Chapter 2 #3
Victor came to a sudden stop, forced to do so; otherwise, he might have knocked his mother to the ground. “It is not your –” He caught his tongue and groaned, running a hand through his thick hair. “If you must know, I am calling on a young lady. You should be glad to hear it.”
“I would be, if you would care to tell me who it is.”
“When the time is right,” he told her, forcing calm upon himself. “But I would not want to get your hopes up. Not until I am able to confirm the merit of this courtship.”
“A courtship, is it? I had no idea things were already this serious. Why do I not know of it?”
“As I said, it is not serious yet,” he snapped. “I use the word courtship loosely. Hopefully, after today, I might be able to use it less liberally – but only if you let me pass!”
His mother eyed him with warning. “What are you hiding, Victor?”
“Nothing.”
“Then why not tell me?”
“Because I do not wish to jinx it. When there is something to tell you, I will do so. But not until that time comes – which it will not, if you refuse to let me do as I have promised you I will!” He threw his hands in the air as his frustration grew.
“Now, please, may I be allowed passed you? Or do I need to pick you up and move you myself?”
Victor’s relationship with his mother was strained at best – this here being a perfect example.
She was like him in so many ways, which was likely why they fought as often as they did.
A more stubborn woman does not exist, and I wonder sometimes if my father died on purpose just to escape her pestering.
Victor was just thirteen years old when his father died, a tragedy that had devastated his mother so much that she had fled society and abandoned Victor because she could not bear to live in the same home that she had shared with her husband.
This had left Victor to raise himself, while simultaneously harboring resentment toward the woman who had left him when he’d needed her the most.
It wasn’t until he was twenty-five that she finally returned home, but not out of love or guilt as might be expected, but because she demanded that Victor needed a wife and that he was incapable of finding one without her help.
For six years, Victor had denied her efforts, sleeping around London for the express purpose of upsetting her.
But she was persistent, slowly wearing him down until he finally accepted his lot in life and announced his new goal to find a wife worthy of his name.
In name only, just to shut my mother up and hopefully see her abandon me once again.
“You wouldn’t be lying to me, would you, Victor?” she asked warily.
He sighed. “For once, I am not.”
“Yet you will not tell me who this young Lady is?”
“I will,” he assured her with great patience. “When the time is right. I only met her two nights ago, and for all I know she wants nothing to do with me.”
“She is of the peerage?” his mother confirmed. “Worthy of your hand? I will not have you marrying outside our class. Your father….” She shook her head and sighed loudly. “He would never –”
“She is the daughter of a countess, if you must know. Her sisters are married to dukes. She is perfect in every way that matters, and that is all you need to know.”
“Not her name, apparently.”
He scoffed. “So you might butt in? I do not think so.”
His mother narrowed her eyes at him. “I am only trying to help. Help that you need – after the way you have behaved the past five years, it is a wonder any lady of worth would even waste her time with you.”
“Lucky for me, there is one left.” He looked down at her, eyebrow raised pointedly. “Which she will not be if you do not let me pass.”
How had it come to this? Victor arguing against his mother in favor of marriage? As if he was the one desperate to finally tie the knot and settle down in ways that were anathema to his very being.
For two days, Victor had dug into the history of Lady Iris Hawkins, learning everything that he could so he might circumvent the tiresome process of courtship and cut straight to the point of it all.
Luck was on his side in this, as he’d quickly learned that Lady Iris was exactly as she had appeared – better than that, and he knew now that if he were to pursue her, she would accept without delay.
To make matters even more convenient for Victor, he had learned that Lady Iris was meeting with a handful of suitors because, apparently, she was even more eager than he could have dreamed.
All Victor needed to do was present himself before her and let his infinite charm and charisma do the rest. He had no doubt that Lady Iris liked him well enough, and he needed this marriage to happen. Even her wicked sister will not be able to stop it.
“You must behave yourself, Victor.” His mother put her hands on her hips and narrowed her eyes at him. “I want a traditional courtship. None of this…” She scoffed. “Debauchery that has attached its name to you of late.”
“Most of which is highly exaggerated, I assure you.”
“And I would like it if you were wed by the end of the Season. Do not draw it out.”
He sighed. “Any more wonderous pieces of advice? Perhaps you’d like to tell me how to stand next. Back straight. Chin pointed.”
“And remember, you are a duke, any lady should be begging for a chance –”
“Enough!” he cried and wrung his hands in the air. “I know! Now, please, let me pass so I might do as you wish. You keep me here any longer and I will miss my chance and then the only person to blame for my bachelorhood will be you.”
She sighed but nodded her head in agreement. “I will wait here for your return, at which point you will tell me her name.”
“A conversation I am already looking forward to.” Victor stepped around his mother, strode down the steps, and made for the stables where his horse waited for him.
It was a strange thing, being so eager for a task he had no desire to achieve. Alas, it had to be done. Victor could no longer avoid this responsibility any more than he could pray the sun would not set at the day’s end. But if I must marry, let it be to the right type of wife.
As to what the ‘right type’ of wife looked like?
He did not want a love match. He did not want romance.
He did not want passion or desire or companionship.
Someone bland and boring. Someone who would do as they were told without argument or headache attached.
A clinical marriage to a subservient wife.
All things considered, Lady Iris would make the perfect bride. Now, it was on Victor to make her see it.