“What has that—”
“And as you’ll be in London several weeks—perhaps even longer, given how slowly you work—now is the time.”
“Tiempo para qué?” he asked, unthinkingly slipping into Spanish.
“To find a match! It’s the beginning of the social Season, the ideal time.”
Mateo was stunned. It was not possible that his mother was broaching the subject of his bachelorhood in his garden. He glanced over his shoulder at their “guests,” who, apparently, had discovered the miguelitos he’d dropped on the ground and had helped themselves. He looked back at his mother. He could feel thunder in his chest, the fury of being pushed by her. “You’ve no right—”
“I have every right. I am your mother. Teo, you need a wife,” she said, speaking quickly, her gaze darting past him to their guests. “It must be obvious to even you that your lack of an heir begs for your attention.”
The fury ignited. “I am aware of my responsibilities,” he bit out.
“Are you? Because you won’t meet your future bride locked away in your study. Now, Lady Aleksander will help you sort it out. She’s an old friend of mine and quite good with this sort of thing.”
His body felt as tightly wound as a clock. Without the slightest provocation, it was possible he might explode all over this garden. His mother had always been meddlesome, but this was outrageous. “I don’t—”
His mother suddenly stepped away from him. “Lady Aleksander! Would you be so kind as to explain the service you offer to my son?”
“Certainly!” Lady Aleksander dusted her hands of pastry crumbs as she strolled forward. “My service is to bring people together. Men and women, as it were. I help a very specific clientele find their future spouse, and I must say, I’ve had quite a lot of success, particularly with the royal and aristocratic families of Europe. Is that not so, Beck?”
“Absolutely,” he said, his mouth full of pastry. He swallowed. “The queen of Wesloria, her sister, the Duchess of Marley. My own sister is married to a prince of Alucia. Shall I go on?”
His mother had ambushed him. If Mateo wasn’t so furious, he might even admire that she’d outflanked and outgunned him on this burning topic between them. Of course, this wasn’t the first time she’d raised the issue—she talked about it all the time. But he thought he might be allowed to do what he needed to do in England before she continued her assault.
She’d caught him flat-footed. And what did military strategists recommend when ambushed? Fall back.
He fell back into silence. He’d learned that as a boy—it was better to remain silent than to open one’s mouth and find that every thought he had was the wrong one. He’d learned then that the wrong thought was to be ridiculed, especially in public.
“You can’t disagree that the time has come,” his mother continued gaily, without even a whiff of shame. “Now Teo, I—”
He held up his hand to stop his mother from saying another word.
Every time they’d had this conversation, he’d told her she didn’t need to tell him to get on with the business of procreation. He knew very well he ought to, and honestly, he wouldn’t mind it. Sometimes he was lonely in his title and in his house. But between what could sometimes be debilitating shyness and an inability to be charming, he hadn’t had much luck. He knew that he was awkward around people. He felt oddly out of place at parties when everyone was looking for an introduction to him. He was exceptionally bad at small talk, preferred quiet evenings to raucous gatherings, and would like to meet a future spouse on his own damn terms.
Unfortunately, the young women he’d met so far—the ones deemed suitable matches—never seemed to like him much. And the women he’d met for baser pursuits didn’t care if he talked or not.
In short, he’d never met a woman who seemed to know what to do with him, including his own mother.
He tried to think of how to end this deplorable conversation, but his mother was ahead of him, executing her plan. “Shall we go in for tea?” She linked her arm through his. “We can discuss it further.”
“I hope you have more of those delicious pastries,” Lady Aleksander said.
Mateo might have told them that they’d been picked up off the lawn, but he was too busy turning inward, pushing his fury with his mother into a deep hole and dreading a conversation he didn’t know how to navigate.
CHAPTER THREE
HATTIE HAD LONG suspected that her father was trying all her life to drive her to madness, and today, he might very well succeed. Right now, he was stomping about the house, scattering cats and knocking over dress forms in search of his favorite walking stick. “The one with the carved hawk’s head made of whalebone,” he shouted to his wife, who was diligently searching through the piles of things scattered about.
Hattie consulted the watch pinned to her gown. “We will be late,” she warned him. Which to her seemed an unpardonable sin—it wasn’t every day the Earl of Iddesleigh invited one to tea, and if he did, one surely would not be so rude as to arrive late. “He doesn’t care about your walking stick!” she called after her father. A cat rubbed against her skirt. She nudged it away.
“Ah, here we are.” Her father reappeared carrying the walking stick and held it up to Hattie to inspect. “The earl will like this. I assure you he’s not seen finer.”
Hattie refused to look at it. “May we please go now?”
She was angry with her father for insisting he accompany her today—her chance encounter with Lord Iddesleigh was the best thing to have happened to her in the fortnight since she’d handed Rupert Masterson his freedom, and she didn’t want her father to spoil it.
He would most definitely spoil it.
When she’d sent Rupert the letter he’d asked Flora to arrange, he’d responded immediately, assuring her it was the right thing to do and wishing her all the best. That was all he said. Nothing about the months they’d been courting or the times Hattie had helped him in his shop. Not a word about the plans they’d made, or how he could so easily step away from their commitment to each other. Why was it so simple for him, and so hard for her?
The initial shock had drained out of her. There were days when the end of her engagement seemed like a dream, but most days she was enraged that Rupert had turned out to be such a coward—and that her family had turned into such a glaring problem for her.
More than once, she’d found herself standing across the street from Masterson Dry Goods and Sundries Shop. She had a very strong desire to confront him and knock him in the mouth, just like she’d seen the boxers do in the gymnasium that Daniel had insisted taking her to see. But mostly, she stewed.