Say You Love Me (10 page)

He imagined his uncles—Edward, James, and Anthony—felt the same way, having each been raised at Haverston. His cousin Regina had also been raised there, having come to live at Haverston after her parents died. In fact, Reggie, only four years younger, was more like Derek’s sister, the two of them having grown up at Haverston together.

Derek had arrived in the middle of the night. He’d taken one of the horses from his stable, rather than the carriage, to expedite the trip. And he’d been damn tempted to wake his father to find out what he’d been summoned for. But the appalled look on the face of the footman who’d let him in, when he’d asked “I
don’t suppose you’d care to go wake m’father?” had sent him off to his old room instead to await the morning.

And calmer reasoning surmised that that had been the proper thing to do. After all, if he’d been called home to get the roof dropped on his head, annoying his father even more by waking him would just make that roof a bit heavier. Not that he could think of anything he’d done recently that would have Jason up in arms. In fact, he couldn’t come up with a single thing to account for this summons.

Of course, Jason Malory didn’t need a specific reason to summon a member of his family to him. He was the oldest living Malory, which made him head of the family, and it was his habit to bring the family to him, rather than vice versa, whether he just wished to chat or impart some information—or drop the roof. That Derek had other things on his agenda, in particular, a fascinating woman who was just waiting for him to bed her, wasn’t the least bit pertinent. When Jason demanded your presence, you went. It was that simple.

So Derek waited until morning. But he was downstairs and looking for his father not an hour after dawn. He ran into Molly first, which wasn’t surprising. Molly always seemed to know when he was visiting, and always made a point of seeking him out to welcome him home. It had become such a habit that if he didn’t see her on one of his visits he’d think something was wrong.

Molly Fletcher was an exceptionally pretty
woman of middle years, with ashen blond hair and large brown eyes, who’d worked her way up from being a downstairs maid to the top honor in the servants’ hierarchy, being Haverston’s housekeeper for the last twenty years. She’d worked hard to better herself over the years, too, getting rid of the cockney accent that Derek could remember her having when he’d been a child, and developing a calm composure that would do credit to a saint.

And like every other female in the house, from the cook right down to the laundress, Molly had always treated both Derek and Reggie in a motherly fashion, imparting advice, caution, scoldings, and concern as she saw fit.

That, of course, was a natural result of there not being a true mother figure present when the two children had needed one. Jason had done his duty and married his wife, Frances, for just that reason, to give the two tykes a mother.

Unfortunately, he hadn’t got what he’d bargained for. Lady Frances turned out to be a sickly woman who insisted on taking the water cures at Bath so frequently that she was away to Bath much more often than she was ever at home. She was a nice enough woman, Derek supposed, if a bit on the nervous side, but no one in the family had ever gotten to know her very well.

He’d often wondered if even Jason knew her well, or if he cared to. They were such a mismatched pair, Frances so thin and pale and jittery, Jason so big, robust, and blustery. And
Derek couldn’t ever recall hearing a tender word pass between them when they were together. Not that it was any of his business. He’d just always felt a little sorry for his father, for the bargain he’d made in Frances.

Molly had come up quietly behind Derek while he was peering into his father’s empty study. Her “Welcome home, Derek” had given him a start, but he turned to bestow a fond smile on her.

“G’morning, Molly, luv. I don’t suppose you’d know where m’father is this bright and early?”

“Certainly,” she said.

And come to think of it, she always knew where anyone was in the house at any given time. Derek couldn’t imagine how she managed that, as big as the house was and with as many servants as it had, but she did somehow. Perhaps it was just that she knew where everyone was
supposed
to be, and with her calm but firm control of the entire household, no one dared be somewhere else without letting her know.

“He’s in the conservatory this morning,” she continued. “Puttering with his winter roses and having fits because they aren’t blooming on
his
time schedule—or so the gardener tells me,” she added with a smile.

Derek chuckled. Horticulture was one of his father’s hobbies, and he took it very seriously. He’d travel clear to Italy if he happened to hear of a new specimen he might be able to obtain for his garden.

“Would you also happen to know what I’ve been summoned home for?”

Molly shook her head. “Come now, why would I be privy to his personal business?” she gently chided. Then she winked and whispered in an aside, “But I can say that he hasn’t been ranting and raving this week over anything in particular that I’ve heard about—aside from the roses.”

Derek grinned in relief and resisted the urge to hug her—for all of five seconds. She oofed at his squeeze and said, “Here, now, none of that. Can’t be giving the servants the wrong idea.”

He laughed and swatted her on her backside before sauntering down the hall, shouting over his shoulder so every servant within a five-room radius was bound to hear him, “And here I thought it was already a well-known fact that I love you to distraction, Molly! But if not, I’ll keep it a secret if you insist!”

And that had her blushing furiously even as she smiled after him, more love in her brown eyes for the charming rascal than should have been there, though she quickly got those motherly feelings under control and went about her morning business.

The conservatory, constantly filled beyond its capacity over the years, had finally been moved away from the house several years before. Behind the stables now, it was a huge glass-roofed building, nearly the length again of the main house and rectangular in shape.
Its two longest walls were also mostly glass, and in the winter especially, they were usually clouded with moisture from the humidity within, caused by dozens of braziers scattered about and kept burning day and night.

Derek was slinging off his jacket as soon as he stepped inside, the heavy scent of flowers, earth, and fertilizer overpowering. And it was a chore finding his father in such a mammoth place, when there were usually a half dozen gardeners also present.

But he did finally locate the rose beds—and Jason Malory, bent over some exquisite white blooms that he’d been transplanting. A stranger would be hard-pressed to deduce that this was the Marquis of Haverston, with his shirtsleeves rolled up, a fine coating of dirt up to his elbows, splotches of it on his shirt—another white lawn shirt ruined beyond redemption—and a streak across his damp forehead from when he’d absentmindedly wiped the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand.

He was big, blond, and green-eyed, as were most of the Malorys. Only a select few had the black hair and cobalt-blue eyes of Derek’s great-grandmother. She was reputed to have Gypsy blood, though neither Jason, nor any of his brothers, had ever confirmed this.

Derek had to clear his throat a couple of times to announce his presence, Jason was so consumed with his task. But when the big man finally turned to him, his handsome face lit up in a smile, and he gave every indication that he was about to hug his son in greeting.

Derek jumped back, put up a hand with an appalled expression. “If you don’t mind, I’ve already had my bath for the day.”

Jason glanced down at himself and chuckled. “Point taken. But it’s good to see you, lad. You don’t visit often enough these days.”

“And you don’t come to London often enough,” Derek countered.

“True.”

Jason shrugged and headed for a nearby water pump to thrust his arms into the filled tub beneath it, dozens of watering cans stacked all around it. The closest flowers got an extra spray as he shook the water off in their direction.

“Business—and weddings—are about all that can drag me to that congested city,” Jason added.

“I rather like the congestion m’self.”

Jason snorted. “Spoken like any young pup, with the amusements that can be found there. You’re taking after my brothers James and Tony in that respect.”

There was censure in that remark, however lightly phrased, but not enough to cause Derek alarm. “But they’re
married
,” he replied with feigned horror. “Egad, I certainly hope I haven’t fallen into
that
trap without noticing.”

“You
know
what I meant,” Jason grumbled, his expression going stern.

The nice thing about being the son of the austere, serious-minded head of the family was not having to curb the urge to tease or banter with him, as other members of the fam
ily might do. Derek had learned at an early age that his father might always give the appearance of being stern, but his bark was most times much worse than his bite, at least where Derek was concerned.

Derek grinned unabashedly. After all, who didn’t know that James and Anthony Malory had been two of London’s most notorious rakes, and neither of them had settled down until they were in their mid-thirties.

“’Course I do,” Derek said, still grinning. “And when I’m their age, I’ll likely have made you a grandfather twice over. But that’s a ways off, and until then, I rather like following in their footsteps—without the scandals they were known to create, of course.”

Jason sighed. He’d raised the subject, and as usual, Derek had lightly sidestepped it. So he got on to the matter at hand.

“I expected you yesterday.”

“I was on the way to Bridgewater yesterday. Your messenger had to track me down there, and as it happens, he arrived just as I did, not giving me time to even grab a bite to eat before I had to leave again to get here.”

“Bridgewater, eh? So you
are
keeping abreast of your properties. Couldn’t tell it, according to Bainsworth. Had a missive from him that he’s been trying to reach you for a week with no luck. Claims the matter is urgent. That’s why I sent for you.”

Derek frowned. It was true he hadn’t gone through his mail recently, but with the season being in full bloom and with so many invita
tions coming in, the huge pile had proven too daunting. However, he didn’t like the idea that Bainsworth was still running to Jason with any problems that arose. The properties in the north that Bainsworth managed had been signed over to Derek. His father no longer had any dealings with them.

“Perhaps it’s time I hired my own secretary. But Bainsworth, as I’m sure you remember from your own experience, can get excited over the smallest mishap. Did he happen to mention what he considered urgent?”

“Something about an offer that was submitted to buy the mill, with a time limit on it, which was why he was desperate to locate you.”

Derek swore under his breath. “Perhaps it’s time I found a new manager as well. The mill isn’t for sale. Bainsworth
knows
that.”

“Not even for a
very
lucrative offer?”

“Not for twice what it’s worth. Not for any reason,” Derek said emphatically. “I didn’t accept the properties to turn around and sell them off.”

Jason smiled and clapped him on the back. “Glad to hear it, lad. Truth to tell, with the man coming to me, I thought it might be an offering you were aware of, so I didn’t think it could wait until I saw you later in the week at the wedding. But now we’ve had this little chat, I’ll know better next time—if there is a next time.”

“There won’t be,” Derek assured him as they headed toward the exit together.

“Speaking of weddings—”

Derek chuckled. “We were speaking of weddings?”

“Well, if we weren’t,” Jason grumbled, “we ought to be, with Amy’s wedding only four days away.”

“Will Frances show up, d’you think?”

That Derek referred to his stepmother by her given name wasn’t a matter of disrespect. It was merely that it had always felt bloody awkward calling her “Mother,” when he barely knew her.

Jason shrugged. “Who knows what my wife will do. God knows I don’t,” he said with marked indifference. “But you know, son, it occurred to me the other day that my brother Edward, younger than me, is seeing his third child married this week, while I—”

“He’s marrying off his third
girl
,” Derek was quick to cut in, knowing full well where his father would like to lead this discussion. “His boys ain’t getting leg-shackled yet. And that’s quite a difference there, when girls do get married right out of the schoolroom, but boys bloody well don’t.”

Jason sighed again, having that line of reasoning thwarted. “Just seemed…unbalanced there.”

“Father, you have only one son. If you’d had more, or some daughters, I’m sure you’d have most of them married off by now too. But don’t compare one child to Uncle Edward’s brood of five.”

“I know I shouldn’t.”

They fell silent on the walk back to the house. And it wasn’t until they’d reached the breakfast room, where an assortment of dishes was being kept warm on the sideboard awaiting their arrival, that Derek’s curiosity got the better of him.

“Do you
really
want to be a grandfather already?”

Jason was startled by the question, but after giving it a moment’s thought, he said, “Yes, actually, I do.”

Derek grinned. “Very well, I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Excellent, but—ah, don’t be following in James’s footsteps in that regard too. The bloody wedding is supposed to come first, the babies after.”

Derek laughed, not because James Malory’s daughter had been born less than nine months after his wedding but because it was a rare occurrence indeed to see his father blushing, and he knew why he was in this case. Having made that statement, Jason had realized immediately his faux pas. Derek was a bastard, after all, and there wasn’t anyone who knew the Malorys who wasn’t aware of that fact.