Lady Mountvale raised her head. She even cried beautifully, Rohan thought. Tears sparkled like diamonds on her thick lashes. What was this? She was laughing through her tears. “Oh, dearest, this is the most wonderful thing. Don’t you see? This means that George wasn’t entirely an aesthete. He did have some hot blood pumping in his veins. Your father and I had lost all hope, for he never paid a bit of attention to any of the young ladies we brought to meet him.
“But George actually begat a child. How I marvel at that! He even brought himself to the sticking point. He married this lovely girl. Ah, it is glorious. And Rohan, don’t you agree that Marianne is the image of him? I am so happy I believe I will have Fitz bring more champagne. Does Toby yet drink champagne?”
“The girl is presentable,” Lady Mountvale said to Rohan, when the two of them were seated companionably in the library late that same evening. “Indeed, if properly dressed, she would be quite taking. I will see to it tomorrow. Ah, must you drink that nasty tea, dearest? What would everyone say were they to see you?”
He’d forgotten. He tended to forget when he was out of London, but he said quickly, “It’s only a temporary aberration, Mother.”
She was still frowning at him. “I trust so. Now, about George’s widow. What will we do with her?”
“She lives here now. I have written to Aunt Miranda. If she’s still alive, perhaps she’ll consent to living here as well, acting as chaperon.”
“Even old battle-ax Miranda isn’t enough of a chaperon for you, Rohan. The last I heard, she was nearing her final reward, or maybe she’d already traveled on to the hereafter. I forget. She never liked me, you know. Odd, but there it is. But I suppose you will need someone, since you have such a grand reputation for seduction and debauchery. It will come out and everyone will believe that Marianne is your bastard.” She paused a moment, sipped on her brandy, then brightened. “That is quite acceptable. You don’t have any bastards. It’s about time you got the proper credit for presenting one to Society and to your fond mama.”
“I think that Susannah would prefer that her child wasn’t a bastard, Mama.”
“I suppose you are right. A legitimate Carrington. How very excellent, indeed.” She drank another sip of champagne.
“Now, Mama, would you like to tell me about this wondrous vision of yours? You said that Susannah is the young lady you saw?”
“Yes, and you were standing behind her looking helpless—not something I like, Rohan.”
“I don’t either. You have no other context?”
His mother scrunched up her face in thought, the result being more adorable than beautiful. “I remember feeling that both of you were in some sort of cave. It was very dim and shadowy. It was an old place, and it looked as if no one had been there in nearly forever. There were other people about, but their faces were vague and blurred. Just your face and dear Susannah’s were clear to me. That’s all. Sorry, dearest, I remember nothing else.”
He didn’t know what to think. His mother had had this vision? “What do you think of Marianne?”
“My granddaughter,” she said slowly, as if savoring the word. “What a daunting thought for any lady. She is truly the image of George and of you as well. Your father sighed whenever I pointed out that all our boys looked like their mama, except for the Carrington green eyes. He allowed that since I had done most of the difficult part, perhaps it was only fair. I only wish that George had told us he had married, but I suppose that since he was so young at the time he believed we would have forbidden it.”
“Perhaps,” Rohan said, wondering how he could turn her from this particular topic.
“I wish George had told us when Susannah was with child. I should have adored seeing to her. I would have given her advice, you know. I could have told her how to deal with that awful birthing pain. It was you, dearest, who brought me the most awful pain, but I have very nearly forgotten it.”
“Thank you, Mother.”
“I never blamed you, dearest, but I did scream a good deal at your dear father. As I recall, I called him many names that rarely if ever fit him. Poor man, he was so distraught each time I was in mortal agony bearing a child that he couldn’t bear to remain with me. No, he would flee to one of his mistresses and she would soothe him. He felt such guilt for bringing me that awful pain. We went to Italy after you arrived, Rohan. How I adored Venice and all the masked balls and those handsome Italian men. They—well, that’s not all that important now.” She touched her slender white fingers to the brilliant diamond necklace at her throat. “This lovely bauble was for birthing Tibolt.”
“What did Papa give you for birthing George?”
“George came so quickly that your dear papa didn’t even have time to leave the house. He had only one foot out the door when George came squalling into the world. I believe he gave me a pair of earrings. As for my poor Clarissa, since she was our only daughter, your papa promised me he would dower her handsomely. That was, of course, all well and good, but I told him that I wanted my reward now. He gave me a mare. You remember Josephine, don’t you? She had those beautiful, soulful eyes and that long, sweet face?”
He nodded.
“I will expect you to be as generous to your wife, Rohan. And you must take a wife, dearest. I am sorry, but it is the done thing. You must have an heir.”
He sighed, plowing his fingers through his hair. “I know, Mama. I have been looking, sort of.” He saw Susannah clear in his mind. He quickly shook his head. He was having visions of her, just like his mother had.
“You haven’t found anyone yet to please you?”
“No, not yet.”
Suddenly he realized that something was amiss. He looked more closely at his exquisite mother. There were actually two spots of color on her high cheekbones, and the color wasn’t from the artfully applied cosmetics. He said slowly, “What have you done, Mama?”
She finished off her champagne. “I shall have to ring for Fitz.”
“I will ring for Fitz once you tell me what you’ve done. You have done something that isn’t going to please me overly, is it?”
“Her name is Daphne. I know, it’s a dreadful name—so terribly Greek, or something—but she is glorious, Rohan. Her bloodline is worthy of ours, and she would do very well as your wife. Her father is Viscount Bracken. I once gave him consideration but decided he wasn’t quite to my liking. But this Daphne, she is truly quite beautiful and brings a big dowry. Never would I consider saddling you with a donkey.”