“He wants the entire family together for Christmastide next week,” Mama continued. “He wants to see everyone…a jovial group…one last time.”

Veronica stiffened and forced herself to breathe normally. “I promise to be civil to Justin for the entire Christmastide holiday, if that’s what you’re worried about.” But she already knew that wasn’t what Mama was worried about…or what she was asking. Veronica’s throat went dry just thinking about it. Nausea roiled in her gut.

“I’m not speaking of Justin,” Mama replied, lifting her chin and giving her daughter the arched-brow stare Veronica hadn’t seen since she was a girl and had sneaked out of the house to swim in the pond at Whitmore Manor in the middle of the night.

Veronica’s nostrils flared. She lifted her chin, too. There was no use pretending any longer. “What if he refuses?” she reasoned, plucking absently at her dark-green skirts.

Mama’s arched-brow stare remained firmly in place. “He may be a scoundrel, darling, but he’s not a complete beast. How can he refuse the request of a dying man?”

It was on the tip of Veronica’s tongue to ask Mama if she would ask him. Mama was already on her way to London to ask Justin the same question. She could easily stop by Edgefield’s town house and ask him as well. After all, he wouldn’t deny his mother-in-law, would he?

Veronica immediately frowned. Probably. She wasn’t convinced that he wasn’t a beast. But even if she had the nerve to ask Mama to intervene, Veronica knew she wouldn’t do it. She couldn’t do it. No. She would have to deal with him on her own. He was her problem. Not Mama’s.

“Very well,” Veronica said, with a sigh. “I’ll be there.”

“And?” Mama prodded, allowing her dark brow to drop back into place over her intensely dark eye.

Veronica shook her head in as nonchalant a manner as she dared and purposely didn’t meet Mama’s gaze. “And I’ll do my best to get him to come as well,” she promised, having absolutely no clue how she would accomplish such a feat.

“It’s not a request, darling,” Mama said in the voice that Veronica had only heard a few times in her life. One that clearly indicated her mother expected complete obedience.

“If he refuses, I cannot very well abduct him and bring him to Whitmore Manor in shackles.” Frustration tinged Veronica’s voice.

“I don’t particularly care how you get him there,” Mama replied with the hint of a smile before deftly lifting the teacup and taking a small, polite sip. She set the cup aside and stood. “Now, I’m off to rest before dinner.”

Pressing her hand to her ribs, Veronica watched her mother go. Trepidation and nausea congealed in Veronica’s middle. She’d been dreading a moment like this for two years. The two years it had been since she’d told her husband to go to hell, since she’d packed her belongings and left their London town house. Since she’d made it clear she intended to go to their country estate and expected him to give her fair warning before he ever came to the property, so she’d have ample time to vacate. In the entire two years, she’d never once received a letter from him, he’d never once come to visit, and she’d neither seen nor heard from him. Precisely how she preferred it.