His mother, always pale, turned ashen and recoiled against the pillows as if he’d threatened to strike her. “Oh, James, I’m so sorry.” Compassion weighted her voice. “You’re in love with her. I should have realized.”
He wanted to deny it. But how could he? He loved Eleanor and in making that love a shameful secret, he’d done her a heinous wrong. “Surely that, most of all, qualifies her to be my wife.”
His mother no longer looked like Boadicea ready to mow down a Roman legion. Instead her gaze was agonizingly sad. “Yes, it does. But as you said, her birth makes your marriage unthinkable.”
“You always lecture me on equality,” he said resentfully.
“Darling, she’s a wonderful girl. But she and I both see what you refuse to recognize. The Marquess of Leath can’t marry his housemaid and expect society to shrug its shoulders. You’d lose all the respect you’ve earned as a future leader of the nation. And a woman as proud as Nell would rankle at the world’s disdain.”
Did he want to marry Eleanor? She deserved a more honorable role than mistress. He’d always known that. That left two alternatives—make an honest woman of her or part from her forever. The second option condemned him to a barren wasteland. “There’s no legal impediment.”
His mother sighed with impatience. “We both know society’s rules. Marrying the girl who cleans out your fireplaces, however worthy she is, would turn you into a pariah.”
“Perhaps it would be worth it,” he muttered, facing the window again to avoid his mother’s disapproval. Wondering where Eleanor was, he caught the gold brocade curtain in one hand. He was no closer to knowing. When he’d asked his mother about his beloved’s whereabouts, he hadn’t expected an inquisition. He’d been naïve in the extreme.
“James, I beg of you, don’t sacrifice your ambitions because you’ve lost your head over a pair of pretty brown eyes.”
Numbly he stared into the night. “It’s more than that, Mamma, and you know it.”
Another sigh. “Yes, I do,” she said reluctantly. “You aren’t a shallow man.”
“All of this is moot. I don’t know where she is.”
“And you want me to help you find her?”
He turned and bit out an appalled curse. His mother stood unsteadily, clinging to one of the carved posts rising from the baseboard. She hadn’t stood without assistance in years. His conscience, already twitching over Eleanor, howled. Her expression warned him against helping her.
He’d driven his mother to this. For a man who prided himself on his scruples, he’d made a sodding mess of things.
“I fear for Miss Trim’s safety.” That at least was true.
His mother frowned. “She’s safer away from you, wherever she is.”
“So you won’t help me?” This was the closest he’d come to a serious quarrel with his mother since adolescence.
“I won’t let you sacrifice everything you’ve worked for.”
Angry words rushed to his lips, but when he saw her face, he bit them back. “Please tell me.”
His mother straightened against the bedpost. The burning light in her eyes made mockery of physical frailty. “Even if I knew where Nell is—and I don’t—I wouldn’t tell you. She’s left for your sake as well as her own. This ridiculous infatuation hasn’t overturned her mind the way it’s overturned yours.”
“I intend to find her.”
His mother’s hand tightened around the column until the knuckles shone white. “And if you find her, what will you do? Crush all my hopes? All your father’s hopes?”
He flinched. “I just want to make sure she’s safe.”
His mother’s face crumpled and tears glittered in her eyes. Despite her constant pain, his mother never cried. “Stop lying to me—and stop lying to yourself. No man who marries his housemaid will become prime minister. You’ll be a laughingstock. And for what? A girl who can never play her role as the Marchioness of Leath with any conviction? Surely you’re not so far gone in madness that you think that a fair bargain.”
Was he? He didn’t know. What he did know was that he felt like the lowest worm in creation for distressing his mother. He crossed the room and put his arm around her waist to stop her falling.
“I’m sorry I’ve made you unhappy.”
She was unyielding in his arms, although she couldn’t hide her relief once he’d returned her to bed. “But you’re not sorry about this destructive path you take.” His mother’s hand closed convulsively on his arm. Her voice vibrated with urgency. “I beg you to reconsider.”
He straightened. “I won’t do anything rash.”
All his life, she’d worked toward her son achieving the political greatness that fate had denied his father. If it became public knowledge that Eleanor was Leath’s mistress, the world would snicker. But if one of the nation’s greatest noblemen married his housemaid, an almighty scandal would ensue, one that would echo down the generations.