No Duke Will Do - Eva Devon Page 0,58
the bloody hell inside.”
Heath entered, his head reeling.
This was not at all what he was expecting. He’d expected that when he saw Blackstone, the man would haul his fist back and slam it into his face.
“Come on, then,” Blackstone ordered . . . with amusement? “Time for you to meet Mother.”
Heath could not utter a single word, but he followed, unable to do anything else.
Together they crossed the polished marble floor and headed into a large salon decorated in the brightest, most feminine colors he’d ever seen. A lady sat by the fire, her dark silver-lined hair coiled about her face.
She sat with supreme dignity, something like how he imagined the Queen might.
She cocked her head to the side, eyeing him up and down. “How do you do?” she said.
“I’m not entirely certain, Your Grace,” he admitted, doing his best to stand still before her inspection. “If you must know.”
“You must feel a bit off foot,” she observed, folding her beringed hands in her lap.
“I’ve come to apologize.”
“Oh?” she asked, gesturing to the chair beside her. “Do sit down.”
Still stunned, wondering if he was dreaming, he did as bid.
He was so used to commanding things, it amazed him that this small but elegant woman was so easily able to order him to sit.
Sit, he did.
“How do you take your tea?” she asked, turning to a silver tray.
The question sent his wits wondering. Was someone going to jump him from behind? Were Robert and his mother in on the plot together?
This all seemed impossibly mad.
She cocked her head at his stymied silence. “I shall give it to you as I take it. I do like sugar. I hope you like sugar too.”
She poured out a cup of the beverage into a beautiful, delicate blue porcelain business. She stirred in a shocking amount of sugar and then effortlessly handed it to him.
As she poured her own cup smoothly, she said, “Now, I do understand that you’re my son.”
Heath stared at her, somehow managing not to drip his tea. He was gobsmacked that his hand was not shaking.
“Your son?” he repeated.
“Yes,” she said as if they were discussing an order of coal. “You’ve married my daughter, which makes you my son, and I suppose, since you’re my son, I should become acquainted with you.” She sipped her tea, her gaze unwavering. “Don’t you think?”
The room spun around him, and he swallowed. “Yes, Your Grace.”
“No, no,” she tsked, waving the formality away as if it displeased her. “You mustn’t call me that. You may call me Mama.”
He nearly keeled over. What the devil was happening? “I beg your pardon, but I must speak to Mary. She must be so furious, and I need to apologize.”
“What ever for?” the Dowager Duchess just cut in.
He managed to put his cup and saucer down on the table between them. “The article, I don’t know how it got out.”
“She wrote it,” Robert announced, folding his arms across his chest.
Heath stilled.
“She wrote it,” Robert proclaimed again, more slowly, seemingly for effect. “It was she who announced it in the paper, and we supported her. Now, you’re not thinking of running off, are you?” Robert tsked. “That will make for a devilishly difficult time now that we’ve made it public.”
Heath lifted his gaze to both of them, and for the first time in his entire life, he felt. . . utterly confused. Neither of them was yelling at him. Neither of them was accusing him of stealing their daughter, of besmirching her or dragging her through the mud.
“I don’t understand,” Heath said.
“Yes, I can see that you don’t,” the Dowager Duchess said before she drew herself up. “Let me assist you. We love Mary. You see, I love my daughter very much, and her judgment has always been far better than mine.” The dowager’s delicate brows lifted as if explaining the obvious. “So, if she has decided that you are the man for her, I must trust her.”
This was not at all the response he had been expecting upon arriving at the house. He thought there would be a pitched battle. “I really don’t understand,” Heath breathed. He’d fought all his life for respect, for acceptance, for every bit of ground he had.
Where was the war?
“I can see that, my dear,” said the Dowager Duchess gently. “You’re not accustomed to family, are you?”
His throat tightened, but he forced himself to reply, “No.”
Boldly, she reached out and lightly touched his hand. “Don’t overly concern yourself. Our family has had a great