“Andrew has a daughter,” Darius said.
After small pause, his mother smiled encouragingly at Andrew. “Do tell me about her.”
Damn, he’d used Andrew’s first name. Darius had never made such a shocking error before at home. Or anywhere else, come to that. Nobody noticed. That is, nobody appeared to notice. But he knew his mother, his father, and his sisters Drusilla and Livia had both spotted his error. Apart from that small pause, nobody changed their demeanor or glanced in Andrew’s direction, but they knew all right. Andrew seemed to be the only person who did not, and that was because of his lack of familiarity with his too-perceptive family.
Andrew was busy telling Darius’s mother about Elizabeth and the tribulations of caring for her.
“But does your wife not help?” she inquired sweetly.
Darius would have words with her later. There was no way his parents had not investigated the man who had helped their son escape the gallows.
“My wife sadly died in childbed. My little household consists of my daughter and myself. We have relatives in London, of course. Elizabeth has cousins.”
“That is good. A child should not grow up isolated from the world.” His mother smiled winningly at Andrew. The woman could bend dukes to her will. A barrister would stand no chance.
Carefully, she extracted what she wanted to know. Was Andrew self-sufficient, or was he a fortune hunter? Did he have respectable relatives, or were they beyond the pale? Just as if she were questioning a future member of the family. Of course, her questions were subtle and her manner interested and polite, as if this were a normal topic at table. The others spoke quietly to each other, masking the marchioness’s hunger.
At one point, Andrew flicked a glance at Darius, a slight frown marking his brows. If Darius’s mother was not careful, he’d spot what she was doing. So far she was acting the part of the interested hostess, but Andrew was used to extracting information, however artfully obtained. That was, after all, part of his job.
He answered the marchioness’s questions politely but guardedly, unless he was talking about Elizabeth, slowly leading the conversation away from personal matters. “My nieces are older than my daughter, but they play most willingly with her. They are good children, and they will make excellent citizens one day. We must bring our children up carefully, for they will care for us in our old age.”
Darius’s mother was startled into laughter. “Indeed they might, but if I survive my dearest Strenshall, I will retire gracefully to the dower house at Haxby.”
“Ha!” The marquess barked a laugh. “Whence you will continue to rule the family with a rod of iron—if you ever go there at all. Viola will be hard put to retain any of her dignity.” Viola was the wife of Darius’s older brother Marcus, the heir to the marquisate.
“I will do no such thing. Viola is the most level-headed female, and I’m proud to call her my daughter-in-law. If Marcus had chosen anyone else, a simpering miss, for instance, I might have considered struggling on. However she is the best woman for my son and for marchioness. Not that I intend her to inherit that title any time soon.”
Darius put down his cutlery and reached for his wine glass, taking a sip of claret. “Viola was the daughter of my father’s land steward. Marcus took his time, but he finally realized what the rest of us had known for years. He was always hopelessly in love with her.” Actually Viola was more than that, but to tell Andrew so would be to destroy the point Darius wanted to make.
The fact diverted Andrew. “You did not want him to marry a duke’s daughter or some such?”
The marchioness shrugged. “This family is in no need of a wealthy match. As far as we are concerned, they may marry where they please. As long as they do not disgrace us in doing so. I would not like to see Dru marry a common soldier, for instance. Following the drum would not suit her in the least, however in love she is.”
“I will endeavor not to displease you, Mama,” Drusilla said dryly. “I doubt a common soldier would find much in me to commend him. I’m far too bookish, and I fear my capacity for marching may not be what he expects.”
His mother beamed, her smile infectious. “But my children tend to take the most difficult path. So far two of my children have married for love. I wish the same fate on the others, or at least, contentment. However, Dru and Livia are well-brought-rotting sh up girls and they will not disappoint us, I am sure.”
Andrew must have had the message by now. The family wanted their children happy. While Darius feared his parents must be disappointed in him, he would find satisfaction in other ways. By taking care that Andrew didn’t want, for instance. “With one exception.”
His mother turned her soft gaze on to him. “Except for the marriage ceremony, I wish you the same.”
Darius hastily gulped down the rest of his wine. He had never thought he’d hear that from her. While she accepted he would never marry, his mother had previously preferred to ignore his preferences. He had imagined her telling her friends her third son was a “perpetual bachelor.” There were perpetual bachelors, and there were people like him. Enforced bachelors, perhaps.
But that simple sentence told him his mother had accepted him, what he was, and what would make him happy. That meant so much to him.
His throat tightened, and without thinking, he looked at Andrew. His eyes were full of sympathy and something else, something Darius dared not believe. Not yet.
Darius choked out his thanks and waited for the footman to refill his glass. Once he’d regained his composure, he could inform his parents of the errand tomorrow. “I was planning on leaving town tomorrow for a few days on an errand. However, I find I need to stay here, so Andrew has kindly offered to go in my stead.”
“Has something happened?” His mother’s voice rose in pitch and her eyes widened.
“Our father knows,” he said, recalling the servants present. “It is a sensitive matter, but nothing to worry about, I promise you.” His mother might assume it was something to do with his personal preferences, but he would trust her to winkle the truth out of his father later. The marquess would not sleep tonight until he’d told her.
Thankfully, she didn’t question him further but turned and spoke of the latest soprano to attack the London stage. And attack she had, to the extent of hurling her heavy iron crown at someone in the audience she claimed was talking too much. “Everybody talks in the theater,” Lady Strenshall said, at her haughtiest. “What right has she to do something of that nature? Why she is still there, ruling over her humble subjects at Covent Garden.”