Forever My Love (Berkeley-Faulkner #2)(82)

“I’m not standing far away,” Alec said gently, sitting where she indicated. Juliana’s eyesight was failing, a fact she refused to acknowledge. She inspected him gravely and then nodded in approval.”I see you listened to my lecture the last time you visited.”

“I listen to all of your lectures.”

“Now you look like a son of mine again… healthy, strong—it’s that good Penrhyn blood coming to the fore again.”

“It must be,” Alec agreed matter-of-factly, his eyes flickering with amusement.

“You may look like a Falkner, but your spirit comes from my family, and no matter what happens, it will always prevail.” Juliana lowered her voice conspirato-rially. “And though I’ve always contended that intermarrying is bad for the blood, I wouldn’t mind adding a little more Penrhyn stock to the pot. Have you seen my niece’s daughter Elizabeth lately? She has become quite an attractive—”

“I’m not going to marry a Penrhyn,” Alec said firmly. “Nor a Falkner, for which I’m certain you will be thankful. In fact,” he added dryly, “I’m considering the prospect of remaining a bachelor all of my life.”

“Nonsense. I want you married, and what’s more, married soon.”

“Any particular reason?”

“You’re twenty-eight, three years older than your father when he married me.”

“But you didn’t marry my father until you were twenty-nine,” Alec said with silken innocence.

“Provoking boy—you won’t succeed in diverting my attention this time, for I mean to have my say.”

“I wouldn’t dare attempt to dissuade you.”

“For the past few years I’ve watched you sail through each Season without dropping anchor. I have seen for myself these giggling ninnies you’ve shown occasional interest in, and it would turn my stomach to call any of them my daughter-in-law.”

Alec cleared his throat and looked faintly amused. “I see you’ve decided to speak frankly.““You are too stubborn and too proud to court the kind of woman who would suit you best—a woman like me. These gilt-haired, simpering girls—all very popular, of course… and naturally you always skim them off the top. But a diet of cream and no milk is harmful to the digestion. I hope you understand what I am explaining to you.”

“You object to my taste in women,” Alec stated, and adopted an expression of polite interest as his mother responded spiritedly.

“I object most strenuously. All surface. No heart, no spirit, no strength. You would crush any one of them without intending to, and then she would be of no use to you.”

“I appreciate your maternal concern,” he said, smiling at her with warm gray eyes. “But somehow I doubt that you will ever be satisfied—”

“I’ll be satisfied,” Juliana interrupted, “when you choose your women with the same discretion that you choose your horses and liquor.”

Alec laughed, throwing his dark head back and then regarding her with the remnant of a smile playing carelessly on his mouth. “I’ll make you a promise. This Season, I give you leave to find someone whom you consider suitable for me. If for no other reason than to satisfy my curiosity about what kind of feminine baggage you would approve of. And I will give your candidate due consideration. My only condition is that she be neither Penrhyn nor Falkner… and keep in mind that I prefer blonds.”

“Blonds,” Juliana muttered. “Egad, men are loathsome creatures. Every last one of them, including my own sons.”

Brighton Pavilion looked like a temple erected solely for the purpose of pursuing and celebrating all the different kinds of pleasure that the senses could expe-rience. It was a multiheaded monster, a conglomeration of exotic architectural styles that bewildered the eye. Part of the building was Greek, part of it Egyptian, part Chinese, while the huge central dome was Turkish. It had been designed by John Nash and constructed at an exorbitant price, all to suit the whim of King George. Adorned with palm trees, dragons, and strange inverted funnels, the Pavilion gave Mira a sense of wonder and unease. She felt as if they were entering some sort of palatial harem.

“You will adore this place,” Rosalie said, her face radiant with excitement as they walked through the Chinese gallery and looked up at the green-and-gold dragons that leered down at them from the ceiling.

“Yes,” Rand Berkeley added, his golden eyes gleaming wickedly as he escorted the two women past a row of Oriental colonnades. “Tasteless but amusing.”

“There is always something going on,” Rosalie continued animatedly. “Water parties, auctions, suppers and banquets, concerts, balls, theatricals…”

“I’m already exhausted,” Mira said, but she smiled as she spoke, anticipating all the new sights and sounds she would experience at the Pavilion during the next few days. They stopped to admire a wall painted with delicately scrawled Oriental designs.

“And there is always music playing, for the king is passionate about it and has a private band that performs every morning and evening.”

“I can scarcely wait to see him,” Mira confessed, having heard so many tales about King George that she knew not what to believe about him. Stout and brilliantly attired, he was reputed to have the most perfect deportment and the most elegant bow in all of England. During their conversation on the long ride from Warwick to Brighton, Rand had explained that George IV invited to Brighton only those who could be of use to him. There was a huge number of socialand political figures staying here. Mira knew that this fact held a secret significance for Rosalie, who was hoping that George Canning, head of the Foreign Office, would be at the Pavilion. Rosalie was determined to speak to Canning secretly about finding a post for Brummell in France, and Mira was prepared do anything necessary to help her in this mission. 1 would prefer that both of you watch your step very carefully for the next few days,” Rand said.