of superiority, but needs must, and he wanted her on Sophia’s side. “Sophia came out six years ago. Her mother was Lady Mary Howard of Lancashire, but the lady unfortunately died shortly after Sophia’s debut, and Sophia chose not to return to society.”
At least that nugget won a pause from her ladyship. “Nevertheless, how will she cope with court mantuas?” And she was off again.
Murmuring that he needed to make arrangements for his bride, Max excused himself and quit the room, but by then, Lady Devereaux barely noticed. She was well into a story about Lady Mary Wortley Montagu’s husband, who was a mere mister, and the marriage ultimately failed, and set fair to move on to others. He’d wager she’d almost forgotten his news but was enjoying reciting the choices pieces of gossip.
Footsteps behind him told him that Julius had also beaten a hasty retreat.
“A moment,” his cousin said in that clear, penetrating voice of his. “In here, if you can spare me a little time.”
He opened a door to one of the smaller rooms on this floor. Elegantly furnished for all its size, with gilded furniture and light blue upholstery. The walls held paintings, set in panels, of the four seasons. A room to make a person smile with pleasure. Max did not smile and followed Julius inside.
“Do you know of a man called John Hayes?” Julius asked.
A chill went through Max. What was this? “John Hayes is the man who used to work for my future father-in-law.”
“I know.” Julius folded his arms. “And something else, maybe?”
Max glared at him, thin-lipped, anger seeping through him. “He offered my betrothed an insult.”
“By which you mean he forced himself on her?”
If anyone but Julius had brought up this subject, Max would have denied everything and left. Julius wouldn’t have introduced the subject if he didn’t have a reason. “Where the hell did you hear that?”
Max quelled his anger and, with an effort, concentrated on what Julius was saying. “You know I hear them all. What actually happened is your concern and yours alone. If asked, I will of course deny it. But you don’t know everything about Hayes. You need to see something.”
His cousin strolled across to a bonheur du jour set by one paneled wall, shook back the lace at his wrists and opened a marquetry drawer, pulling out a piece of paper. He handed it to Max. “What do you make of this?”
Max glanced at the document, then, when he reached the signature at the bottom, his attention sharpened. He read it again. “A letter from Hayes to the Duke of Northwich,” he said. “What of it? It appears to be a standard business letter.”
“Did you know Russell had
For once, Max was glad his mama didn’t live in his house. “She is a competent manager and prettily behaved.”
“I cannot imagine how a woman of that background will manage in society. Will she expect me to sponsor her?” She sighed. “I suppose it is my duty.”
“Mama, I will give you your house back.” Expecting his mother’s opinion to change, he continued, warming to his subject. “I can reopen Devereaux Place, restore the parts we had to close down, and complete the others. Finally you can have the house you spent do long creating.”
She gave him a long unsmiling look. “I hope you haven’t entered into this bargain just for that.”
“No, Mama.” Not the response he’d hoped for.
All his mother needed to set off on a diatribe on the modern way of life that looked as if it might continue for some time.
Ten minutes in, Max had had enough. He recalled another factor. He hated appealing to his mother’s innate sense of superiority, but needs must, and he wanted her on Sophia’s side. “Sophia came out six years ago. Her mother was Lady Mary Howard of Lancashire, but the lady unfortunately died shortly after Sophia’s debut, and Sophia chose not to return to society.”
At least that nugget won a pause from her ladyship. “Nevertheless, how will she cope with court mantuas?” And she was off again.
Murmuring that he needed to make arrangements for his bride, Max excused himself and quit the room, but by then, Lady Devereaux barely noticed. She was well into a story about Lady Mary Wortley Montagu’s husband, who was a mere mister, and the marriage ultimately failed, and set fair to move on to others. He’d wager she’d almost forgotten his news but was enjoying reciting the choices pieces of gossip.
Footsteps behind him told him that Julius had also beaten a hasty retreat.
“A moment,” his cousin said in that clear, penetrating voice of his. “In here, if you can spare me a little time.”
He opened a door to one of the smaller rooms on this floor. Elegantly furnished for all its size, with gilded furniture and light blue upholstery. The walls held paintings, set in panels, of the four seasons. A room to make a person smile with pleasure. Max did not smile and followed Julius inside.
“Do you know of a man called John Hayes?” Julius asked.
A chill went through Max. What was this? “John Hayes is the man who used to work for my future father-in-law.”
“I know.” Julius folded his arms. “And something else, maybe?”
Max glared at him, thin-lipped, anger seeping through him. “He offered my betrothed an insult.”
“By which you mean he forced himself on her?”
If anyone but Julius had brought up this subject, Max would have denied everything and left. Julius wouldn’t have introduced the subject if he didn’t have a reason. “Where the hell did you hear that?”
Max quelled his anger and, with an effort, concentrated on what Julius was saying. “You know I hear them all. What actually happened is your concern and yours alone. If asked, I will of course deny it. But you don’t know everything about Hayes. You need to see something.”
His cousin strolled across to a bonheur du jour set by one paneled wall, shook back the lace at his wrists and opened a marquetry drawer, pulling out a piece of paper. He handed it to Max. “What do you make of this?”
Max glanced at the document, then, when he reached the signature at the bottom, his attention sharpened. He read it again. “A letter from Hayes to the Duke of Northwich,” he said. “What of it? It appears to be a standard business letter.”
“Did you know Russell had
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