Tuesday's Child (Heroines Born on Each Day of the Week Book 3) (14 page)

Hard to believe his mother was sixty-two years-old. In spite of giving birth to seven babies, her figure remained trim, only a few silver hairs gleamed in her abundant black hair, and a much younger lady might envy her fair complexion. He regarded her affectionately, admiring the fortitude with which she endured the loss of his brothers.

“You are thoughtful, Dominic. I hope you are not in a blue study.”

“No, I was thinking how extraordinary you are. I am blessed to have you as a mother.”

“Blessed? Very biblical,” she teased.

“Although only one of my brothers has survived, I have never heard you rail against God, unlike so many people when their loved ones are taken.”

Morwenna swallowed in an understandable attempt to suppress her sensibilities. “You are a clergyman so you know we must accept the Lord’s will, and I am fortunate to have you, Gwenifer and Rozen.”

“Robert?”

Her eyes suspiciously moist his mother looked down at the cup on a tray propped across her knees. “Oh, my drink is cold. Please pour another cup of chocolate for me, and one for yourself.”

Dominic served her, then helped himself to some freshly baked bread, still slightly warm from a cavernous oven, and spread it with butter produced on the home farm. “I think,” he said, gently, after he poured re-filled his cup with chocolate, kept hot in a silver pot, “we should talk about Robert. Shall I visit him? Try to persuade him to return to Faucon Castle?”

“It would do no good. When your father visited Robert, he begged him to come home to be nursed. Robert refused. If he had agreed Robert might have recovered. His doctor might have been wrong, when he declared Robert has little time left.”

Dominic bowed his head, unable to look at the pain expressed in his mother’s eyes.

“Robert was such a dear child, always considerate, an affectionate son and a kind brother,” Morwenna mourned.

“I know.” Dominic spoke in an unsteady voice. “Are you sure he would not like to see me?”

Morwenna shook her head. “No, he refused to come home. He said he could not bear anyone else in the family seeing what he has become due to…to loose living. He has overindulged in wine, alcohol and opium.” She blushed. “And he took too many women to bed.”

“I understand, you need not continue, Mamma.”

Morwenna’s hand trembled. Drops of chocolate spilt onto her quilt. “I think Robert refused to come here because he would be ashamed to face me.” She sighed several times. “You must not think we are indifferent. Your father has arranged for a doctor and nurses to look after Robert, but-.”

Dominic guessed she refrained from mentioning Robert’s mistress, because no lady should acknowledge the existence of a member of the demi-monde. Surprising that Robert’s amour, for want of a better word, was still with him, considering his brother’s condition. Perhaps they loved each other. On the other hand, maybe it would not be to her financial advantage to leave.

He patted his mother’s hand. “You need not explain Robert’s circumstances.”

Her other hand trembled again, so he took her cup and put it on the tray.

Due to his parent’s distress over Robert’s imminent death, and the loss of his younger brothers, he did not have the heart not to live up to his family’s expectations. After all, The Lord alone knew how much Mamma suffered over Gwenifer’s mésalliance. All too soon he would be his parent’s only surviving son. Due to their intense grief, it was his inescapable duty to please them by accepting a suitable bride, who would, God willing, provide them with grandsons. At the thought of the Earl of Pennington and his obsession with Arthur, a wry smile twisted his mouth. He knew his parents would never be unreasonable like the old tyrant.

The door opened. Two footmen, who carried trays, entered the bedroom with Fisher and put an end to his thoughts.

“Ah, breakfast is welcome, Mamma.

The footmen put the contents of the trays on a table, which Fisher had put by the bed.

Alone with his mother, Dominic removed the covers from silver dishes. “A feast, will you have some of it, Mamma.”

She shook her head. “Tell me what you thought of the guests, who came to dinner yesterday evening.”

Dominic concentrated on cutting a piece of steak with the precision he imagined a surgeon would employ. “If you refer to the young ladies I admit you chose beauties, who are each, in their own manner, charming.”

Each one is attractive, but they are boring, his inner voice stated.

“Miss Kershaw plays the pianoforte with exceptional skill, and when you sang The Sweet Lass of Richmond Hill your voice brought tears to my eyes.” Morwenna blushed. “After our guests left, ridiculous though it may sound, your father told me I have always been his rose without a thorn.” The colour in her cheeks deepened. “You know that our marriage was arranged by our parents, but, since we wed, your papa has always been my rock. It is my hope you will find your own thornless rose.”

The piece of steak in his mouth nearly choked him when an image of Harriet, an unsuitable bride, who would nevertheless be a safe harbour from storms, entered his mind.

Morwenna picked up a card from amongst the correspondence scattered across her pale green counterpane. “Have you received an invitation to the Earl of Pennington’s ball? Presumably, he is holding it to introduce his daughter-in-law to his neighbours. I wonder if there is any truth in the rumours. According to them, she was not a suitable bride for the earl’s late heir. Of course, you saved her son from drowning, so you have met her. Do you think I would approve of her?”

With difficulty, Dominic finished his mouthful of food. “You must judge for yourself. Gwenifer likes her.”

Morwenna shrugged. “I suppose gentlemen of the cloth, do not take much notice of ladies. If you did not particularly admire those who visited us yesterday, perhaps you will meet a lady at the earl’s ball whom you will wish to court.” She raised her eyebrows. “Lud, your cheeks are very red. Is it too hot in here? Shall I ring the bell for Fisher to come and open a window?”

Amused because at his age he flushed at the thought of Harriet, whom he wished he could woo, Dominic looked down at his steak, bacon, and kidney. “No, I am capable of opening one. Please don’t trouble Fisher,” he said, but remained seated.

Morwenna sighed. “I fear you are difficult to please. It will be difficult to find you a wife.”

He put down his knife and fork. “Please don’t disturb yourself. I am capable of choosing my bride. In fact, I intend to call on Lady Elizabeth’s grandmother, and on Miss Kershaw’s parents, though I hope it will not raise false hopes”

Like an easily pleased child, Morwenna clapped her hands. “I am very happy because you intend to wed.” His unspoken words, without your assistance, seemed to hover in the air.

Morwenna shrugged, “Instead of calling on the young ladies, I think you should wait for invitations from their families, which you are sure to receive. You have already explained that you don’t want to mislead any lady whose duty is to make a good marriage.”

Fisher entered the bedroom. “Begging your pardon for my intruding, my lady, his lordship requests Mister Markham to join him in the library.

Dominic finished his breakfast, while his mother read out snippets from her correspondents. “Extraordinary,” she commented. “Rozen mentioned Gwenifer wrote to ask her if she can recommend a nurse for Lady Castleton’s son.”

“Ah, I told you Gwenifer likes the lady, so I daresay she wants to be of help.” Dominic dabbed his mouth with his linen napkin.

He hoped his perceptive mother would not suspect how much he admired Harriet, kissed her cheek, and then went to join his father.

Chapter Twelve

Seated on one of a pair of wing chairs in the library, the earl rustled the pages of The Gentleman’s Magazine.

While Dominic waited for his father to notice his presence, he observed the longcase clock, with a painted scene of green fields dotted with plump sheep and a shepherd seated on a boulder. At his feet sat a shepherdess, a beribboned crook in one hand and her other hand, on a black and white Old English sheepdog’s head. When he was a child the scene above the clock face fascinated him. Now, he understood reality did not always paint a delightful picture.

The clock struck eleven. Joshua looked up. “Ah, there you are, Dominic, I did not hear the door open. At my age, my hearing is not what it once was.”

Dominic scrutinised his father’s face. “I am sorry, but you appear to be in good health.”

“Yes, yes, the Lord be thanked, I am.” Joshua gestured to him to be seated. “In the Bible it is written a man’s life numbers three score years and ten. Maybe I only have two years left to me, which is why I sent for you.” He leaned forward, his hazel eyes intent. “God has given me many happy years with your dear , during which we have shared our joys and sorrows. Indeed, when you sang The Sweet Lass of Richmond Hill this thought struck me. Since our parents arranged our marriage your mother has been my rose without a thorn.”

Dominic guessed what his father was intended to say, but would prefer not to hear it. Nevertheless, he repressed the urge to leave the room.

“My boy, I hope you will find your matchless rose amongst a bevy of beauties your mother will arrange introductions to. We hope you and your future wife will be as contented as we are.” Joshua gripped his hands together. “However, whether or not you find your thornless blossom, you know it is your duty to marry. You also know I might have little time left to me so the matter is urgent if I am to see my first grandchild before I die.”

“Well, sir, I have already remarked that you look healthy. I think you have many more years ahead of you.” Dominic responded, with genuine sincerity coupled with cheerfulness.

A confounded nuisance! Dominic exclaimed to himself. Although he always intended to marry, until now, his father and mother’s expectations were unimportant. Of course, if he had the heart to disappoint the kindest of parents, he could refuse to tie the knot in the near future.

“So,” Dominic continued, “as you are in fine fettle, Papa, there is no need for me to rush into marriage and, possibly, regret it later.”

Joshua sighed. “It should be unnecessary for me to remind you why the matter is urgent.”

“I beg your pardon.” Dominic repressed his urge to pace around the library like a caged beast. “I know you visited Robert. Is there no possibility of his recovery and a reconciliation with his wife?”

Joshua straightened his shoulders like a gentleman in receipt a severe blow. He shook his head. “No, Dominic, you are the hope of the Faucons.”

“Yes, I suppose I am.” If only he could evade the inexorable weight of his parents’ expectations.

“I am sorry, Dominic. I know only too well a great inheritance comes with equal responsibility, neither of which you have been prepared for.

And nothing prepared me for the loss of two brothers and the inevitable death of a third. “I shall do my best when the time comes,” Dominic assured his father.

“Yes, my boy, I know you will. I have every confidence in you.”

In spite of his age did Papa really consider him a mere boy?

“If only Robert-” Joshua broke off, his eyes moist

Dominic sighed. “I wish I could help Robert, but Mamma assured me he does not want to see me. Do you think I should ignore his wishes in order to try and give him the consolation of the Church?”

“If only-” Joshua broke off, his eyes suspicious

“No. When I suggested you should, it grieves me to say Robert seems to have turned his back on God.”

“May I not tell him God loves us more than we can imagine, and that he is only waiting for us to love Him back?”

“No.” Joshua shook his head. “If you attempted to do so, I fear you would be subjected to profanities.”

Silence thick as the burden of a heavy, many caped greatcoat in the depths of icy winter oppressed Dominic.

“A glass of wine for each of us?” Joshua suggested.

“Of course.” Pleased to have an excuse to be released from his chair, Dominic sprang up. He opened a cupboard concealed behind a trompe l’oeil of painted books, which blended in with shelf after shelf of exquisitely bound volumes with gold lettering on their spines. After he poured a glass of Cyprus wine, of superior quality, for each of them, he handed one to his father.

Joshua smiled. “Thank you. By the way, your mother and I received an invitation, which includes you and Gwenifer. The Earl of Pennington will hold a ball to introduce his daughter-in-law to society. Although I dislike the man, whom I cannot refer to as a gentleman, for he is not one by nature, we shall accept. Who knows? You might meet your future wife at Clarencieux.”

Dominic gulped some of the rich, red wine. Harriet’s image filled his mind. Honesty compelled him to admit although he wanted to ask her to do him the honour of accepting his hand in marriage, he could not. His family would consider her unsuitable to be the future Countess Faucon. He suppressed a smile. What would they think of her if they ever found out she had milked nanny goats?

Joshua shifted on his chair. “Dominic, don’t look so downhearted. Choose a lady you like and respect. Love often follows a marriage of convenience.”