Page 50 of Becoming Wanton (Trade Wind 3)

Until this moment, he would have said such unvarnished maternal approval was a miracle he neither craved nor valued anymore. After all, he was no longer the boy waiting desperately for her promised visits to Candleton Hall, always delayed or canceled. He had believed himself indifferent by now, fulfilled by his wife and children, and no longer subject to her whims.

I was wrong.

Suspicions about her motivations remained, but he could not help the swell of gratification that rose within him at her words. All his life, she had expressed her resentments about his father and the hope that William would be a better man.

“You are Britain’s champion, William.”

He had tried. He had tried to bring good and make improvements wherever he could. Every day with his children, with his wife, and in Parliament, he aimed to comport himself with honor.

“Thank you, Mother,” he said quietly.

“Good morning, Lady Sabrina,” Bea greeted, entering the room with an agreeable smile.

William heard none of the pleasantries they exchanged; he savored the view of his wife. Her blooming cheeks hinted at their brief time in the bedchamber, and her hair had been re-pinned respectably. God, how he looked forward to tonight, when he would loosen her night plaits and fan her hair on her pillow, making her flush even more deeply.

Why wait for tonight?

“No, thank you, dear,” his mother replied to Bea’s invitation to precede her to the generously appointed sideboard. “Of course I drink only tea in the morning.” Her hand smoothed along her waist.

William stepped between the women, blocking Bea’s view of his mother, who had been looking Bea up and down. “My lady,” he intoned politely to his wife, extending an encouraging hand toward the breakfast laid out on the sideboard. “Do be sure to eat well,” he murmured. “We shall need our strength tonight.”

They both smiled, and the distraction lasted until they returned to the table, where the Dowager awaited.

“Would you care to visit the children after your tea?” William offered. “You’ll find Miriam and Edmund deep in delight. This week, they’re delving into Greek mythology.” He watched his mother, wondering if she would remember—if she had even known—that the subject had been one of great fascination, to the point of obsession, for both him and Augustus.

“Then I shan’t bother them, of course. Not this morning. Later today? I was just thinking I ought to visit and join you in a card game tonight. How long has it been?”

Icy cold spread through him at the thought of her company or interference on this day. No, not when he and Bea were just finding an understanding.

“Tonight we are otherwise engaged, Mother. Bea will send an invitation for later this week or next.”

“Oh, are you going to the theater tonight?” his mother asked brightly. Before either of them could reply, she spoke again. “Forgive me. You wouldn’t be going to the theatertonight!” She blinked rapidly, an act William saw not as a sign of innocence but of great foreboding. “Not when you attended the theaterlast night.”

There it is. The moment of clarity about his mother’s motivations. Of course she hadn’t appeared out of nowhere to praise him for his accomplishments in Parliament or to participate in her grandchildren’s education. He felt a fool a thousand times over—all the more so knowing that whatever disaster she was here to bring about, he had only himself to blame.

He looked at Beatrice, who gazed upon the Dowager as if wondering if she was quite well. “No, my lady. Our theater plans are for two nights hence,” she said patiently.

William knew he could throw his mother out this moment. He could even—perhaps—prevent any future revelations of where he had been last night and with whom. The temptation was great, but he knew in his bones that covering up his indiscretion would only compound the original sin and lead to a life of fear. He could hardly stand the shame of it now.

Staring at Beatrice one last time before her view of him could be changed forever, he heard his mother express false confusion.

“How strange. I could have sworn I had it on good authority that my son was seen at the Venus Theatre—in the company of a stunning beauty. Of course I thought it was you, Lady Candleton.”

At the first mention of the theater’s name—one known as a hotbed of debauchery—Bea looked bewildered. When his mother’s insult to her became clear, that registered, but she looked to William confidently. “William?”

“Mother, you’ll depart now,” he said without looking at her. He ignored her false shock.

Bea’s was true shock. “William?” she whispered this time.

“I was there,” he admitted, unwilling to prolong her suffering.

Color drained from her face. He bit his tongue against excuses, knowing that she needed time and his explanation required privacy. He glanced at his mother, who stroked her steaming teacup against her cheek as she watched the pain of William’s betrayal change Bea’s face into a tableau of suffering.

In a swish of satin, Bea rose. William caught up with her at the dining room door, where she froze momentarily without turning around. “Never touch me again.”

He stood for so long after she fled, stewing in self-hatred, he had forgotten his mother behind him.

“It’s for the best,” she said quietly.

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