She would have been resting, but she always rose at four o'clock. Reaching the upstairs gallery, he glimpsed Mrs. Higgs in the front hall below, heading for the stairs, a well-stocked tray in her hands. At his mother's sitting room door, he tapped; hearing her voice bid him enter, he opened the door.
She'd been reclining on the chaise, but was now sitting up, rearranging cushions at her back.
A still beautiful woman, although her dramatic coloring — black hair, fair complexion, dark blue eyes the same as his — had faded, there remained some indefinable quality in her smile, in her fine eyes, that reached out to men and made them eager to serve her. A quality of which she was not oblivious but had not, as far as he knew, employed since his father's death. He'd never understood his parents' union, for his mother was intelligent and astute, yet she'd been unswervingly faithful to a shiftless wastrel, not just during his life, but to his memory, too.
She saw him and raised both brows. He smiled, entered, then held the door for Mrs. Higgs, who inclined her head and swept past to set her tray on the low table before the chaise.
"I've brought two cups, as it happens, and there's plenty of cakes — will you be wanting anything more, m'lord?"
Luc surveyed the small feast Higgs was busily laying out. "Thank you, Higgs, no. This will be sufficient."
His mother added her smiling thanks. "Indeed, thank you, Higgs. And is everything in train for dinner as we discussed?"
"Aye, ma'am." Higgs straightened and bestowed a beaming smile on them both. "All's well on the way, and everything's right with the world."
On that triumphant note, she bobbed and whisked herself out of the room, closing the door behind her.
His mother's smile deepened; she held out her hand and he gripped it, felt her fingers curl tight. "She's been bouncing about all day as if she was eighteen again." Lifting her gaze to his face, she continued, "You brought us around, my son — did I tell you how proud I am of you?"
Looking down into her lovely eyes, glowing and suspiciously bright, Luc quelled a schoolboy urge to shuffle his feet and duck his head. He smiled easily, squeezed her hand, then released it and waved dismissively. "No one is more relieved than I."
He sat in the armchair facing the chaise.
Minerva's shrewd gaze traveled his face, then she reached for the teapot. "I've invited Robert to dine tonight — that was an excellent idea. We'll be serving at six — early for us, but you know how he is."
Luc took the cup she held out to him. "Emily and Anne?"
"I've told them they've been gadding rather too much. As we've no formal dinner to attend tonight, I suggested they nap until seven, then have dinner in their rooms before they get ready for the Mountfords' ball."
Luc's lips twitched. His mother was as ruthless a manipulator as he.
"Now." Minerva sat back with her cup, sipped, then fixed her gaze on his face. "What's troubling you?"
He smiled easily. "I doubt you would call it'trouble'—I've decided to marry."
She blinked, stilled, then widened her eyes. "Correct me if I'm wrong, but isn't that decision somewhat sudden?"
"Yes, and no." He set down his cup, wondering how little he could get away with revealing. His mother was remarkably acute, especially when it came to her offspring. The only one she'd been unable to read well was his brother Edward, recently banished for crimes they all still found hard to comprehend.
Shifting his thoughts from Edward, he glanced at his mother. "The decision's recent in that prior to yesterday, as you know, I was in no position to think of marriage. The notion's not recent in that I've had my eye on the lady in question for some time."
Minerva's gaze remained steady. "Amelia Cynster."
It was an effort to mask his shock. Had he been that unknowingly transparent? He pushed the thought aside. Inclined his head. "As you say. We've decided—"
"Wait." Minerva's eyes grew round. "She's already agreed?"
He backtracked. "I came up with her briefly last night." He avoided mentioning where; Minerva would imagine he'd looked in at some ball. "We met again this afternoon and took our discussions further. It's tentative, of course, but…" No matter which way his mind darted, he could see no way to avoid making a reasonably clean breast of the whole. He sighed. "The truth is, she suggested it."
"Great heavens!" Brows flying, Minerva looked her question.
"She'd seen through our facade. From a lot of little things she realized we were hard-pressed. She wishes to marry, reasonably and well — I think Amanda's marriage has left her lonely in a way she's never been before — but she feels no compelling wish to marry any of the eligibles lining up to pay court to her."
"So she thought of you?"
He shrugged. "We have known each other for a very long time. Realizing our family's financial straits, she suggested a marriage between us would serve all our ends. She would become my viscountess, and gain the status of married lady, and the family finances would be repaired."
"And what of you?"
Luc met his mother's dark eyes. After a moment, he said, "I'm agreeable."
She didn't press for more; she studied his expression, then nodded, and sipped. After a long moment, she met his eyes again. "Am I right in assuming you haven't told her you're now fabulously wealthy?"
He shook his head. "It would create a not-inconsiderable degree of awkwardness — you know how she'd feel. As it is…" He stopped himself from shrugging again, picked up his cup, and sipped instead. Prayed his mother would not further pursue his motives.
She didn't, not with words, but she let the silence stretch; her gaze, dark, shrewd, and understanding, remained on him — he felt it like a weight. He had to fight not to shift in the chair.
Eventually, Minerva set her cup on her saucer. "Let's see if I have this straight. While some men pretend to love or at least to a pretty passion to conceal the fact they're marrying for money, you propose to pretend you're marrying for money to conceal—"
"That's merely temporary." He met her eyes, and felt his jaw firm. "I will tell her, but I prefer to choose my own time. Naturally, her confusion will remain entirely between us — as far as society and all others are concerned, we're marrying for the customary reasons."
Minerva held his gaze; a minute passed, then she inclined her head. "Very well." Her voice held a note of compassion. She set aside her cup, her expression gentle. "If that is what you wish, I will engage to say nothing that will preempt your revelation."
That was the undertaking he'd come there to get; they both understood that.
He nodded, finished his tea. Minerva leaned back and chatted on inconsequential matters. Eventually, he rose and took his leave of her.
"Don't forget."
He heard the murmur as he reached the door; hand on the knob, he looked back,
She hesitated; although he couldn't see it, he sensed the frown in her eyes. Then she smiled. "Dinner at six."
He nodded; when she said nothing more, he inclined his head and left.
Later that evening, they walked into the Mountfords' ballroom and joined the queue waiting to greet their host and hostess. Beside Minerva, Luc glanced around. The ballroom was fashionably full, but he couldn't see any head of bouncing golden ringlets.
Behind him, Emily and Anne were sharing breathless confidences with Anne's best friend, Fiona Ffolliot. Fiona was a neighbor's daughter from Rutlandshire; her father's property adjoined Luc's principal estate. Fiona had come to London for part of the Season with her widowed father; they were staying with General Ffolliot's sister in Chelsea. Although well-to-do, the family was not well connected; Minerva had offered to take Fiona about with Emily and Anne, so she could see more, and be seen by more.