He clears his throat, his hands clasped behind his back. “Should I procure a date for the evening?”
“No.” I pinch the bridge of my nose. “Absolutely not.”
“Pardon my meddling, Master, but it may put them at ease to see you with a … lady friend. The Widow Lancaster has been asking about you.”
“Lancaster?” I lower my hand from my face, frowning. “And what is their concern? That I be married? A possible heir to the Blackthorne throne of shit that they can watch and observe over the course of his life? Let them think what they want. I’m not out to marry some desperate woman who’s ten years older than me and looking to secure her future country club membership. I’ve done an arranged marriage once.”
“I understand. Merely a suggestion. I’ll get started on these plans.”
“Rand? How old did you say my mother’s companion was?”
He raises his brows as if the question has caught him off guard. “Isadora? She’s nineteen, according to her file.”
Young. “What made you choose her?”
“During the phone interview, I found her to be pleasant, conversant, and well … pardon my saying so, pretty much everything your mother isn’t.”
With an ungracious snort, I nod. “Isn’t that the truth.”
“In spite of her appearance, she’s actually quite intelligent, and well-versed in much of the music and literature your mother seems to enjoy.”
Rolling my eyes, I shake my head. “A repertoire of useless romance novels and outdated composers.”
“Indeed. Have you had the opportunity to meet her yet?”
“Briefly. We ran into each other last night. Seems snarky.” I don’t bother to say that I found her bold attitude somewhat amusing, the way one might prod a cat to lash its claws. Exotically attractive, too, which I also keep to myself.
“That’s odd. I didn’t get that impression, at all.”
“Well, it wouldn’t be the first time I’ve brought out the best in someone.”
“And I’m sure her snark was met with your unwavering charm.” To his credit, he lowers his gaze and smiles.
I sneer at the remark, tugging a case of hand-rolled cigarettes from the inside pocket of my suit. “I’m afraid not.” Before I can snag the Zippo from my desk, Rand is at my side, the flame already waiting for me.
“I’d like to give her a chance. Lord knows your mother hasn’t been receptive to, well … any of the companions we’ve brought in. Ones well-bred and educated. Isadora is young, but she’s different. And so far, she’s proven to keep your mother out of her bed longer than the others ever could.”
It’s been weeks since I last saw my mother outside of her room. While it’s made it easy to avoid her, it’s also gnawed at my conscience to think of her wasting away in there.
Forgiveness has never been my best suit, but she’s still my mother, regardless of our history.
“Well, let’s hope the new girl works out. In the meantime, I guess we’ve got a party to plan.”
“I know dinner parties have always made you anxious, but I think this is the right step.”
“I’m sure. I’ll give you a raise, if you can find me a costume that makes me invisible.”
“I believe they call that mundane, sir, and unfortunately, you don’t wear that well.”
With a slight chuckle, I lean forward and flick the ash off my cigarette. “I see you’re trying for the raise anyway.”
“One must always aspire.”
Chapter 12
Lucian
Sixteen years ago …
I hate dinner parties.
Wedged between my mother and the recently married Darla Lancaster, I’d rather sit between two dentists performing root canals on either side of my face without Novocain. Darla leans in, showing my mother the five carat diamond weighing down her ring finger, over which my mother acts like it’s the most impressive thing she’s ever seen.
I have to give it to my mother, she knows how to play this game better than any woman in this room. If she didn’t, I’m certain my father wouldn’t have bothered with her.
Not that Darla’s new beau is anything to write home about. The guy is twice her age and, in spite of the money he likes to flaunt, hasn’t bothered to get the enormous wart removed from his nose that’s earned him the nickname The Troll of Lancaster.
As something grabs hold of my thigh, I stiffen, and catch the wily grin on Darla’s face, while she continues to converse with my mother. As she prattles on about her nuptials, running her hand higher up my thigh, my mother sits oblivious on the other side of me.