Lord Thomas and his bride (The Duke's Brothers Book 3) by Fiona Miers (smallest ebook reader .TXT) 📗

Thomas stared at his mother and cocked his head. “You do?”

“You neither informed me beforehand nor asked for my permission to do so, which I feel is very disrespectful. I am, indeed, your mother, and this has been my home for many years,” his mother said.

“Thomas, forgive me for interjecting, but Her Grace and I were in the midst of a discussion before you came in,” Rebecca said.

“A discussion?”

“Thomas—”

“Your mother was negotiating with me, for how much money it would take for me to remove my claws from you and get out of your life altogether,” Rebecca said with a furrowed brow.

“Pardon me?” Thomas asked, blinking rapidly.

“That is not true at all,” his mother said petulantly.

Thomas rose his feet and his jaw dropped. “Why would you do such a thing, Mother?”

“She intentionally wished to trap you, Thomas,” the Dowager Duchess accused, flinging her arms about.

As she did so, she accidentally spilled the warm beverage over herself and a shriek came from her mouth.

“Oh, it is not even hot,” Thomas said and rolled his eyes.

Rebecca rose to her feet, retrieved a tea towel from the table and began to wipe the warm chocolate drink from the Dowager Duchess.

“Get your filthy hands off me,” his mother shrieked.

“Stop insulting Rebecca,” Thomas ground out.

The Dowager Duchess reached for her bell and began to ring it continuously and with an urgency that could only be described as theatrically exaggerated. She rang it so many times that Thomas’ ears began to hurt, and he stepped away.

“What in heavens is going on here?” Charles asked as he ran through the door of the bedchambers.

“I am covered in hot chocolate,” the Dowager Duchess said in a small voice, which was clearly forced.

“Our mother thinks she can pay off people to remove themselves from my life.”

Charles seemed overwhelmed by the activity in the bedchambers. He inhaled deeply and clapped his hands together, loudly. “That is enough!”

His voice echoed through the room, and an instant silence befell Rebecca, Thomas, and a chocolate-covered Dowager Duchess.

“Now, would someone kindly tell me what in the blazes is going on here?”

Charles’ nostrils flared as he stared at them and for a moment, Thomas felt remorseful towards his brother. Having their mother visit the estate had always added to Charles’ already high stress level, especially this time of the year.

Charles was a perfectionist and liked to control every possible element of his existence. Of course, the presence of his brothers, their wives, and their children made this very difficult. Now that their mother had joined them at the estate, Charles was out of sorts, and this was clearly detectable on his face.

“Charles—”

“Thomas, not now,” was all Charles managed to say.

He was red in the face and huffing and puffing. He was obviously angry and upset, and all Thomas wished to do was apologise. Charles was not a pleasant person to deal with in his current state.

Charles ran his fingers through his hair and sighed as he gazed at his mother. “Thomas, would you and Rebecca kindly wait for me in the upstairs study?”

“Yes, of course,” Thomas said, eager to leave their mother’s bedchambers.

Thomas turned to Rebecca. “Let us give Charles some space.”

She nodded quietly, then bit her lip and turned to Charles. “My father is waiting for me downstairs...”

“I will speak to your father.” Charles said, his tone not brooking any argument.

Rebecca nodded once more and together they hastily left the bedchambers. Thomas led her down the long hallway and he noticed her attention was on the portraits hanging from the walls. A smile formed on his lips and he pointed to a painting of Weymouth Bay.

“Do you see that one? The one of Weymouth Bay?”

“Yes.”

“My father painted it. It was the first and last painting he ever painted.”

“He was very talented,” Rebecca said, then frowned. “Why only the one?”

“Because he was convinced it was his finest work, and he would not be able to paint a more perfect painting,” Thomas said. “And my mother thought painters were fools.”

Rebecca scoffed and shook her head. “It sounds a fairly accurate description for something for your mother would say.”

Thomas suppressed a grin and they continued down the hallway. As they approached the upstairs study, which Charles used for most of his business, Thomas opened the door and they stepped inside.

He was interested to hear what exactly his mother had told Rebecca, and he closed the door behind them, ignoring propriety. He nudged her to the chaise lounge, and she sat down.

“Rebecca,” he said, and she looked at him, her eyes sad. “Tell me what my mother said to you before I arrived back in her bedchambers.”

Rebecca shrugged her shoulders and cast her gaze downwards. “It does not matter what I say. Why would you believe my words over your own mother’s?”

Thomas’s gaze softened and he sat beside her, taking her hand in his. “It matters to me what you say. You matter to me.”

“I do?”

“Of course.”

Rebecca gazed at him for a long moment, then drew in a breath. “Your mother does not deem me worthy of you. She is under the impression that I planned everything at the beach. That I only pretended to nearly drown so that you would save me. That I planned for someone to see our kiss and have rumours spread about me. Rumours that would ruin my reputation, and since you are a kind-hearted man, you would feel guilty and ask me to marry you for the sake of restoring my reputation.”

“Restoring your reputation would not be the reason why I would ask you to marry me, Rebecca,” Thomas said sincerely.

Her cheeks flushed and she lowered her gaze. “Whatever the reason, Thomas, your mother would not approve. She wished to pay me any amount I asked for to leave you alone, to never set foot on the estate again. I was shocked initially that she would ask that of me. Does she despise me so much that she wished me out of your life? I did nothing to warrant