Free An Untitled Lady by Nicky Penttila

the future.”
    “So you are disgusted with me.”
    “With you?”
    “For not having birthed you first.”
    Her tone was light, but Nash frowned. He hadn’t thought of it that way. “I do not mean to cast aspersions on you in any way, Mama.”
    “No need for the formality, sweeting. I merely tease. You used to love that, too.”
    He stood and walked to the window beside her. “Time has changed me. Not all for the good.”
    “Was it really so hard in the Navy? Shaftsbury said you suffered terribly.”
    “He told you that?”
    “He truly was not the tyrant you boys paint with such relish. Oh, he could be hard, but deep down he was a good man. And he cared for nothing more than family.”
    Here was his opening. Nash banished the stray feelings his mother’s words conjured up.
    “Why was Shaftbury so interested in Madeline Wetherby? One, he was her godfather, and no one else’s.”
    “Yes, while I wasn’t pure enough to stand godmother.” Her bitterness led him to turn back to look at her. She tilted her head, her long natural hair swinging in its tail. “She looks nothing like him, if that is what you are implying.”
    “Two. When she has relatives of her own, he is the one who paid for her to go to school, and for far longer than he paid for Deacon’s schooling.”
    “Deacon came home on his own. I’m sure Shaftsbury would have loved having him continue to Cambridge. Even Oxford.”
    At least she was talking. He pushed on.
    “Three. He maintained a steady correspondence with her. A regular exchange of letters, like clockwork.” He found it hard to swallow.
    “So that’s it. You are jealous of the little orphaned girl.”
    “I’m not.” But he was. He could at least admit it to himself. He dropped back into the chair, running his hands through his hair. He’d forgotten to do up the band in the back properly.
    “You look a positive scarecrow. My brush is over there.”
    He did as she bid, and sat cross-legged in front of her chair the way he had when a brutish boy. She brushed through his hair, none too gently. He winced and pulled away a bit. She harrumphed.
    “Were you my man, I’d have barked at you already, Mama.”
    “Your man, had you one, wouldn’t touch you, seeing this rat’s nest. Did you sleep at all?” The pulling gentled, carrying his thoughts into a slower rhythm.
    “I believe father intended to settle money on her, but it was to come with the marriage.”
    “You learned all this from the lady’s correspondence?”
    He stiffened, remembering the scene at breakfast. Miss Wetherby was contained, indeed, but not without passion. He sighed under his mother’s hand, relaxing again. “No, I’ve learned it from you.”
    She brushed the last, now smoothed strands into her hand, and tied the bow a shade too tight. “She was a beautiful child. A green-eyed angel. Lady Wetherby was giddy over her. And Deacon.”
    “Why don’t I remember her?”
    “We kept you boys apart at that age. Deacon wasn’t ready for a brother then.”
    Nor ever. Nash rolled his eyes behind closed lids.
    “Don’t be so hard on your brother. It takes more than three generations to make a true peer. Cecil Wetherby is only the second, you know. Your father and grandfather took to it like fish to water, but our Dee has yet to find his way. Why make it harder for him?”
    “Shaftsbury wanted this match, and he knew all about the lady.”
    “Even wise men make mistakes.”
    “Has she truly changed from yesterday to today, Mama? Did you?”
    “Don’t be daft. Of course she’s changed. Everything has changed. And thank Providence we dodged that bullet. Can you imagine the scandal?”
    “The same scandal as when he wed you, a tradesman’s daughter?” He tilted his head back. In reply, she kissed his forehead. “Has your mama slipped from her pedestal? I suppose your argument has merit. You always were the little debater. If the girl is a squire’s daughter, she might do for the likes of you, perhaps.