then or now, because we loved each other dreadfully. So we built our castle, and put up our walls, and never bothered about anyone. It’s been five years that he’s gone, and I still miss him so.”
The bright light in Drusilla’s eyes faded as she shrugged, sighed. “Well, enough of that. My only regret is that Ethan seems always to pay the price for his parents’ happiness. It can’t be comfortable being the son of a soft-headed fool and a common strumpet. But, still, the ton accepts him, if only on sufferance. Ethan says that’s because of the title and all the money, but I think it’s because he’s so pretty. What do you think?”
“I…uh…” Morgan hadn’t counted on being asked a question, so she quickly, and none too tactfully, responded by asking one of her own. “You weren’t really a strumpet, were you?”
Druscilla patted Morgan’s hand. “No, dear, but I certainly wasn’t acceptable, either.” She leaned closer. “You see, I was a performer.”
“An actress?” Morgan asked, rather excited to hear such a romantic story, certainly a happier story than that of her own parentage. Although, if London society looked at Ethan askance, what on earth would they do if anyone ever learned about her beginnings?
“Not then, no,” Druscilla said. “I had aspirations, yes, but I was still young, and was forced into company with a band of jugglers and magicians and miracle-sellers and their ilk. Would you like me to read your palm? I can, you know. Not correctly, but definitely convincingly. I would have done much better if I’d looked like you. I’m much too pale, too watery. You’ve the look, the fire, of a real gypsy. I had to wear a huge black wig, and it itched horribly, almost as badly as this horrid gown. Next year, and so I told my friends, we’ll perform a more modern play.”
“Maman? Have you quite talked Miss Becket’s ear off in my absence?”
Morgan watched as the earl reentered the room, looking every inch the London gentleman, and refused to acknowledge the small skip her heart gave at the sight of him. She could still see the raw power in him, but that power had been somehow leashed with the addition of finely cut clothing. It was the sure knowledge that the leash could be easily snapped that intrigued her. Almost challenged her, as if he had somehow flung a glove at her feet, daring her to try.
And all he’d done was walk into the room, smile at her.
Imagine what would happen if he ever touched her….
“Of course I did, Ethan, just as you knew I would. All our ancient scandal revealed. Why else would you have all but dragged me away from our rehearsal?”
“Yes, of course, Maman. Forgive me.” It was true he had counted on his gregarious mother to run her tongue on wheels, say everything that needed to be said. But did she also have to say, within Morgan’s hearing, that he had wanted her to do precisely that? No head for intrigue, his mother, much as he loved her.
The dowager countess turned her back on Ethan and took Morgan’s hands in her own, squeezed them. “He’d much rather, you see, have me tell the story, and not have you hear any nastiness about his mother from some muckraking dragon in London. At least, this way you know you’ve heard the right of it and can make up your own mind.”
She leaned close, whispered, “He’s a very sensitive soul, my dear, sweet Ethan is.”
“Oh, ma’am, I think you may worry yourself too much on that head. I may have only just met him, but I already believe your son more than capable of taking care of himself,” Morgan whispered back to her, smiling.
“Placed in uncaring hands, my dear, anyone’s heart can be broken.” Druscilla squeezed Morgan’s hands one more time, and got to her feet. “And now, if you don’t mind, Algernon is waiting, probably sharpening his ax down to a nub. Do come see me again, Morgan, as I’m sure you will, as Ethan has never before brought a young lady here. You must be very special.”
“Umm, thank you…Druscilla.” Morgan dropped into another curtsy, then watched as Ethan first bowed over his mother’s hand, then leaned in to kiss her on both cheeks, his mother holding him close as she whispered something in his ear.
He laughed, kissed her again and then watched her go before turning to Morgan. “My mother reminded me that I should ask if you wish to freshen up before we continue our journey.”
“Really,” Morgan said, tipping her head to one side as she considered this. “I doubt she was reticent to suggest such a thing to me directly, and had to beg you to ask the question. What did she actually say?”
Ethan stepped closer. Morgan was as beautiful as he’d remembered while he’d harried his valet into rushing through the quick change of clothes, then set the man to having his entire wardrobe moved to town by morning. Ethan had half hoped he’d had too much sun, and his reaction had been temporary…but this woman only improved on second sight, and his interest only deepened.
But that didn’t mean he’d tell her that his mother had suggested he should waste no time in having Morgan for his own as “you two would give me splendidly beautiful grandchildren. And she didn’t turn tail and run from this silly pile or your strange mama, Ethan. The girl’s got bottom!”
No, he wouldn’t tell her any of that. “Nothing important,” he said, offering his arm and leading her back into the cavernous foyer. “So. Did my mother produce a deck of cards from that fantastical costume and ask you to pick one, any card at all?”
“To tell my fortune, you mean? No, she didn’t.”
“No, not to foretell your future, although I’m sure she wished to. I was referring to her showing you one of her card tricks. She’s quite good with sleight-of-hand, but we’ve already seen all her best tricks a thousand times. It’s why she was so glad to see a new victim, as she calls anyone who has yet to watch her perform.”
Morgan withdrew her hand from his arm, pushing ahead of him through the doorway once the footman had opened the door for them. “Now you’re making fun of her. Your own mother. That’s despicable. I found her to be very nice…extremely interesting. People shouldn’t all be alike, or just what we expect. It’s our differences that make us so intriguing.”
Ethan relaxed, not realizing he’d been holding himself so tightly. She’d passed his impromptu test, more than passed it—she’d actually defended his mother to him. “Oddly enough, I believe you. Now, ask me your questions.”
“I have no—oh, all right.” Morgan stood in the courtyard and gave an all-encompassing sweep of her arm. “All…all this. Why?”
“Fair enough question, I suppose. Because my mother told my father that she’d always wanted to be swept up by a prince and taken to his castle. He wasn’t a prince, but he could build her a castle, so he did, although some might quarrel with the way it turned out—me, for one, because it’s wickedly drafty. I’ve set about correcting that, but the work is a slow process, I’m afraid. I’m drawing up plans for a second house on the estate, quite on the other side of the park. Brick, not stone, in case you might wonder. And there will be no moat. Tanner’s Roost will become the dowager’s residence.”
“Because your mother adores her castle.”
“Very much so, yes. Unfortunately, Tanner’s Roost also has become one of the many reasons anyone in London will be more than happy to tell you that the late Earl of Aylesford was a lunatic who eloped with a common piece who’d worked her dark magic on him. Right before they warn you away from
