Page 34 of A Virgin for the Rakish Marquess

Euphemia Bolton had her way of getting you to reevaluate your life choices while showing you immense love. James made sure he always appreciated the love she had showered him with. It was with love that he regarded her as she poured her millionth cup of tea.

“I don’t think I have met the girl,” she continued. “I knew her mother. A beautiful woman, she was.”

His grandmother was a shrewd one. Either he admitted Diana was beautiful or not. Either way, she would have what she needed.

“I can’t say whether her mother was beautiful or not.” He took a sip of his coffee.

Euphemia narrowed her eyes in a way that said,Don’t toy with me, boy.

James shook his head. “But,” he relented, “if I were to judge from her daughter’s looks, it’d be fair to say that she must have been lovely.”

“Lovely? What an interesting choice of words.”

James decided that the best course of action was to drink more of his coffee. He wasn’t ready to ask his grandmother what exactly piqued her curiosity. It would only entangle him and incriminate him further.

“And you are going to do business with her brother. How interesting, indeed.”

“Grandmother,” he simply said with a raised eyebrow.

“Oh, please, my handsome boy. You know I only wish to see you happy. Married, with a family.”

He was ready to tease her when the door opened and his father walked in. James’s back stiffened, and his smile dropped. It felt like an invasion to have him here.

This had always been their moment, the little quirky breakfast that the two of them had here.Onlythe two of them, he and his grandmother. In the house they lived in, a house he had to manage so young along with the rest of his duties. Now, his father was here and was getting in the way all the time, claiming everything that was his.

“Good morning, Mother.” Solomon kissed Euphemia’s cheek.

James watched as the old woman’s eyes lit up. This was her only son, after all. He was absent, and now he was back. Who could blame the old woman?

“James.” Solomon nodded, seeming at a loss.

James didn’t move, eyeing him over his coffee cup.

“Ah, you came at the perfect moment,” Euphemia chimed in.

Not at all,James wanted to protest, and it showed on his face. Solomon had the decency to refrain from trying to inject himself into their conversation.

“James was telling me about last night’s ball. Because I have it on good authority that he only danced with one lady all night.”

James clenched his jaw. The mirth was gone. He had really hoped to pretend that his father was not there till he finished his coffee and left.

“Do you know of Lady Diana, Solomon? She is the sister of the Duke of Westall, and her eldest sister is the Duchess of Seymour.”

“I can’t say I do.” Solomon was careful to avoid James’s gaze.

Euphemia was no fool. Her old bones must have felt the chill between the two men, but she was on a mission. If she desiredto see James married, then she desired even more to see her son and grandson mending their broken relationship.

“Our James”—Euphemia was glad to include him, of course—“bid at an auction on five promenades with her.”

Solomon shot his son a dark look. James returned it tenfold. The sunlight filtering through the windows was making a futile attempt to warm their cold looks.

“I am not surprised you don’t know of her. She is a rather reserved lady.” Euphemia was happy to keep the conversation going. “Understandable, of course, after what happened to her. If I was so publicly humiliated, I’d want to make myself invisible.”

“Grandmother!”

It was too late, though.

“Humiliated?” Solomon’s tone was cold.

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