sat down in a Chippendale chair, her gown draping haphazardly over the arms. Michael thought the gasp was in response to seeing the yellowing bruise.
“That’s almost five years!” Lady Cunningham whispered, her despair apparent in her voice and her slumping shoulders.
The bruise obviously didn’t matter to her in the least.
“As I said, it might be before, but you must allow me time to build my own fortune, since it is apparent you will spend all of father’s before he dies,” Michael accused with just a hint of amusement, one gloved hand still holding her hand.
His mother gasped, her mouth opened quite wide and her eyes looking a bit like daggers. “I assure you, my dear son. He can afford my little indulgences,” she countered defensively before seeing the gleam in her son’s eyes. She sat up straighter, suddenly aware of the nature of her son’s comment. “You are teasing me,” she accused then, her mouth pressed into a thin line as she tried not to smile in turn.
“And I must ask that I be allowed to marry whomever I wish, even if she is not of the ton ,” Michael added, thinking that to make clear the terms of the deal now would absolve him of having to attend the Marriage Mart in the future.
Gasping again, Lady Cunningham pulled her hand from his grasp. “But, she must be!” the woman insisted, her face reddening again.
Michael sighed, knowing he had the perfect response for that demand. “May I remind you, Mother, that you were not?” he countered quietly, hoping she would simply drop the subject.
Even when he was a child, Michael Cunningham knew his father loved his mother, knew his father had defied his own father by marrying Elizabeth Williams, the daughter of a gentleman engaged in trade. Although it was a lucrative business involving expensive goods imported from the Colonies, it was trade none the less. But his mother had quickly learned everything she needed to know to be a viscountess, and before long, she was accepted by the ton as if she was one of their own.
“When you marry, Michael, and if she is not a daughter of a peer, I do hope she’ll have a rather large dowry to make up for it. And if she is a daughter of the ton , I do hope she will help raise your station in life,” Lady Cunningham stated in a quiet voice.
Michael nodded before he replayed her words in his head. He couldn’t help but notice that neither scenario included another possibility.
What about marrying a woman because he felt affection for her? Because she felt affection for him in return? Wasn’t that an option? Didn’t anyone in the ton marry for love these days? Or were all marriages simply unions of convenience? Or inconvenience? he thought as he remembered what had happened to cousin Colette. At least her dowry hadn’t been wasted on a rake who would no doubt spend it at gaming hell tables.
He was about to ask his mother when he realized his mother wasn’t finished imparting her wisdom.
“And whatever the terms of your marriage agreement,” his mother continued, not noticing his furrowed brows as he tried to consider other marriage scenarios. “Please, honor your vows and quit your mistresses,” she pleaded as tears threatened to escape the corners of her eyes.
Michael’s eyes widened. “What mistresses?” he countered in surprise, wondering how she might be left with the impression he could afford such an indulgence. Or indulgences? he amended when he realized what she’d said. What man besides the most well-off aristocrat could afford more than one mistress?
Having a mistress meant having the blunt to cover the rent for a townhouse in Mayfair, not to mention pin money and modistes and tickets for the theatre. And jewelry! Just last week, he had overheard an earl complaining about his monthly bill at Rundell and Bridge and the amount of time he was spending making trips to Ludgate Hill.
At no point in his life did Michael expect he would ever be able to afford the cost of a mistress.
“That’s almost five years!” Lady Cunningham whispered, her despair apparent in her voice and her slumping shoulders.
The bruise obviously didn’t matter to her in the least.
“As I said, it might be before, but you must allow me time to build my own fortune, since it is apparent you will spend all of father’s before he dies,” Michael accused with just a hint of amusement, one gloved hand still holding her hand.
His mother gasped, her mouth opened quite wide and her eyes looking a bit like daggers. “I assure you, my dear son. He can afford my little indulgences,” she countered defensively before seeing the gleam in her son’s eyes. She sat up straighter, suddenly aware of the nature of her son’s comment. “You are teasing me,” she accused then, her mouth pressed into a thin line as she tried not to smile in turn.
“And I must ask that I be allowed to marry whomever I wish, even if she is not of the ton ,” Michael added, thinking that to make clear the terms of the deal now would absolve him of having to attend the Marriage Mart in the future.
Gasping again, Lady Cunningham pulled her hand from his grasp. “But, she must be!” the woman insisted, her face reddening again.
Michael sighed, knowing he had the perfect response for that demand. “May I remind you, Mother, that you were not?” he countered quietly, hoping she would simply drop the subject.
Even when he was a child, Michael Cunningham knew his father loved his mother, knew his father had defied his own father by marrying Elizabeth Williams, the daughter of a gentleman engaged in trade. Although it was a lucrative business involving expensive goods imported from the Colonies, it was trade none the less. But his mother had quickly learned everything she needed to know to be a viscountess, and before long, she was accepted by the ton as if she was one of their own.
“When you marry, Michael, and if she is not a daughter of a peer, I do hope she’ll have a rather large dowry to make up for it. And if she is a daughter of the ton , I do hope she will help raise your station in life,” Lady Cunningham stated in a quiet voice.
Michael nodded before he replayed her words in his head. He couldn’t help but notice that neither scenario included another possibility.
What about marrying a woman because he felt affection for her? Because she felt affection for him in return? Wasn’t that an option? Didn’t anyone in the ton marry for love these days? Or were all marriages simply unions of convenience? Or inconvenience? he thought as he remembered what had happened to cousin Colette. At least her dowry hadn’t been wasted on a rake who would no doubt spend it at gaming hell tables.
He was about to ask his mother when he realized his mother wasn’t finished imparting her wisdom.
“And whatever the terms of your marriage agreement,” his mother continued, not noticing his furrowed brows as he tried to consider other marriage scenarios. “Please, honor your vows and quit your mistresses,” she pleaded as tears threatened to escape the corners of her eyes.
Michael’s eyes widened. “What mistresses?” he countered in surprise, wondering how she might be left with the impression he could afford such an indulgence. Or indulgences? he amended when he realized what she’d said. What man besides the most well-off aristocrat could afford more than one mistress?
Having a mistress meant having the blunt to cover the rent for a townhouse in Mayfair, not to mention pin money and modistes and tickets for the theatre. And jewelry! Just last week, he had overheard an earl complaining about his monthly bill at Rundell and Bridge and the amount of time he was spending making trips to Ludgate Hill.
At no point in his life did Michael expect he would ever be able to afford the cost of a mistress.
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