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Roland Hastings leaned forward in the coach as Hartfield finally came into view through the oak trees lining the drive. He didn’t mind London, not really, but his last months there had drained his reserves of patience and energy.
Seeing now the comforting white stone and Grecian columns of his family home in Hampshire brought a relief he hadn’t realized he’d been longing for. At last, some quiet and solitude. And surely Mother had a warm meal waiting for him, even if he had been delayed in London an extra day.
But as they approached the front doors, he spotted an unfamiliar coach already stopped before the steps. That was not surprising in and of itself—his mother was quite popular—though it was late in the day for visitors. What did surprise him was the flurry of activity surrounding the coach as servants unloaded trunks and carried them into the house.
Roland threw open the door and stepped down before the coachman brought the equipage to a complete halt. He scaled the steps and marched inside. “Mother?” he called, tugging off his gloves.
No response, but female voices came from down the corridor. He handed a footman his gloves, greatcoat, and hat, then strode to the sitting room, where he found his mother in deep conversation with the housekeeper. Mother’s dark, graying hair was tucked up inside a mob cap, and she wore a black dress edged in lace. The sight of her made him pause in the doorway. He’d hoped while he’d been gone she might have allowed some gray or lavender back into her wardrobe. But it appeared that a year was still not long enough for her to grieve her husband.
He swallowed hard but stepped forward. “Might I enquire as to whose coach has taken up residence outside?”
Mother looked up, and her eyes brightened. “Roland, you’re home!” She stood and embraced him, the smell of her perfume encircling him in a cloud of jasmine and memories.
He allowed her a moment before pulling back and fixing her with a stern look. “You may try and distract me, but I assure you it will not work.”
“Hush, you’ve been gone for months.” She tugged his jacket straight. “Allow me to fuss over you a bit.”
“Mother . . .”
She stepped back with a sigh and gestured to the housekeeper, who scurried from the room. “Oh, all right. But it is entirely your fault, arriving home late. I’d planned on more time to tell you.”
“Tell me what?”
“I’ve organized a little house party.” She waved a hand, as if that would dismiss the sinking sensation in Roland’s stomach. “Just a few friends to pass the time until Christmas.”
“Until Christmas?” The disbelief in his voice could not begin to match the dismay inside him. “You mean to tell me I’ve come home anticipating a quiet holiday, and instead I must entertain guests for a fortnight?”
Mama raised her chin. “I’ve been lonely while you’ve been away. You cannot deny me some company.”
“And you could not have had this company while I was gone?”
She swept back to her chair by the crackling fire. “I was certain you would not wish to miss it.”
He gave a short laugh as he ran a hand through his hair. “I think you were certain of the opposite, which is why you did not tell me.”
She offered a pained look. “It is hardly my fault you insisted on being a hermit for the last four months.”
“I am busy. That does not make me a hermit.”
She went on as if he hadn’t spoken. “I am only trying to broaden your circle of acquaintances. You’ll never meet any ladies of quality if you hole yourself up in your study for weeks on end.”
“Ladies?” Roland raised a finger. “Please do not tell me you invited a horde of young women to this house party.”
She huffed. “A horde? Do not be ridiculous. I only invited three or four, all accomplished and well-bred.”
He nearly threw up his hands. What was she thinking, ambushing him like this? “I am leaving. Going back to London this instant.”
His mother straightened, her severe gaze seizing Roland in a vicelike grip. “You most certainly are not,” she hissed. “I have put up with your nonsense for long enough. First you carouse your way through the Season, and then you abandon me for months on end.”
Roland stepped back. “I haven’t abandoned you. You know I had to see to my investments.”
“All I know is I have been more than patient, but it is high time you took your responsibilities seriously.”
“I have,” he insisted. What did she think he’d been doing all that time in London? “The estate is running smoothly, and if all goes well, the return on my new investments will be more than enough to—”
“Not your financial responsibility.” Mother clasped her hands in her lap. “Your responsibility to provide an heir.”
His mouth went dry. Of course. He exhaled and walked to the window, the panes edged in frost. “I’m not yet thirty, Mother. I hardly see that as shirking my duties.”
“If something does not happen to you.” She leaned forward. “What if you suffered an accident and died? You would leave me alone and penniless, forced to relinquish Hartfield to that odious cousin of yours.”
Roland sighed. “You would not be penniless, Mother. I know what Father left you.”
“That is beside the point. You made a promise, and I intend to make you keep it.”
Roland braced his hands against the windowsill as the memory stole back into his mind. His father lay in bed as Roland clasped his limp hand, his raspy voice insisting that Roland marry and continue the family line. Roland could do nothing but agree. In truth, he’d always known he would marry, so it had seemed an easy thing to promise. That is, until he’d actually made an attempt to find a bride.
“I will marry,” Roland said now, still staring out the window. “I promised, and I will.”
“Then why can’t you see this house party for the opportunity it is?” Mother asked. “I made the invitations very carefully, and I do not think you will find your guests lacking.”
He turned to face her. “Who have you invited?”
A triumphant smile leaped across her face. “Miss Tindale and her mother, of course, since you have always been friends.”
Friends was perhaps a stretch, but it was true Roland did know the young lady better than most, since their fathers had been good friends in life. But he’d never given her more than a second thought as far as marriage was concerned.
“And?” he prompted, moving to the seat beside hers.
“The Marsdens will be attending, and I must tell you, Miss Marsden has grown quite pretty.”
The Marsdens were nearby neighbors, but he couldn’t begin to bring an image of Miss Marsden to mind. Was she the timid one with the brown hair? He likely hadn’t seen her in over a year.
“And the Bell sisters have just arrived, though I admit I hesitated a bit over that invitation.”
Roland looked up. “The Bells? Are they the twins?”
He’d met the Bell family in London last Season and had even danced with Miss Vivian Bell, if he remembered correctly. He had found nothing offensive about her, which was almost unfortunate. He’d hoped to critique his mother’s choice in houseguests.
“Yes, the twins.” Mother frowned. “I do like the elder Miss Bell, but I cannot say I entirely approve of the younger sister.”
“How can you know she is younger? They look exactly the same.” He’d had to look twice at the two sisters when he’d first seen them at a ball. Golden-blond hair, bright-blue eyes, and their pert features unnervingly identical.
“I know,” his mother said coolly. “In any case, I was disappointed to learn that the mother would be unable to attend and that Miss Cassandra would come in her absence. But I assure you you’ll find the other young ladies perfectly acceptable.” She raised a finger. “And you will treat them well, no matter that you did not want them here.”
A shrill meow came from behind him, and his mother’s cat, Sir Chester, came slinking into the room. It leaped onto Mother’s lap, and she stroked its back distractedly, still watching Roland closely.
Roland crossed his arms, not wanting to give in so easily, not when he knew she must have been planning this for months. “I won’t be rude to our guests,” he said. “I am civilized enough for that.”
“I want more than civility, Roland.” Mother’s voice softened unexpectedly. “I want you to try.”
He was half tempted to give a cheeky retort, but he stopped himself. She only wanted the best for him, even if he didn’t at all agree with her methods.
“Let us make an arrangement,” he said finally. “If I promise to allow this house party a chance, you must promise that if nothing comes of it, you’ll let me be. You will not attempt to play matchmaker in the future.”
Mother considered his offer, then nodded. “Very well. I accept your terms. But know I will be watching.”
He groaned. “Yes, because nothing encourages romance like the watchful eye of a potential mother-in-law.”
She picked up the paper she’d been perusing when he’d arrived, one hand still stroking Sir Chester’s back. “You’ll manage somehow, I am sure. Now go and dress for dinner. Our other guests will arrive shortly.”
“All right,” he said. “But come Christmas, I expect to have my house back.”
Mother only gave a sly smile. “Hopefully with one new addition.”
He blew out a frustrated breath as he left the room and started up the main staircase. Was there a worse way to spend Christmas than an entire fortnight with three young women determined to pry a proposal from him?
He would not come away unscathed.