Chapter 21
twenty-one
PARKER
“Can you ever smile, Parker?”
My mother always annoyed the shit out of me but never as much as when I was being fussed over on our way out. We were at the townhouse in London. It was the house Mum preferred to our country home. She was no country mouse, even if she wanted to appear the picture of a duchess in the countryside. At her insistence, I’d taken the train on a weekday to put on this ridiculous tuxedo.
There were a few times I had no right to refuse an invitation. Even as the house's resident hermit, I must always attend at Her Majesty’s request. If she was hosting a banquet, I needed to be there. Of course, my mother waited until two days before to inform me that I needed to appear. She knew I would find a reason not to be there if I had more time.
I loathed being an eligible Duke in the meat market of London society. I was the most eligible man in London after the Queen's son and her nephews. It was ironic, given that few girls at Shalebrook would even believe that assumption. I loved academia. My advisor and the other faculty didn't give a flying fuck about who I was—or even who Astrid was. I was judged harshly on academic merit and surrounded by similarly awkward people.
“What is this about now?”
We settled into the waiting car. Mum ducked to avoid dinging her tiara on the way in.
“It's a state banquet.”
“For what state?”
“Oh, Neandia,” Mum said.
You could have pushed me over with a feather.
“What on Earth do we care about Neandia? They're like a bank for billionaires that happens to have a few people, right?”
They were no diplomatic powerhouse or trading partner.
“I don't know. Something about the economy. Their queen is so glamorous and young! Beautiful!”
“Her sister goes to Shalebrook. I'm aware.”
“Oh? Is she also very pretty?”
I shrugged. The answer was yes. She was pretty. She had fabulous breasts, an arse that didn't quit, and gorgeous blue eyes that crushed me. But it didn't matter because she was interested in Jeremy Fucking Morgan.
“She's fine,” I answered. “I don't know her well.”
I both wished I did and wished I'd never see her again. If I were a foolish man, I’d consider how to impress her this evening. Instead, I was a realist. Girls like Astrid didn’t have an interest in men like me. The good, sane ones didn’t want to be a duchess at twenty-five. The ones in it for the wrong reasons chased a title. I knew Astrid needed no title and wasn’t interested in settling down in bloody Devon. And after I attempted to be friendly and walk her home, the message was clear. Astrid Deschamps wasn’t interested. I’d made a fool of myself fawning over her. I hated that I’d spent all that day admiring her. I loathed the way I longed to kiss the back of her neck as she set up the workstation in our classroom for our labs. She always did it in such an exacting way. And I couldn’t help but applaud her ass.
I admired so much about her. As much as she frustrated me, I found her intelligence sexy. Astrid was so damn clever . She caught on to everything. She was good with the students. She listened and assisted them. She was faster at programming than I was. And when she knew something, she never felt terrible telling you. I was sick of her showing me up. I couldn’t deny her mathematical gifts, but that was my thing! In a sea of qualitative political scientists, I’d stood out. Why did she have to be so damn good? And fit ?
“Well, perhaps she will be around?”
I hoped that, dear God, she would not be. The last thing I needed tonight was Astrid Deschamps.
“Let's attempt to make a serious effort, alright, Parker?”
A serious effort. I wanted to tell my mother how much that pained me. I couldn't describe how badly I would have liked to make a serious effort before, but that ended poorly.
“Do you think I don't want to meet someone and be happy?” I asked. “Eventually?”
“Wasn't that the issue? You are more married to school than?—”
“It's work, mother,” I said. “And it is important. But don't you think if I found a perfect woman, I would want to cherish her and make it work?”
“I do not know, Parker, because you rarely try.”
“Mother, I have yet to find a woman who so perfectly meets my needs and is trustworthy. I need someone who can handle my intellectual pursuits and the consuming task of managing the estate. It is a lot for a woman in her twenties. I would never want to rush someone.”
“You could try harder,” Mum said.
Her words always wounded me. I did try. I tried hard. I wanted to, anyway. There were just so many things in the way. I wanted to finish my thesis above all else. After that, I knew things would be better. Then, I could turn to the task of whatever was next. Until then, I'd make a lousy partner. Why did everyone assume I was good enough—so wonderful—that any girl should give up everything?