Page 37 of A Single Obsession

He regretted it almost at once. To judge by the tight expression on the other woman’s face, she had caught the warmth in his look, and he feared it did not bode well for his rescuer.

Eliza had made a formidable enemy by saving him from Miss Whitlow.

Beau hoped she thought he was worth it.

Chapter 16

It was almost a week later that the dreaded summons arrived. Beau had been to watch young Belcher fight in a boxing benefit at the Fives Court and returned to his lodgings after an evening of revelry with his sporting cronies to find the letter waiting for him.

In some ways, it was a relief. His mother had kept him on tenterhooks for days, not knowing when he would have to face the full force of her disapproval over his equestrian antics at Astley’s.

He knew what the missive said without opening it. And he could predict equally well how the interview would proceed. His parent would express her shock and displeasure at his behaviour, reminding him how useless he was, though not exactly saying it, and insist he make more of an effort to find a wife.

He tossed the letter aside, wishing he could throw off his mother’s requests so easily. Like an obedient pup, he would go running. But not tonight. He could not deal with her demands tonight.

The next morning, he awoke with a headache and a horrible sense of foreboding. Why did he feel so low? Then he remembered. The letter.

He rang for some coffee and reluctantly allowed his valet to shave him, not trusting the steadiness of his own hand, and not daring to delay before presenting himself to his mother. He needed her in the best possible mood if he were to brush through this with the least damage.

Fortified by the coffee and a substantial breakfast, he broke open the seal on his mother’s letter.

Darn it. They had returned to Alton for Frances’s lying in. Didn’t his sister have a home of her own? Why must she go back to the family house to give birth to her brat? Instead of a short walk across town, it would take him most of the day to reach his mother. It was too bad of her.

Carrick betrayed not the slightest emotion when told to prepare an overnight bag, as his master needed to visit Holybourne House.

Beau scribbled a note to Ant, telling him he had to leave London, and sent word to the Harting stables for his curricle to be brought round. There was no way he was going to be cooped up in a travelling carriage all day. If he must make the trip into Hampshire, he would at least drive himself.

It was a pleasant journey he had done many times before, and Beau was rather sorry when he reached the end. He watched Jem take his curricle around the side of the house to the stables, wishing he were going with it.

Experience had taught him it was unwise to delay interviews with his mother, and so he headed straight for the house, determined to get over the rough ground as lightly as possible.

“Afternoon, Dawson,” he said to the elderly butler holding the door open for him. “Came to visit my mother. Is she at home?”

“It is a pleasure to see you as always, Lord Beaumont,” the man replied in the long-suffering tone of one who had known his lordship all his life. A footman stepped forward to relieve Beau of his greatcoat and hat whilst Dawson continued.

“Lady Harting is in the drawing room.”

“Alone?”

“No, my lord. Lady Harting is with Lady Whitlow, Lady Frances Whitlow, Miss Whitlow, and Miss Sophia Whitlow. Would you care to go up?”

Beau screwed up his face in disgust at the thought of seeing Frances, whom he blamed for this summons, and what sounded like her husband’s entire family—the female side at least.

“No. Think I’ll take a wander outside until my mother’s visitors have gone.”

There was never any question where he would walk. His feet drew him to the only place in Holybourne House where he had ever felt truly at home—the stables.

Quincey greeted him with genuine warmth. Lord Harting’s head groom had always found time for him. Though his mother deplored the fact that her only son was on such familiar terms with the grooms, she had failed to keep him away from the stables and had given up trying.

“Has my stepfather bought anything decent since last I was here?”

Quincey snorted. “Nothing that could compare to your bays, that’s for sure. His lordship bought a hunter that will do well enough if he takes the trouble to rid the beast of his foul temper, but I’m not holding my breath. He hasn’t got the same knack with horses you have.”

Once in the stables, Beau lost all sense of time, and it was over an hour later when he remembered why he had come.

Reluctantly, he made his way back up to the house, hoping he didn’t smell too much of horse. His lighter mood vanished when Dawson informed him Lord and Lady Harting were awaiting him in the drawing room.

That was ominous. His mother’s custom was to rake him down in private. To criticise him was her unique privilege, and she rarely required an audience. He couldn’t remember her bringing in his lordship before to witness.