Page 13 of The Stranger I Love
I had taken leave from the session of the House of Lords while I recovered—which she knew. I had no intention of returning until I had found my attacker and discovered who I could trust. “No, Mother, it was just another business trip.”
She eyed me. “One does wonder what business a baron has that requires him to travel so very often.”
I gave her a vague answer I hoped would satisfy. “I must see after my investments.”
One of those investments was paying for an expensive detective. I could never admit this since Mother believed the story I had construed, twisting my attack into a supposed accident. As soon as I was conscious enough to do so, I had had Mr. Thornbeck write to my mother and tell her that I had fallen from a horse, and that my friends had taken me to London to see the best doctors. I wish I knew the real reason my attackers had carried me off to London, but I hadn’t wanted to worry Mother any more than I knew she already would.
“Very well, I can tell I will get no more information from you,” she said, her hand going to her trim waist. “I hope it was an enjoyable time.”
“Enjoyable?” I wondered if she thought I still frequented gambling dens or drank in clubs with my friends when I left town—or if she knew I had abandoned both the habits and the friends. “Oh, yes. Business is a thrilling endeavor. Vastly enjoyable.” I gave her a teasing smile.
“I should hope it was not all business. A man of your position has a responsibility to Society. Speaking of which, I have several invitations I will have sent to your study to review.”
“Mother,” I hedged.
“At least look at them.”
I nodded, though I knew I would not open a single one. I avoided Society to protect my family. Though I knew there was a likelihood that my attacker had been someone I had won money from, I couldn’t rule out that my friends hadn’t been involved.
“And another thing,” Mother began. “Since you insist on leaving so often, please remember in the future to greet your mother first thing upon returning to Rosemont. I do not think it is right for the maids to know more about your comings and goings than I do.”
Always the stickler for manners—always desperate to control whatever aspect of her life she could. “Rest assured, I will be the paragon of a son next time.”
“I should hope so. You do not know how we suffer when you are away.”
“Was something amiss?”
“Besides worrying about you?” she asked, straightening the mail on the corner of my desk. “There are Irish rabble-rousers causing all sorts of mischief in London. After your injuries, you must know how I fret when you leave.”
I walked around my desk and leaned against the front of it, my fingers absently finding the ring in my pocket again before I forced my hand away. “If any Irish cause trouble, it’s because they are poor and starving.”
She sniffed. “There are those who feel differently.” After all these years, Mother still blamed the entire Irish population for the death of my older sister. I had once shared a similar mindset, but my accident had forced me to reconsider my prejudice. I knew what it felt like to be scared and desperate. “No one in London is out to hurt me,” I assured her, even though I could not say if I spoke the truth or not. Indeed, it could very much be the opposite. Everywhere I went, I watched my back and remained in public, open places. Until I found the men responsible, I had to be careful.
“Did Augusta cause trouble for you?” I asked, changing the subject away from me and forcing myself to leave the ring and my questions alone.
Mother heaved a mighty sigh and moved to inspect the shelf by the door for any dust. “Doesn’t she always? We survived the week, but only just. That young lady is going to be the death of me. She has chased away yet another governess. I am at my wit’s end.”
I was sorry for all the burdens Mother had been forced to carry, but I did not blame my sister for her rebelling. “I thought we discussed this. Augusta is much too old for a governess.”
Mother’s glare could have been used as a weapon in war, for it was quite quelling. “She will have a governess until she acts old enough not to have one.”
I held up my hands in a motion of peace. I preferred not to rile Mother if I could help it. Both Augusta and I had been tiptoeing around her since Father’s death. Her nerves were like a tightly coiled spring that snapped easily.
She continued to inspect around my mathematics medal from my school days and the champion’s trophy from the 2,000 Guineas Stakes race. “Speaking of governesses,” she said. “I had three interviews set up for today, after meticulously sorting through dozens of letters of references, and not one has shown their face. I am appalled by their rudeness. Does no one send their apologies ahead anymore? Is this what has become of Society?”
I shook my head. “A wretched shame. I am disappointed in the lot of them.”
“Now I know you’re teasing.”
“Just a little.” In truth, the last thing I wanted was to speak of governesses or my precocious sister. I wanted to mull over my conversation with Mr. Thornbeck and the details he had given me about my care after my attack. He still called me Mr. Long. They all called me Mr. Long—both the vicar and the proprietor where I had convalesced until I was fit to return home. Since then, we had exchanged a few letters, but I had hoped visiting him again would reveal a clue or an additional memory in my mind. Instead of new information, the story I knew byheart only fueled my desire to find my rescuer. She had done more for me than she likely knew.
“Atlas?” Mother’s head tilted; she was watching me closely.
“Hmm?”
“You’re doing it again.”
“Doing what?”
