marriage in her youth.
Her dress was plain in a beautiful green material, ornamented only by a deep lace collar and cuffs. Against the pastel greens of the room’s décor, it showed her to advantage. Wentworth acknowledged that her taste was excellent and that she knew it suited her still trim figure.
Slowly he closed the leather-bound book he had taken with him and rested it on the small table between the sofas. “Of course, Aunt Millicent, forgive my distraction, my attentions are wholly yours.”
She arched a brow at that, smiling.
What had they been discussing? Ah yes, the ball and who to invite.
“I will happily consent if it is to be a masquerade ball,” Wentworth said smoothly, lowering the quill. “Is that possible?”
Henrietta gasped and clapped her hands. “A wonderful idea, we’ve never held a masked ball before,” she cried, sharing a swift glance of naughtiness with her sister, who had been idly running her hands over the pianoforte. She wore a gown of delicate pinks marred, in his opinion, by a profusion of flounces and bows, which distracted from her dainty beauty.
“And you’ll not attend this one either,” Wentworth replied, accepting the cup of tea his mother handed to him. “Thank you, Mother.”
The twins’ expressions became crestfallen.
“Mamma!” Isabelle cried, “Please say it isn’t so! We’ll be here where it is most safe. Please say Henrietta and I may attend.”
Aunt Millicent arched a brow. “Why a masked ball, Wentworth? It seems so unlike you! You usually grumble about hosting any event at Norbrook Park.”
“Yet you do so every year, and I do not intend to be doing any of the work to arrange it, Aunt,” he said indulgently.
Aunt Millicent paused, giving her head a tiny shake.
“Who cares?” his mother asked, delicately dabbing her mouth with her serviette. “I am astonished my son has agreed, and I’m exceedingly glad. We are to have a ball! We should get to planning it right away. Say two weeks?”
“Yes,” Aunt Millicent said. “And your dear cousin is in the right, my girls, a masked ball is not for you. That will make it much harder to chaperone your willful ways.”
The girls vehemently protested, but their mother shooed them out, following closely behind. Their arguments slowly faded away, and he bit back his smile of amusement. “They are a handful.”
“They are,” his mother said with a gusty smile. “And at times like these, I am most thankful you were my only darling child.”
Wentworth chuckled and took a sip of his tea.
“I am surprised you did not protest about this ball,” she said softly, peering at him as if she was trying to read his thoughts. “But thank you. I am happy to arrange it with Millicent’s able assistance. I’ll invite the squire’s daughter, Miss Lavinia, she has shown considerable interest in you and is a most lovely girl. And Viscount Sheffield’s eldest daughter is in the parish visiting an aunt, do you recall the eldest of Sheffield’s daughters?”
Wentworth lowered his cup, wishing he had something more robust. His mother had that glint in her eyes, warning him she was just getting warmed to her topic. However, instead of brushing it aside as he’d always done, he considered her. “Mother?”
“Yes, my dear?”
“Why is it so important for you that I marry?”
Her eyes widened, and she lowered the pastry back to the small plate. “You never asked me that before.”
“I know.”
She smiled, but he spied a sadness behind it, which jolted his heart. “Mother?”
“I suppose I wish to see you happy. A companion to keep you company, someone to help you find pleasures in life.”
His darling mother blushed, and he almost choked upon realizing the pleasures she possibly referred to. “Do you not think since I will be the one spending the rest of my days with this prospective lady, I should be the one to look for her?”
She sent him a cross glare. “Absolutely not. If I should wait on you to be torn away from your books, I’ll be an old, lonely woman without any grandchildren to dote on with one foot in the grave and the other somewhere else.”
Loneliness. It struck him then that had been the emotion that had pierced her eyes earlier. Since his father's death some eight years prior, his mother spent a great deal of time with her sister. He glanced around the private drawing-room, wondering at the memories it roused for her. She and his father had often been in this very room, laughing and playing whist together, and then kissing