Dating the Duke (The Aristocrat Diaries 2)

I pinched the bridge of my nose and took a deep breath. Of course she had. Naturally. That was just what my mother did. “Mother, despite what you might say, it is my decision.”

“But if it will help her—”

“Then it’s my decision, if and when that happens. It shouldn’t happen with you going behind my back, especially since it’s now been a few days and you’re deliberately dragging it out with regards to getting rid of them.”

“They’re good for her! She’s been helping me every day. She checks on them more than I do. She even took Phoebe into her room—”

“She did what?” The words exploded out of me, and I had to stop myself from slamming my hand onto the bookcase behind me.

“More than once,” Mum continued. “Adelaide caught her the first time.”

My head snapped around, and I stared at her.

Adelaide didn’t let up on her typing and simply said, “Do not bring me into this.”

“I think I will,” I said. “She took one of the cats into her room, and you didn’t tell me?”

She sighed, tapped a couple of keys, then looked at me with an unamused expression. “Yes. A couple of days ago. She tried hiding the black one in her wardrobe, but I knew something was up, so I waited. I caught her, explained it wasn’t correct to do that, and took the cat away.”

“And you didn’t tell me?”

She shrugged. “Never had the chance.”

Oh, she’d had the bloody chance.

If she’d had the chance to kiss me, she’d had the chance to tell me.

“Is every female in this house conspiring against me?” I demanded. “Why do none of you listen to me?”

“I’m busy,” Adelaide said, her attention back on her book. “The people inside my head are about to kiss, so if you don’t mind…” She picked up a pair of headphones and put them on, effectively removing herself from the conversation.

“Actually, I—”

“They’re noise-canoodling headphones,” Mum said.

I did a double-take. “Noise-canoodling?”

“Yes. The ones where she can’t hear anything else.”

“Noise-cancelling, Mother.”

“Oh. I knew something there wasn’t right.” Mum tapped her chin. “I prefer the noise-canoodling version.”

Of course she did.

“Can we get back to the point now, please?” I flattened my hands against the sides of my head. “You cannot leave the cats locked in that bathroom for any longer. It’s not fair on them. It’s nowhere near big enough for them.”

“Then I shall let them out.” She got to her feet.

“Sit down!” I pointed at the sofa, and she dropped back onto it. “Absolutely not. No way. That’s not happening. You have to take them back.”

“I can’t take them back! It’s a horrible place, Alexander. All tiny cages and—”

“They’re in a small bathroom, Mother.” I rubbed my hand down my face.

This conversation was going nowhere.

Absolutely nowhere.

Of course, I was more than aware that I was fighting a losing battle. She wasn’t going to return the cats and nor was I, but I was going to go down swinging.

I was, however, happy to learn that Olympia had been taking care of them.

“I have six baby rabbits to rehome. I cannot have three cats who need to be rehomed as well.” I put my hands on my hips and looked down at her. “Have you even considered the implications of having the cats here? There are farms everywhere nearby. There are chickens and ducks and various other birds, not to mention the baby rabbits Olympia’s bunnies keep popping out every other month.”

At least it felt like it was every other month.

“I have, and cats would be beneficial. They’re hunters, dear. Where there are farms, there must be vermin. If you have vermin… Get a cat.”

“Harvey Mottershead has five terriers for that reason. He handles the rats.”

“They don’t catch mice, now, do they?”

I sighed. “Haven’t the foggiest idea, Mother.”

“Exactly. The cats will catch the mice.”

“The last time I saw them, they were lounging about the library as if they owned the place. You mean to convince me that those same cats will control the general mouse population?”

“Monica and Rachel will. Phoebe… Probably not so much.”

Wait.

I narrowed my eyes. “You named them… Phoebe, Monica, and Rachel?”

“Yes, dear.”

“Who names their cats after the main characters of a nineties sitcom?”

“That’ll be me, dear.”

I pinched the bridge of my nose again. Why didn’t she bring home three parrots and call them Jim, Barbara, and Denise? Add a few cockatoos and get Dave and bloody Anthony, too.

“Absolutely not,” I replied. “They have got to go back. That’s my final word on the subject. Tomorrow, Mother. I mean it.”

“No, you don’t.”

“Yes, I do, and I’m starting to get quite annoyed with the flagrant disrespect being shown to my wishes.”

She stood up and jabbed her finger in my chest. “You might be a duke, Alexander, but I’m still your mother. And you are never too big to go over my knee for a bloody good hiding, do you understand me?”