The women laughed and then surrendered to their friend’s desire, changing the subject to other matters than the men in their lives…or lack thereof. And Flora was able to push down those dark thoughts, those lonely resentments until they only became twinges of something ugly.
And she hoped, as she had been hoping for some time, that one day she would be able to accept what was and not long for what had been. Or worse, what might not ever be again.
Roarke stood in the doorway of his mother’s desperately small home and frowned at the disrepair he saw. Now that the two hundred fifty pounds he’d been promised had been received, he would have to have someone come look at the crack in the mantelpiece and the loose window. It would be cold soon—he didn’t want his mother to suffer.
He smiled sadly as her carer, Hilde Smith, tucked a blanket around her legs. “There now, Mrs. Desmond,” Hilde said gently. “Are you going to say good day to your son?”
“I don’t have a son,” his mother said weakly, and her brow knitted with confusion.
Roarke tried to ignore how those words cut. She didn’t say them to be cruel. She just sometimes didn’t recall him. He stepped forward, took a seat across from her and smiled at her. “It’s me, Mama, do you remember?”
There was a hint of recognition there and she blinked. “Oh…yes. I suppose I do.”
He took her hand and they talked for a few moments, of nothing of importance. He couldn’t tell her things anymore, not like he had as a boy when she was light and fun. He had to be careful now, speak of bland topics like the weather so that she didn’t get confused or upset.
Eventually, she began to look tired and he lifted her hand to his lips, kissing her knuckles gently. “You rest now, Mama. I’m just going to talk to Mrs. Smith for a moment.”
She didn’t answer, just stared into the fire and he sighed as he got up and Hilde followed him to the tiny foyer. They held stares for a moment. Hilde had been helping his mother since even before his father’s death. She was kind and patient, everything one would want for his mother.
“I’ll have the window fixed,” he promised softly. “Is there anything else you need?”
She shifted with discomfort. “I-I care about your mother, sir. You know that.”
He nodded, even as dread lifted in his chest. “I do know. And I know that you help her at a reduced rate. That it isn’t fair.”
“I realize it’s all you can do,” she said. “But you know I have a son of my own. He hasn’t been able to get much work as of late and he’s struggling. I don’t know if I can…if I can continue, as much as I want to be there for you mother.”
He shut his eyes and tried to quell the flare of panic in his chest. “I am terribly sorry, Hilde. I know you could likely find another position that would pay better. I’m…I’m working on something that would allow me to offer you more this year to stay. I can give you twenty more now and I’m hoping I would be able to increase your weekly wage by a pound after I compete this…this duty.”
He flinched as he said it. That duty felt so filthy to him. To spy on some woman he didn’t even know and report back. But when he looked at his mother, now dozing in her chair, he knew he had no choice.
Hilde nodded. “That would be a great help, sir.”
“I’ll have the twenty delivered tomorrow by the latest, and let you know when they’ll come to fix the window. And I’ll deliver on the rest as soon as possible.”
She hesitated before she briefly touched his hand. “I know you’re doing the best you can, sir. Please don’t be too hard on yourself.”
“I think I must be, Hilde. But I appreciate you. Good day.”
He stepped out and took the reins of his horse, who he had tied on the post by the front door of his mother’s…well, he supposed he had to call it a hovel, didn’t he? And it would get no better if he didn’t do as he’d been told by his horrible cousins.
“Time to pay the piper,” he muttered, and swung up to ride to his club. He had continued to pay the dues there, hating that little pleasure but also knowing that his connections in the place might provide him with some opportunities. And today he needed to seek one out.
When he arrived, he went in, greeting the man at the door. Once inside, he looked around, trying to find a face who might help him in this devil’s errand. At last he settled on one man and drew a deep breath before he came across the floor.
“Lightmorrow?” he said, as casually as he could be as he approached the handsome duke seated by the window, reading a newspaper.
Lightmorrow looked up, staring at Roarke like he didn’t know him, and his heart sank. But before he could explain himself, Lightmorrow pushed to his feet. “Great God, Desmond, I didn’t recognize you for a moment.”
Roarke extended a hand and the men shook. “No reason to—I don’t think we’ve seen each other since I left Eton all those years ago. At least not in anything more than passing.”
He did not add that he’d avoided Lightmorrow and his ilk on purpose, out of humiliation for the fact that his father had lost whatever small fortune he had, which resulted in Roarke’s being plucked from the best schools and dropped into a very different world.
“Yes. Please sit.” Lightmorrow motioned to the chair across from the one he had been seated in. “How have you been?”
They chatted for a while, Roarke’s anxiety mounting in his chest. He needed to find a way to connect to someone who might get him closer to the Dowager Duchess of Sidmouth, but he had no idea if Lightmorrow even knew the lady. Even though Lightmorrow’s reputation would imply that he would. The man liked widows, everyone knew that.
“You know I’m having a gathering tonight,” Lightmorrow said, and Roarke perked up.
“Oh, are you?”
“Yes. I’d love to have you come and catch up. It sounds as though you could use the entertainment.”
Roarke forced a smile. “Only if there will be a few eligible ladies in attendance."
Lightmorrow’s laughter filled the room. “It’s me, Desmond. Of course there will be eligible ladies. It only depends if you’re looking for fun or for something more serious.”
Roarke shrugged. “I suppose either will do.”
“Well, I can tell you that there will be quite a few unmarried misses who are sniffing out a future, as well as a handful of widows, including several who are looking for lovers.”
Stomach turning, Roarke swallowed hard and thought of his mother, her carer ready to depart for lack of funds that he could provide by just playing the bastard for a little while.
“Would one of those widows be the Duchess of Sidmouth?” He hesitated as he waited to see if Lightmorrow might link him to his late uncle. After all, he shared a last name with the man’s first wife. But there was no flicker of recognition, just surprise.
“She will be there,” Lightmorrow said. “What do you know of the duchess?”
“I’ve heard she is uncommonly beautiful,” Roarke said. “Someone told me that."
Lightmorrow nodded slowly. “Indeed, the lady is lovely. And she has been alone for a while. I could make the introduction if you are interested in making her acquaintance.”