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Besides, I didn’t have time to deprogram abutler. At the moment, my biggest concern was my lying, liar pantsbrother.
And whatever the fuck it was that had gonewrong with him that he could fall in love with someone as vile asCatherine.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
(Matthew)
My mother was finishing up her breakfast—andher Bloody Mary—when I found her in the conservatory.
“Good morning, darling,” she said when Ileaned down and kissed her cheek. “Have a seat.”
“You need to talk to me alone before Ileave,” I said, swallowing to keep stomach acid from creeping up mythroat and into my mouth. My first thought when Alan gave me themessage was that she would tell me she was dying. I sat downheavily and leaned my cane against the table. “Bad news?”
“Bad news? Oh no, not at all. I wanted totalk to you about—would you like a drink?” she asked, gesturing toher little bell.
“Mom.” It took so much effort not to displaymy frustration. “What do you want to talk to me about? Also, it’seleven o’clock in the morning.”
She raised her brows and pursed her lips,pushing her glass back before answering. “I wanted to talk to youabout Charlotte.”
“Ah. Maybe I’ll take that drink, after all.”I was only half-joking.
“Stop,” mom said with a chuckle. “I likeher, Matthew.”
“Oh.” That made things a lot simpler. Iwasn’t willing to give her up due to familial objections, but itwould be easier to move forward in the relationship if at least mymother liked Charlotte.
“She’s younger than you,” Mom went on.
“She is.” There was no point in tossing outcreepy and tired arguments men always made when they had youngerpartners. I wasn’t going to claim I was so immature that I couldn’tmake a relationship work with someone my own age. My mother alreadyknew that. And I wouldn’t claim that Charlotte was wise beyond heryears. She wasn’t. There was only one reason I was with her. “But Ilove her, Mom. I know it looks clichéd and pathetic. I’m aforty-year-old man with a woman in her twenties.”
“Your father was a fifty-four-year-old manwith an eighteen-year-old bride,” she reminded me.
“And that’s disgusting. And people calledyou a gold digger.” Those kinds of rumors weren’t scandalous orunusual, but Charlotte would be humiliated by them.
“Iwasa gold digger,” Mom said.
“Not everyone is as comfortable with that asyou are,” I pointed out.
“That’s something you need to be mindful of,then. For her sake.” Mom reached for her cigarettes.
“Will you stop with those, PrincessMargaret?” I snatched the lighter off the table and held it awayfrom her. She simply waited until I acquiesced and offered her alight.
“You have a bad habit—”
“Oh, I have a bad habit, do I?”
“Of assuming,” she continued, raising hervoice, “that everyone is cut out for this life. For society.”
I looked away and tried to swallow my bitterfeelings. “Maybe I don’t want someone who’s ‘cut out’ for society,Mother. I’m sorry I keep bringing people home who aren’tsuitable.”
“That’s not what I said.” She reached overand placed a firm hand on my arm. “She’s rough around the edges,but so are you. You’re suitable for each other. That should be allthat matters. But she’s young, and young women are fragile. Youhave no trouble brushing aside cruel remarks because none of thismatters to you. Charlotte will have to struggle to belong in yourway of life, and those thingswillmatter to her.”
“Your way of life,” I argued. “Notmine.”
“Yes, even yours. I know you think ofyourself as a man of the people. Most of your close friends are newmoney. But even the new money live differently than she ever has.”Mom sighed. “Darling, I’m not suggesting you rid yourself of her.She clearly makes you happy. But can she be happy with you?”
“I can make her happy.” Wow, that statementsounded a bit desperate and creepy. “What I mean is, I’ll defendher. I’m not going to throw her to the wolves and blame her forgetting bitten. I’m not Dad.”
Mom’s face fell, and I knew I’d fucked up.The hurt in her expression ricocheted back to me. I cursed under mybreath. “I’m sorry. That was a messed-up thing to say.”