Chapter Three

Nathanial entered his study with a thoughtful air and poured himself a glass of port from his crystal decanter. The ball was still in full swing, and no doubt his mother would notice his absence and scold him for it, but he needed space in which to think.

Only if you're on the cusp of proposing.

He had not been on the cusp of proposing. The idea of marrying Theo, a girl he'd known since she was in muddy petticoats, was a preposterous one, and he had no sooner dismissed it than it had taken hold.

Really, Beaumont shouldn't be forcing his daughter into marrying lecherous fossils. Then, there would be no need for Nathanial to even consider matrimony, and he could go back to his life as a carefree bachelor.

As carefree as anyone could be with a mother like his breathing down his neck and insisting he marry.

He tossed the drink back as he sank into his favourite armchair. Marriage was a serious business, and not one he contemplated lightly, but if he married Theo, it would free him from his mother's attentions. And Theo would no doubt suit him better than the insipid young ladies his mother had presented to him this evening.

Of course, this was assuming Theo would accept his suit. He would have to make his intentions plain; he was offering to save her from Whitstable on the understanding that this would not be a love match. Considering her choice was between him and Whitstable, however, he flattered himself that she would not reject him.

He poured himself another glass of port, decision made. Tomorrow, he would call on Theo.

In dedication to his newfound cause, Nathanial prevailed upon himself to call on Theo the next morning at around noon. To his relief, he found her alone in the drawing room, unaccompanied by either her younger sister or her mother.

She looked up as he entered, and her face creased in confusion. "Nate? What are you doing here so early?"

"I see my reputation precedes me." He noticed her eyes were a little red-rimmed, and he extended a hand, which she took at once. "Are you all right?"

"Yes, of course. That is—well." She smiled wanly at him. "Why don't you sit down and tell me why you're here. How did you contrive to avoid Nott?"

"I told him I would see myself in," Nathanial said, accepting the seat beside Theo and retaining his grip in her hand. "He and I are old friends. But tell me, Theo, what's the matter? Are things so terrible?"

"Oh, not terrible . Or," she added, "Mama would not say it is so bad. I'm to be a countess, you know, and that should make up for . . . Well, for everything else."

He watched her face, not missing the way she sniffed defiantly, as though daring him to comment on her unhappiness. "How would you prefer to be a duchess?"

"A duchess?" At this, she laughed. "If I thought the Duke of Wessex would dispose of his wife and ask me, I would be a deal sight more cheerful. He isn't above forty, you know, and he has his teeth."

"You have a preoccupation with teeth," he said, frowning. "I can't think what has brought this on."

For an instant, laughter brimmed in her blue eyes. "No, I daresay you can't. Why are you here, Nathanial? If Mama ever finds out you came to see me—alone, at that—and did not see her, too, she'll be quite put out."

If Nathanial had once had misgivings about his purpose, the sight of her woebegone face would have been enough to banish them entirely. "As it happens," he said, extending his legs in front of him, "I came with a solution to your problem."

Her mouth turned down at the corners. "You can't have done. I've thought it all through, and there's nothing for it. No one else has offered, and Papa is desperate, you know. Lord Whitstable is the only man to want to marry me enough to propose, if you can call it that, and if I don't accept, we shall have to return to the country."

Nathanial found himself conscious of both shock and anger. He waited until his voice was steady before saying, "Immediately?"

"Oh, we're quite undone," she said candidly. "If he did not gamble so much—but I shouldn't know about that."

Considering her father did so little to hide his vices from his family, it was hardly surprising Theo knew about them, but the thought still irritated Nathanial. He pushed it aside. "You shouldn't," he said, "but that's not the point. My solution is drastic, but I think you'll find it preferable. I, at least, am in possession of all my teeth, the last time I checked."

She looked up at him in blatant shock, and Nathanial encountered his second surprise of the day when he discovered that little Theo, whom he had seen more as a grubby child than a young lady, was remarkably pretty.

"Good God," she said. "You can't be suggesting what I think you're suggesting."

"This is extremely disheartening."

"Nate, you—" She swallowed. "You must be joking. Why would you want to marry me?"

"You must learn to accept your proposals with a little more grace, my dear."

She squinted suspiciously at him, and it was all he could do to keep a straight face. "Are you being serious?"

"I have never been more so."

"And you are not drunk?"

His control snapped, and he laughed. "Brat," he said, chucking her under the chin. "No, I am not drunk, and I'm not teasing you. I'm in want of a wife, or at least my mother believes me to be—which, I have on authority, is the same thing. And you are in search of a more eligible husband than a man easily old enough to be your father."

"Twice over," she muttered.

"So, will you accept?"

Her eyes were wide, the blue a crisp, wintry shade. "Do you think my father would accept?"

"I shall ensure he does."

"Only . . ." She hesitated, toying with the edge of her book. "I believe the Earl offered to pay some of my father's debts."

Of course he had, Nathanial thought grimly. And of course that was why Lord Shrewsbury had accepted the match. Still. "You need not fear," he said. "My fortune is large. "

"We have been friends long enough for me to know that . But Papa is . . . And there is Oliver to consider. He is due to go to Oxford next summer, and—"

"I know where Oliver is in his education," Nathanial said wryly. "He will go to Oxford if he wishes. But there is one final thing we must discuss before I speak with your father, Theo."

"Oh?"

There were many ways he could have approached this subject, but Theo was his friend—of longstanding nature—and she deserved the truth. "This is not a love-match," he said. "Nor will I lie to you about the nature of my affections."

"I thought you were going to say something terrible!" she said, releasing the breath she'd been holding. "Are your affections engaged?"

"Not presently."

"I suppose it would have been unfortunate if they were."

"Yes," he agreed with a smile he could not help. "Are yours?"

"Not yet. Although I had . . ." She dropped her gaze, a becoming flush high on her cheeks. "I had hoped to find—someone."

Ah, so his little Theo was a romantic. "That brings me onto my next point, then." He waited until she looked up at him again before saying, "I intend to continue the lifestyle I enjoy now, largely." Alongside the obligations that a wife would necessitate. "And I have no objection if you find . . . distraction elsewhere, as long as you're discreet."

A second ticked by, then another, and for a moment, he didn't think she was going to understand his meaning. But then shock swamped her eyes. "Are you— Nathanial . Are you saying what I think you're saying?"

"That entirely depends, but I believe so. And you should know that while I will, of course, want children in time, I have no intention of expecting you to perform any wifely duties at present. "

This time, his name was uttered in a voice of confusion. "Wifely duties?" she said. "What has that to do with anything?"

He sighed. This was not a conversation he had relished, and it was turning out to be just as bad as he had envisaged. "Usually, when a man and woman wed, he visits her bed. I shall make you no such visit."

Her brow creased. "I see."

"It is not perhaps a traditional situation, but I think we will get along well enough together."

"Unless," she said wickedly, "I hope for romance."

"I am afraid you will never find that with me."

"I see." She pursed her lips in an oddly charming gesture before relaxing into a smile. "Well, if you're certain you mean it, I shall be glad to accept."

"I mean it."

"I can't think what a sacrifice it must have been," she continued, her face remarkably straight, "offering for me over all the young ladies vying for your hand."

"Wretch."

Amusement danced in her eyes, dissolving the winter into summer warmth, and a lopsided dimple popped in her cheek. "Not a wretch. Your future wife."

If that wasn't the most terrifying thing he had heard all day. He ruffled her hair. "You may stop moping now," he said. "I'm about to visit your father, and all being well, I should have an announcement in the papers tomorrow or the day after."

"I wasn't moping ," she said indignantly as he went to the door. "And Nate—do not be too angry with Papa."

He raised his eyebrows at her. "Were you not when he arranged your marriage with Whitstable?"

"I was," she confessed, "but now it has been settled, I don't see why you should be angry, too. He can't help it, you know. It's in his blood, the gambling. Grandpapa was precisely the same."

As though selling his eldest daughter to the highest bidder because he had gambled away the Shrewsbury fortune was not a good enough reason to be angry. Nathanial said nothing as he left her.

He found the Earl of Shrewsbury in his study, a space, he discovered as he entered, that was both cramped and untidy. The Earl himself, glasses perched on the end of his nose, stood by the fireplace and squinted at a bill in his hands. With a curse, he consigned it to the fire.

"Norfolk," he said, glancing up and holding out his hand. "Terrific ball last night."

"I cannot claim credit—my mother was responsible for organising it."

"Pass on my congratulations, and it's good to see you out of mourning." Frowning, as though slightly confused, he gestured to a bottle perched on a small, velvet-topped table. "Care for a drink?"

"Not this time, although you may want to."

The confusion deepened, and the Earl lowered himself into his seat. "What can I do for you, my boy? If you're asking about Henry, we haven't heard anything these past two months, but that's to be expected. You don't win the war by writing letters, you know."

"And Wellington is an exceptional leader," Nathanial said, knowing how much the Earl revered the famed Duke. "I'm certain he will lead us to victory soon."

"Ah yes. No doubt of it, that's what I say." Shrewsbury poured himself a small glass of brandy and swirled the amber liquid. "Now, what was it you came here to discuss?"

"I would like your permission to offer for Theo," Nathanial said, judging it best to jump straight to the point .

Shrewsbury jumped, and his brandy sloshed across his breeches. "You want to marry . . . Theo?"

"I know it must come as somewhat of a surprise, but we have been close for a great many years, and I believe she is precisely the sort of wife I want."

The Earl's lips mouthed the word duchess .

"I know how much you value your daughter's happiness, and considering our fondness for each other, and of course the fact that I would take it upon myself to provide for a family I consider already my own, I am certain you would be happy to accept."

"Happy to . . ." Shrewsbury swallowed. "This is a generous offer indeed, but I . . . I regret to inform you it is too late."

Nathanial raised his eyebrows. "Oh?"

"You see, I have already—she has already received an offer."

"And she has accepted?"

"She has."

"I see." Nathanial stretched his long legs out before him. "Considering I already know of her prior attachment to me"—an attachment he hoped Theo would be amenable to agreeing to—"I am inclined to wonder why she might have accepted another man. Who is the gentleman in question?"

Shrewsbury's face reddened. "The Earl of Whitstable."

This time, Nathanial didn't try to hide his disgust. "A man old enough to be her father? I find it hard to believe she accepted his advances."

"I've known you a long time, Norfolk; you should know I don't take insubordination lightly."

"If I'm wrong," Nathanial said coldly, "be so good as to tell me." For the first time, the Earl looked away. "I have it on excellent terms that she wishes to marry me, and I cannot but feel I will be better suited to her than a man almost three times her age." His lip curled. "A man, might I add, who has already been married twice over. "

"And what do you propose I do?" Shrewsbury demanded. "Inform him that my word means nothing?"

"You may leave Whitstable to me." Nathanial would take great pleasure in that particular meeting. "Consider your daughter," he continued. "I do not pretend to be perfect, but I will make her a better husband—and a longer lived one, God willing—than that buffoon."

"He's a respectable man," the Earl spluttered.

"He is taking advantage of a family in need of financial aid, and a daughter obliged to marry the highest bidder." Reluctantly, Nathanial moderated his tone; much as he wanted to vent his disgust at the situation Theo was in, that was not the best approach. "Whitstable may be a respectable man, but can he make Theo happy? We both know he cannot." He tucked one ankle over his knee. "And if it comes to a question of whose pockets run deeper, Shrewsbury, consider it a done deal."

"I take it you would be willing to offer . . . assistance?"

"I understand the requirements expected of me, and rest assured I shall fulfil them."

The Earl rubbed his face and tossed his drink back. Knowing this was the crucial moment of decision, Nathanial kept quiet. There was something compelling about silence: the strongest place of negotiation came from waiting for the other to cave.

"Very well," the Earl said after a moment. "Although I expect—I would hope—Whitstable offered me quite the sum."

"Consider it doubled."

Shrewsbury choked and smacked his chest with his fist. Nathanial watched him dispassionately. That had been a foolish pledge, considering how fast the money would go, but he would hardly notice the dent. What was more, and considerably more pertinent, he'd already had enough of this interview.

"That is," Shrewsbury said, spluttering, "extremely generous of you, Norfolk. "

"To win your daughter's hand, sir, I would be prepared to do anything," Nathanial said, freely perjuring his soul. "Am I to consider the deal done?"

"As long as you are prepared to—to inform Whitstable. I hardly feel—my reputation, you know, my boy. Wouldn't want him to feel as though . . ." Feeling himself inadequate to the task of expressing his, no doubt, complex emotions, Shrewsbury lapsed into silence.

Nathanial rose and offered the beleaguered Earl his hand. "Believe me," he said, a martial light arising in his eyes, "I am more than equal to the task."