Chapter 6

"You mortified that poor girl!" Nathaniel's mother, Abigail, complained for the hundredth time as the carriage rattled back toward the foggy lights of London where they had taken up residence in their Mayfair townhouse for the upcoming season.

Bergfield Manor was too drafty in the winter, the snows too thick, the weather too temperamental, the heat of the fireplaces never quite warm enough, and in his mother's advancing years, she had decided to uphold the old tradition of wintering in the Capital.

"She would not have been mortified if you had not conspired to attend the ball with her tonight," Nathaniel replied. "You were instructed to stay behind, after all. So, not to be unkind, but you caused her embarrassment."

Abigail huffed, folding her arms across her chest, pushing a great cascade of silky ruffles higher up into her chin, giving the rather amusing illusion of a beard. "It was supposed to be a welcome surprise."

"Ah, but that is the problem with surprises, Mother: they are not always welcome to the one being surprised," Nathaniel replied. "Besides, when have I ever enjoyed surprises? I like to know precisely what I am about to face at all times."

Abigail glared out of the carriage window at the dark world rumbling by. "You could have at least been civil, offering her a genteel word or a measly dance. Instead, you ignored her! She must think you have no interest in her whatsoever."

"She would be correct."

Abigail sucked in a sharp breath of discontent. "I did not raise you to be cruel, Nathaniel! Nor did I raise you to be discourteous."

"I cannot be held responsible for your schemes, Mother," he insisted. "You ambushed me, and now, you are sour because things did not turn out the way you planned. I am sorry, but I will not apologize for not entertaining your selection of bride."

Abigail's cheeks had turned a livid shade of red. "Well, you cannot keep avoiding marriage. You do not have a choice in the matter. It is your duty and your responsibility as Duke to marry and ensure that our legacy endures. You are almost thirty years of age, Nathaniel!"

"Apparently, that is the accursed age at which all respectability evaporates," Nathaniel teased, knowing he should not in case his mother actually did explode. But he could not help himself; she was being quite ridiculous, afflicted with some sort of marriage fever that had seized her mind in its grip.

Abigail's chin sank further into her nest of ruffles. "You are impossible, Nathaniel. You refuse every choice I make; you pout and complain that you will marry in good time, but that "good time" is running out, my boy."

"I am aware," Nathaniel said, bracing himself, "which is why I have found someone that has captured my interest. You will note, of course, that I just said I have found someone which is all I ever desired. None of these forced pleasantries that you have been so keen to make me endure."

He still could not believe he had made such a suggestion to Lady Leah, but there was no regret in his mind as he thought through their brief encounter. She was beautiful, she was amusing, she was in need of his assistance, and though she had been somewhat shy, he could see the witty spirit beneath, just waiting to emerge. If nothing else, he was quite certain they would become firm friends over the course of the London season, and he always welcomed the prospect of new friends.

A few moments later, he realized his mother had not said a word. She simply sat there, arms still folded across her chest, chin still tucked into the ruffles of her chemisette, eyes as wide as saucers.

"Are you well, Mother?" he asked, as anxious as he was amused.

"You have… found someone?" she managed to squeak.

He smiled. "Did you think I was just dancing with a stranger to annoy you?"

"Well… yes!" his mother replied, emerging from her hunched form. "I have never seen that woman before, nor have I heard you mention any young lady. Indeed, you have not even told me who she was."

Nathaniel held up a finger. "No, you did not ask who she was. You were too furious about me ignoring Lady Kate, who I am certain will be married to a respectable, well-connected, boring gentleman by the end of the season." He paused for dramatic effect. "But Lady Leah is precisely the sort of lady that interests me. We have many things in common, we share similar thoughts and pastimes, and the moment I met her, it was as if we had known one another forever. Someone I could… rely on."

He swallowed the laugh that threatened to bubble up, for while his words were not untruths, only he knew how poignant they truly were. In seeing his mother's shocked expression, he knew he had done the right thing by making the offer to Leah; it was going to be the perfect ruse. And he would have an entire season without being bothered by his mother's marriage schemes. Blissful, he sighed inwardly.

He could not deny that it was also somewhat refreshing to not disappoint his mother and to not have to convince her that he was never going to marry as he had done in the past. This way, he could have the best of both worlds.

"But you did not even introduce me," his mother protested. "You should have introduced me! I did not even get to look at her properly or ask about her family or find out what her character is like."

Nathaniel shrugged. "Again, I do not mean to be unkind, but that is your fault. You had ample opportunity to approach, but you remained in the corner with Lady Kate, scowling at me." He paused. "And I would have written to Lady Kate, explaining the situation, if you had not insisted on bringing her to the ball. Her pride would have been spared, and all would have been well, but you will not be told."

Abigail pursed her lips, contemplating. "Until I have met this girl myself, I shall still believe that my choice was better. Lady Kate is an exemplary young lady. But this Lady Leah—if she had any politeness at all, she would have asked to approach me."

"I did not tell her you were there," Nathaniel replied. "Considering how viciously you were glaring at me, I thought it best not to frighten the first lady who has piqued my affections in years."

Abigail sat chastened. "But you will introduce me, will you not?"

"In good time," Nathaniel said.

"And if I find her to be unpleasant or unworthy, will you consider Lady Kate again?"

Nathaniel rolled his eyes, realizing he would never truly be able to win. "No, I will not." He met his mother's gaze. "As you once told me, you do not choose who you love."

It was beneath him to dredge up something she had said in a moment of desperation, but he needed the conversation to end swiftly. After all, Leah had not yet agreed to the ruse, and he sensed he had some persuading ahead of him if he was to ensure a peaceful season of avoiding marriage.

His mother dropped her chin to her chest, half hiding in the ruffles once more. "Arrange a meeting soon," was all she said in a quiet, sad tone as she turned her gaze back to the darkened world that rolled by.

I will,he answered silently, just as soon as I have convinced Leah to play along.

After her abrupt departure, he had a feeling that that would be the hard part. Perhaps, for her, that one night had been enough to serve its purpose. And considering what Jonathan had done to her, Nathaniel supposed, it would not be a simple thing to get her to take such a leap of faith.

Luckily—or unluckily for her—he relished a challenge.

* * *

"I simply do not know what to do with you!" Leah's father raged, pacing back and forth in front of the mantelpiece in the "Grand Drawing Room"—a room that, at least in Leah's opinion, was solely used for her reprimands. They never sat there for an evening, never entertained guests there—unless they were particularly important and honored—and no one was allowed into it aside from her father.

Leah stifled a yawn, rubbing her tired eyes. "You do not need to do anything with me. As far as I am concerned, I have done nothing wrong, and I should very much like to sleep."

"Sleep?" Ezra roared. "It is two o'clock in the afternoon, Leah!"

Leah leaned back against the soft velvet of the settee, her eyelids heavy. "But I did not sleep at all last night. Phoebe and the girls were terribly unwell and needed constant care. The physician came just after dawn, and though Phoebe offered me a bedchamber, I thought it best to return before you sent constables after me."

"You were supposed to be at the ball!" her father snapped, running an exasperated hand through his thinning gray and brown hair. "You absconded from said ball, embarrassing me and your mother most abhorrently!"

Leah cast him a withering look. "Who noticed?"

"Pardon?"

"Who noticed my absence?" She covered another yawn with her hand. "I imagine no one did because no one wanted to be present at that ball. Allow me to guess—did it end before midnight because all the guests decided to depart early out of utter boredom?"

Ezra's jaw clenched. "That is beside the point."

"And I left a note, and had it delivered to you by one of the footmen, so you would not worry about my whereabouts," she continued, too tired to spend eternity in another argument. "No one is angry with Matilda and Anna, so why should you be angry with me? Indeed, you ought to be proud of me for putting the health of my friend and her sisters above the trivial entertainment of an out-of-season ball."

"Sarah!" Ezra bellowed.

Leah rolled her eyes. "What is the use of calling for Mama? She will only agree with you, we shall argue in circles, we shall both tire of it, and we shall walk out of this room agreeing to disagree, as always."

It really had been a long night, and she would not have exchanged a moment of it. Though Phoebe was too proud to admit it, she really had been in desperate need of help, and when Leah, Anna, and Matilda had arrived after fleeing the ball, the relief upon Phoebe's face had been worth every anxious thought about what would be waiting for Leah when she returned home, even though she had managed to write a note for her mother and father explaining where she was going and why.

And the dancing was not unpleasant, either, her mind whispered, reminding her of the dreamlike part of the evening. Even now, in her afternoon-after fatigue, it did not seem real. Of course, she would have preferred it if Jonathan had not been at the ball at all, and she had not needed to rely upon a stranger's help, but seeing him storm off in a thinly veiled fury had given her a morsel of satisfaction to soften the hard edges of his cruel abandonment—a fine memory to bolster her courage for when the season began properly.

"What is the matter, darling?" Sarah poked her head around the drawing room door.

Ezra jabbed an accusatory finger at Leah. "Your daughter!"

"How are Phoebe and the girls?" Sarah asked, slinking in. "Are they well? I thought I might send you there tomorrow with some soup, for I cannot bear the thought of them all suffering without a mother to tend to them."

Leah resisted the urge to flash a gleeful smile at her father. "They are very much not well. The physician had arrived when I departed, and Anna has promised to write to us to inform us of their welfare. She stayed, you see, while Matilda and I left."

"Being the closest, that is to be expected," Sarah said, for though all of the ‘Spinsters' Club' lived within two hours of one another—with the recent exception of Olivia—Anna's residence was the nearest to Phoebe's. "It sounds strange to say, but it is a shame they did not fall ill while we were all in London. I could have taken soup myself."

Leah nodded. "I said that to Phoebe. She agreed that the timing could not have been worse, for they were in the midst of packing for the London season. Now, I do not think she will be joining us at all."

"Oh, what a pity!" Sarah looked genuinely crestfallen, for while she often pretended to be her husband's ally, she secretly adored Leah's friends—especially Phoebe and Phoebe's sisters.

Ezra clapped his hands, startling the two women. "I did not call you in here for a fishwives' meeting, Sarah!" He tutted under his breath. "Our daughter embarrassed us last night!"

"Oh, Ezra, she did not," Sarah replied, showing more defiance than usual. "She went to care for a dear friend. I would have expected nothing less, and if something were to happen to us, and she were to fall ill, I would hope that her friends would do the same for her."

Ezra opened and closed his mouth like a stranded fish, clearly in disbelief that his wife was taking his daughter's side.

"And how can you say she embarrassed us when, for the first time in three years, she danced with a gentleman? Not only that, but she danced with him at the same ball that her former betrothed was attending with his wretched young wife! I am surprised you are not pouring yourself a brandy to celebrate." Sarah had, apparently, awoken with a fire in her belly that day.

Leah blinked at her in astonishment. "You… saw the dance?"

"Of course, darling." Sarah took hold of Leah's hand. "I was searching for Lady Ponsonby while your father was in the smoking room, and there you were, dancing so elegantly with that fine gentleman. Rather handsome, was he not?"

Ezra clapped his hands again. "Excuse me? Have you forgotten that I am still here?"

"How could we, darling, when you keep smacking your palms together to remind us," Sarah replied drily, prompting Leah to smother a snort. Indeed, Leah rather liked this side of her mother though it was rarely seen.

Ezra pulled a churlish face. "Who was this gentleman? Was there a gentleman, or are you conspiring together, so I will not punish our daughter?"

"Do not be absurd, Ezra," Sarah replied. "I saw it with my own two eyes. I might have wept a little, too, for you looked so beautiful, Leah. I had forgotten how graceful you are when you dance. It warmed my heart; it truly did."

"Well," Ezra barked, losing what remained of his patience, "who was this gentleman? If there was a gentleman, then that rather changes things. Or, perhaps, it does not, for if you fled from a respectable gentleman who might have been an excellent prospect, then you have been twice as foolish!"

Leah and her mother exchanged a look, the former trying to decide if her mother knew more than she was saying. Was her mother already aware of the gentleman's identity? If she had spoken to Lady Ponsonby, it seemed likely, for Lady Ponsonby knew everyone.

"Who was he?" Ezra practically screamed, his entire face sweaty and red.

Leah narrowed her eyes at him and opened her mouth to answer when the drawing room door opened, and the butler, Mr. Gibbs, shuffled inside. "There is a visitor for you, my lord," he said. "The Duke of Bergfield."

Anything Leah had been about to say died upon her lips as she turned to Mr. Gibbs and gasped, "He is… here?"

"Who is here?" Ezra replied, frowning.

"Him!" Sarah cried, clapping her hands together in delight. "He is here!"

Leah's stomach twisted into knots, her heart palpitating. Evidently, for Nathaniel, last night had not been enough… and he was here to chase the contract that, even now, she had assumed was a joke. But in this moment, it all felt much, much too real.