A Taste of Desire(53)
The viscountess offered him a faint smile. “Yes, but the care of a grandchild is hardly the same. No, dear, it’s past time I started to carve out a life of my own.”
Thomas furrowed his brows. Just what did a life of her own entail? Increasing the frequency of her calls and engaging in endless hours of cribbage and whist? It took several seconds more for his slow-witted mind to comprehend his mother’s meaning.
“Oh, Thomas, do not look so appalled. One would think I just told you I’ve decided to join the theater.”
“No, no, that’s not it at all,” he hastened to assure her. It was just that—well, she was his mother. There wasn’t a man alive good enough for her.
“The only reason I’m even broaching this subject with you is because—well, I will be in America for the next two months and I expect I’ll run into Mr. Wendel and Lord Bradford.”
At the mention of Derrick Wendel, the president and majority stockholder of Wendel’s Shipping, Thomas began to understand his mother’s discomfiture. The men had recently travelled to America to negotiate the deal to purchase a steel company; a deal that, if successful, would cut their operating costs by 20 percent.
The viscountess placed the ivory horse back on the table. “Mr. Wendel has asked if I would allow him to escort me about town a time or two.”
Knowing his friend, Thomas thought his mother’s estimate low. Wendel would likely charm his mother into as many outings as his schedule and hers would permit. Since Thomas had introduced them the year past, Wendel had taken an inordinate interest in the viscountess. And who could blame the man? Besides her obvious attributes, his mother could disarm a gentleman with just a smile. Lord, he’d seen it happen often enough, even when his father was alive.
“Well, I’ve known of his interest for some time, but I must admit, I hadn’t thought it was reciprocated.”
His mother’s blush deepened. She looked away briefly. After a pause, she said, “I am not admitting to an interest. However, if there were, would that be of concern to you?”
“Why, because Wendel is not a peer?”
The viscountess shook her head. “No, because he is your friend and business partner. And of course, there is the matter of your father.”
“Mother, as much as I love and miss Father, I would hardly expect you to live your life like a nun.” Although, a part of him had expected just that. “And Derrick Wendel is a good man. There are few I admire more.”
A relieved smile wreathed her face, taking ten years off her already youthful forty-eight years. Reaching up, she pressed a soft kiss on his cheek, the faint scent of gardenias tickling his nose. “And he’s very handsome too.”
Thomas emitted a dry laugh and gave her slender hands a gentle squeeze.
The viscountess withdrew her hands from his and then smoothed the folds of her voluminous skirt. She was every inch the lady of the manor again. “Now that the matter is arranged, I must go and settle the house accounts. And pray, do not dawdle over the letter to Miss Foxworth. Lady Amelia must have a chaperone before I depart.”
After his mother had gone, Thomas returned to his desk, and his thoughts returned—as they did with increasing frequency—to Amelia.
He didn’t want to admit that he was at all bothered by the new distance between them. While they might not have shared dark secrets or their innermost thoughts that day, he’d felt they’d reached a truce of sorts. Then she’d spoiled it with her firestorm of insults. It was obvious she saw him as the usurper of her father’s affections. What had brought her to such a ridiculous conclusion was beyond him. The marquess seemed to spend a great deal of time worrying over his daughter’s welfare. Over the years of their acquaintance, Harry had bent his ear on numerous occasions about what to do with her unruliness, as she appeared hell-bent on ruination. Amelia’s resentment of him was as well founded as the belief that the Earth was the center of the universe.
Good Lord, what did she expect from her father? For him to cut all others from his life so she could have his undivided attention? From what he’d seen, Harry denied his daughter nothing. Not the horse that had cost what the average person could comfortably live on for three years. Not the conveyance, which was equipped with frills enough to impress royalty. And certainly not her wardrobe, which Harry had once admitted was in excess of fifteen hundred pounds per annum.
While he berated himself for not being able to get the blasted woman from his thoughts, he snatched up the morning’s correspondence from his desk. His eye caught a flash of green. Thomas stilled and his agitation mounted. He swiftly removed the dark olive envelope from the stack of letters. The gold ducal seal glittered under the light of the gas lamp. Suddenly, he wasn’t agitated, he was in a blazing temper.