The Pursuit Of Marriage (5 page)

Perhaps he should give up the idea of love in a marriage and simply look for a suitable wife. There were any number of prospects. Marcus was right; Reggie was considered an excellent match. Still, there was something that struck him as vaguely unsavory about the idea of marriage for the sake of marriage alone, without a semblance of affection or, better yet, love. He wanted what he had seen in the happy marriage of his parents. His father had been gone for nearly a dozen years now, yet Reggie could still remember the relationship his parents had shared. The secret smiles, the private glances, the obvious affection, and the devastating sorrow his mother had endured upon his father’s death. He wanted what his friends had. Marcus and his wife had not started out on the best of terms. Indeed, their nuptials had been predicated on the threat of financial disaster, but love had swiftly followed. Or his friend the Marquess of Helmsley, who had had no intention of marrying at all but had originally been trying to find a suitable match elsewhere for the lady who ultimately claimed his heart. Was happiness in marriage so much to ask for?

Perhaps it was, at least for him. Perhaps he should simply content himself with what was achievable. Certainly he could make a suitable match this very season. He could have his pick of eligible young ladies, and affection, possibly even love, might come with time.

“Forgive me for interrupting your contemplation,” Marcus said, “but where precisely are we going?”

“Where?” Reggie pulled up short and looked around. They had reached the road. He hadn’t even noticed. “I grant you it might well take a lengthy, meandering walk across the countryside to resolve the various quandaries of your life, but I suspect it cannot be accomplished in a mere morning.” Marcus studied him thoughtfully. “I must admit I find these rare introspective moments of yours most unnerving. It is not in your nature.”

“My apologies,” Reggie said wryly.

“Think nothing of it.” Marcus shrugged in an overly gracious manner, then sobered. “I wish you would see yourself as others see you, old friend. You never have, you know.”

Reggie considered the earl for a long moment. Marcus knew him better than anyone but on this he was mistaken. Reggie had a very realistic view of who and what he was. He had a fine title, a nice fortune, and he was not unattractive. But when all was said and done, there was really little out of the ordinary about him. In an opera, he would be a voice in the chorus. On stage, a bit player. In a novel, a minor character. It was the lot he’d drawn in life, his nature as it were.

And his nature was not given to brooding.

He smiled slowly. “You have always been prone to pronouncements of an analytical nature, Marcus, but never this early in the day.”

Marcus stared for a moment, as if debating his next words, then smiled. “I don’t know what came over me. I shall have to watch myself in the future.

“As for now.” Marcus nodded at the gathering they had left behind. The crowd milled around the tables, laughter and the sounds of good cheer drifted on the breeze. “I, for one, am hungry and curious as to the whereabouts of my wife. I suggest we return to the festivities. Besides,” he grinned wickedly, “there may well be any number of young ladies waiting to fall at the feet of the victorious Lord Berkley.”

“The victorious infamous Lord Berkley, if you please.” Reggie laughed and Marcus joined him. They started back toward the gathering, side by side, much as they had done everything in their lives. Why not savor this moment of triumph? Reggie had won the race, after all, and he deserved to take some pleasure in it beyond his winnings. The oddest sensation of satisfaction filled him. He might well be an ordinary sort of man, but he might also be the only one who knew it. For the moment, at least, he was the infamous Lord Berkley, and he might as well enjoy it.

Three

Mothers are the givers of life, the bearers of heritage and for all of that, should be treasured and revered. They are also, more often than not, a necessary evil.

Marcus, Earl of Pennington

“W hat on earth took you so long? I thought you’d be home hours ago.”

“Did you?” Reggie absently handed his hat and gloves to the butler, Higgins, who had been with Reggie’s family, in one position or another, for as long as Reggie could remember. He glanced up at his younger sister.

Lucy swept down the curved stairway that dominated the foyer of Berkley House with the dramatic flair of an accomplished actress or a sixteen-year-old girl tottering far too eagerly on the brink of womanhood.

“You have no idea what I’ve been going through.” Lucy leaned against the newel post, heaved a theatrical sigh, and placed the back of her hand against her forehead. “It’s been dreadful, simply dreadful.”

Reggie slanted a questioning glance at Higgins, who rolled his eyes toward the ceiling but held his tongue.

Reggie bit back a grin. “I know I shall regret this, but what dreadful calamity has overset you today?

Last week, it was Mother’s refusal to allow you to come out this year.”

Lucy raised her chin. “I am nearly seventeen.”

“You are but sixteen and you behave accordingly. Yesterday, I understand there was some sort of upheaval over a dress that was decidedly inappropriate and far too revealing for a well-bred young woman of your age.”

“I am quite mature for my age.” She tossed back her dark hair. “Everyone says so.”

“I believe that’s part of the problem,” Reggie said under his breath. “And just last night, you flew into something of a snit because you were forbidden to attend this morning’s race.”

“It wasn’t at all fair and you well know it.” Her brow furrowed. “Did you win?”

“Indeed I did.”

“Excellent.” She flashed a triumphant grin at Higgins.

The corners of the butler’s mouth twitched, as if he was trying not to smile. Reggie lowered his voice and leaned toward the older man. “Has she been wagering with the servants again?”

“I would never permit such a thing, my lord,” Higgins said in a lofty manner. Reggie studied the butler carefully. “You placed a wager for her, didn’t you?”

Higgins’s eyes widened in feigned innocence.

“Come now, Reggie,” Lucy said quickly, stepping to her brother’s side. “A lady can always use a bit of extra spending money. Besides, it scarcely matters at the moment. We have much bigger problems.” She gave a heartfelt sigh. “It’s Mother.”

“What’s mother?” Reggie narrowed his eyes.

“Lady Berkley has taken to her bed, my lord,” Higgins said in his usual noncommittal way.

“Why?” Reggie’s gaze skipped from Higgins to Lucy. “She can’t possibly be ill. Mother has never been ill a day in her life.”

“She’s not just ill. She’s…she’s…” Lucy’s lower lip quivered.

“Lady Berkley says she’s dying, my lord,” Higgins said.

“Dying?” Reggie shook his head in disbelief. “That’s impossible. She was perfectly fine yesterday and completely healthy.”

“But today she’s on her deathbed.” Lucy’s eyes filled with tears. “We’re going to be orphans.”

“Nonsense.” Reggie turned to Higgins. “Have you called for a physician?”

Higgins nodded. “Doctor Hopwood has already come and gone.”

“And?”

“And he says he can find nothing wrong. The incompetent quack.” Lucy sniffed in disdain. “Mother is obviously direly ill. Any fool can see it.”

Reggie raised a brow. “Higgins?”

“It is difficult to say for certain, my lord.” The butler chose his words with care. “One cannot discount the opinion of a highly regarded physician, and although her ladyship’s color appears a shade pale, it is not especially so—”

“Higgins!” Lucy glared.

The butler continued. “Yet Lady Berkley has never, to my knowledge, been ill, nor has she feigned illness. I believe it might well be a grave mistake to disregard her claims now as to the state of her health.”

“I see,” Reggie said slowly. Higgins’s assessment was both sobering and chilling. The idea of his mother’s death was not something Reggie had given much thought to, and it now brought a distinct pang of distress. He had always assumed Marian Berkley would be there forever. Certainly, from a rational point of view, he had known she was getting older and would join his father in the hereafter one day. She’d seen nearly fifty years, after all. If truth were told, well, he rather liked his mother. Lady Berkley was kind and amusing and carried a delightful air of charming confusion about her. Better yet, for the most part she did not intrude upon his life. She had her friends and her activities and the raising of Lucy, all of which kept her far too busy to interfere with her son. While they all shared the grand house on Portman Square in London and the manor at Berkley Park in the country, they never seemed to be under one another’s feet. Indeed, there were days when they scarcely set eyes on each other.

Still, there was something about knowing a parent was around—should you ever have need of parental advice or assistance or even affection—that was comforting and provided a pleasant bit of security in an insecure world.

Reggie did not like the idea of losing her, of being an orphan, any more than his sister did.

“I should see her.” Reggie started up the stairs.

“She’s been asking for you.” Lucy followed close at his heels.

“My lord,” Higgins called from behind, “before you go up I should mention something else Dr. Hopwood said.”

Reggie halted in midstep and turned toward the butler. “What is it, Higgins?”

“Regardless of the true nature of her illness, the doctor said she should be humored, especially concerning any unusual or odd desires or requests. He advised we provide her with whatever she asks for. Such requests could well be the result of some kind of delirium or diminished capacity, and refusal might only worsen her state. Such aggravation is to be avoided at all costs, at least until he can determine precisely what is wrong,” Higgins added.

“Very well.” Reggie nodded. “She shall have whatever she wants.”

He reached the top of the stairs and headed toward the wing of the house shared by his mother and sister. His own quarters were in the opposite wing, another concession to the separate nature of their respective lives.

The door to his mother’s suite was closed. He knocked softly and waited. Nothing.

“Try again.” Lucy frowned. “She may be asleep.”

Reggie paused, his fist poised to knock again. “Then perhaps we shouldn’t—”

“Of course we should,” Lucy huffed. “If she’s dying, we haven’t much time left.” She pushed open the door and stepped inside. “Mother?”

Reggie and Higgins traded glances, then followed Lucy.

The drapes were drawn against the early afternoon sun. The room was dim, shadowed, and a chill shivered through Reggie. His mother had a passion for light and always insisted the windows be open to the sunshine. That she did not do so now was a very bad sign.

“Mother?” He stepped toward the bed.

“My boy, is that you?” Lady Berkley’s weak voice sounded from the bed.

“What is this, Mother?” He reached the bed and stared down at her. She lay propped up upon a virtual hill of pillows, which only served to dwarf her small frame. He had never thought of his mother as especially diminutive; no doubt the liveliness of her personality enhanced her stature in his eyes. But gazing down at her now, he realized how very petite she really was. “How are you?”

“I’m fine, dear heart, nothing to worry about.” Lady Berkley sighed and raised her hand slowly to take his, as though the effort was entirely too much for her. “Nothing at all.” Her voice was so low that he could barely hear it.

Her very denial sent fear through his heart. He sat gently on the bed and stared with concern. The light was too poor to see clearly, yet her color did indeed seem pale. He forced a confident note to his voice.

“The doctor says he can find nothing wrong.”

“And we must trust the doctor.” She cast him a brave smile. “I’m sure he knows far more than I.”

“Of course. And you shall be fine.” Still…Reggie pulled his brows together. Doctors had been wrong before. “Is there anything you need?”

“No, nothing.” She brought her free hand to her mouth and coughed delicately. “Not a thing.”

A sense of complete helplessness washed through him. “Surely there is something I can do to make you feel better?”

“You are a dear, dear boy for asking, but there is nothing I need. Well…perhaps…” She sighed. “No, I couldn’t…no.”

“What is it, Mother?”

She turned her head away. “No, it is too much to ask.”

Reggie glanced at Higgins, who nodded his encouragement. “Ask anything, anything at all.”

“If you insist. I should never presume otherwise.” Her gaze met his. “Before I go—”

“Mother, you’re not going anywhere.” Lucy’s voice rose in dismay.

“Of course not, dear.” She smiled at her daughter, then turned her gaze back to her son. “First, you must promise to look after your sister.”

“Of course, Mother.” The promise caught in his throat, and he swallowed hard.

“And second, before I go—”

“Mother,” Lucy wailed.

Marian raised a hand to quiet her daughter with a surprising show of strength. “I should like to see you settled.”

“Settled?” Reggie’s brows drew together. “You mean wed?”

“It is my heartfelt wish. My…” She pulled her gaze from his and stared off into the distance, her voice barely audible. “My last wish, as it were.”

“Certainly, Mother, I can see that, but—”

“A good match. From a good family. But more, someone you could care for.” Her voice had a musing quality, as if her mind were wandering. “Is there anyone…”

Luminous blue eyes flashed in his mind, and he pushed the thought away. “No, not at the moment.”

“Pity.” She fell silent for so long that he wondered if she’d drifted off. “Before I go, then, I should at least like you to be prepared.”

“I needn’t prepare for your death as you are not going to die,” he said with far more confidence than he felt.

“That remains to be seen, but what I meant was prepared for a wife.” Again she met his gaze with hers.

“Dear Reginald, I have given this a considerable amount of thought, and now that the end may be near—”

“Mother!” Lucy moaned.

Her mother ignored her. “I should hate to see you bring a new wife into this house. Everything here is so…so…”

“Out of fashion, my lady?” Higgins prompted.

She favored the butler with a grateful smile. “That’s it exactly.”

“The house appears fine to me,” Reggie said.

“It’s far from fine. The public rooms, at least, need to be completely refurbished.” His mother’s voice was weak but determined. “They are positively shabby.”

“The furniture does look a bit worn, Reggie,” Lucy said thoughtfully. “I can’t remember when the walls were last repainted or papered. Why, Mother hasn’t replaced anything in years.”

“I’ve been very frugal,” his mother said wistfully, as if admitting to a vile crime. Frugality was never a quality he would have attributed to his mother.

“Nonetheless, I see nothing wrong with the furnishings or the walls or anything else,” Reggie said firmly. “I can’t believe this is your dying wish?”

Higgins cleared his throat and leaned toward Reggie, his voice low and pointed. “Delirium, my lord.”

“Of course,” Reggie murmured and thought for a moment. He wasn’t entirely certain he would want a wife who was influenced by such things, but if buying a few pieces of furniture or painting a room or two would ease his mother’s obviously confused mind, make her happy, and, better yet, improve the state of her health, why on earth not? It seemed a rather simple request. “Mother, if this is what you want

—”

“You are a saint and I am a lucky mother. Now then.” She squeezed his hand. “I want the public rooms completely refurbished. Drapes to carpets. Paint, paper, furniture, everything. We shall make it a fitting setting for your new bride.”