Chapter Four

The Earl of Whitstable was a frequent visitor of Brooks, the gentlemen's club on St James's Street, and it was there Nathanial found him partaking of a late lunch. As always, in the middle of the day, there were few patrons, and Nathanial was relieved to find him sitting on a table alone. This entire business was better conducted in private.

Whitstable looked up and regarded him with a rheumy and somewhat confused eye. "Norfolk?"

"Good day."

He grunted and turned his attention to his pheasant, stabbing it with his knife. "A good day indeed."

"It's fortunate I found you here," Nathanial said, leaning forward until he was certain he had Whitstable's attention. "You're just the man I was hoping to speak to."

"I am?"

"You are. You see, I have it on excellent authority you believe yourself engaged to Lady Theodosia Beaumont. "

Whitstable blinked, but recovered himself quickly. "Never mind believe myself, Norfolk. I spoke with her father yesterday and it's all settled."

Nathanial couldn't help the curl of his lip as he said, "And the lady?"

"Pardon?"

"Did you speak to the lady herself about her preferences?"

It was clear this question was both unexpected and unwelcome. Whitstable glowered across the table and used his knife with more force than strictly necessary. "It's an eligible match for a lady without a dowry."

"Yes, I thought you might not have considered her thoughts on the matter." This was the part he had been looking forward to, and he braced his hands behind his head as he leant back, observing with grim triumph that the Earl hadn't taken a bite since his arrival. "If you had, you would have known that she is, in fact, promised to me."

Silence settled over the two men as Whitstable's eyes bugged and his face slowly turned a shade of puce that meant nothing good for his heart. Nathanial was quite prepared to wait until the Earl had recovered his faculties, and turned his attention to the smoky room. With detached interest, he noted the velvet curtains that had been drawn to reveal the bustling street, the crystal decanters that were perfectly positioned at every table, and the green-and-white colouring that indicated this was a male-only domain.

"There must be some mistake," Whitstable said at last, his voice strained. "I spoke with her father. We need only make an announcement—"

"And as you have not yet done so, it limits the embarrassment that could otherwise arise from this situation. I have just come from her father, where I informed him of the prior understanding between the lady and I." His smile was cold. " He was more than accommodating once I made my position clear."

The Earl's jowls quivered with indignation. "And what position is that?"

"That I will not allow her to marry a man so much her senior when her affections are engaged elsewhere."

"This is preposterous. I spoke with her father first. The prior claim is mine."

"Unfortunately for you, Lady Theodosia would rather marry me," Nathanial said smoothly, taking particular pleasure from the way the Earl's face reddened. "Which, if you had consulted her prior to speaking with her father, you might have known."

"Her father—"

"Was unaware of her attachment. My father's recent passing meant I was unable to declare myself as I otherwise would have done." Nathanial hoped the Earl would conveniently forget he had been out of mourning for a full month. "I suggest you accept this with the grace that befits your position."

"You may be the Duke of Norfolk, but that title has barely had the time to grow old on your shoulders."

"Was that a threat?" Nathanial asked softly. This man was twice his age, but in wealth, status and health, Nathanial was the superior.

"Not a threat, of course." Whitstable dabbed his napkin against his mouth. "But for you to have engaged in an understanding with the lady without her father's consent. Shady dealings. Shady indeed."

Nathanial raised an eyebrow. "That is a weighty accusation."

"Well, I had not intended . . . I have been duped, sir. Deceived."

"It is regrettable. Yet short of forcing the lady into a marriage she does not want, there is little you can do to rectify the situation. I do not suggest making it public." His eyes were hard. "Any attempt to discredit me will not reflect well on you."

"You—"

"Good day, Whitstable. I hope your disappointment is of short duration." He rose and walked away, leaving the Earl to his impotent rage and cold breakfast.

Nathanial had proposed.

Theo considered her nerves relatively steady, but now she felt as though her entire body was trembling, hot and cold all at once. She wasn't sure if she was more shocked that he had asked her to marry him, or that he had given her such liberties for when they were married.

She, Theodosia Beaumont, was going to marry one of the most eligible men in London. A man she had heard more than one young lady compose sonnets about. And, if she was honest with herself, she could understand why. It was not his features alone that compelled—though he was by no means unhandsome—but the way he held himself. With the confidence that came from a man born to wealth and privilege.

Annabelle shut her bedroom door behind her and turned to face Theo. "Is it true?" she demanded.

"If by that, do you mean am I engaged, then yes." Theo climbed onto the window seat and stared at the condensation still blurring the outside world from her view. "To Nathanial."

"Theo. Nathanial ." Annabelle's voice was a hushed whisper. "He's the Duke of Norfolk."

"Believe it or not, Anna, that had occurred to me. "

"Be serious." Annabelle placed herself in Theo's line of view. "He told Papa of an existing attachment ."

"Of course he did," Theo said impatiently, although her stomach coiled at the thought. Nerves and perhaps something else. Although she knew she was not, the idea of being the object of Nathanial's affections wasn't totally abhorrent. "He had to say something to convince Papa to relinquish the Earl of Whitstable's claim."

"But you're not attached to him, are you?"

Theo gave a scornful snort. "Lord, no. It's a—a marriage of convenience."

"So you aren't in love with him," Annabelle mused, returning to the bed and curling up on the pillows, legs drawn up before her. She wrapped her arms around them. "And he isn't in love with you."

He was not, as he made more than amply plain in his proposal—if it could be called a proposal. He had outrightly said she could not expect loyalty from him.

It was a fact well known that gentlemen often strayed from their wives; even the happiest of marriages involved infidelity as a matter of course. But hearing his intentions stated so baldly had been a trifle unpleasant. Crude, even.

Nathanial was at liberty to do as he chose, but she did not have to know, or even think, about it.

"I would not expect him to be," Theo said calmly, "considering we have not often seen each other this past year, and even less before then. But Annabelle, you can't tell anyone it's not true."

"Of course not." Annabelle tossed her blonde head before putting her mind to her next consideration. "You must be happy not to marry the Earl, of course, but what happened to your knight in shining armour?"

Theo sighed. "He wears a waistcoat, I suppose. And he is not so much a romantic figure as an old friend. But when you consider it was Nate or Lord Whitstable, there was no competition. I would have married just about anyone who wasn't him."

And, now she had time to think about it, Nathanial's intention of leaving her to her own devices meant she might find her hero in a perhaps less conventional way.

"Did Nathanial . . ." Her sister paused delicately, looking a little wary at the prospect of asking the question. "If he doesn't love you, what reason did he give for marrying you?"

"His mother wants him to marry, and I suppose he would rather marry someone he knows than a stranger." Her stomach swooped with . . . nerves? "And he doesn't want a traditional marriage, I think. With a wife that adores him or wants to use his money."

" You want to use his money," Annabelle pointed out.

"No, Papa wants to use his money, which is very different. And I warned him in advance. I said the Earl of Whitstable had offered to pay Papa's debts, or at least some of them, and put Oliver through school, and he still said he would marry me."

"He must love you then."

"No," Theo said, with only the hint of a sigh. She traced her initials on the condensation—as they were, not as they were going to be. "I can say with perfect confidence that he doesn't love me. And," she added hastily, "I don't want him to."

Annabelle gave her a long, considering look, her fingers bunched in her skirts. "What about his mama?" she asked at last, with no little trepidation. "The Duchess is . . . what if she doesn't like you?"

"Oh tosh! She has known me since birth, and what could be better than Nathanial marrying an old friend? I'm sure she'd much rather me than some unknown."

"You cannot be serious!"

Nathanial looked at his mother with resignation. Elinor, present for one of her dutiful visits, stared at him in what he could only presume was mute horror.

"I am perfectly serious," he said. "I asked her to marry me this morning and I have her father's permission."

"But Theo is—" His mother struggled for words. "She's a nice girl, of course, but she's not duchess material."

"In what way?" he enquired, his voice hardening. It was perfectly true that Theo was, while not ineligible, not the glittering match his mother had hoped for. Her father was too done-up, and she was not endowed with a fortune of any consideration. But now he was committed, he found he would not tolerate criticism of his intended. At least, not to his face; he was well aware his mother would be vocal enough when he was out of earshot. "She is the daughter of an earl whose estate borders mine."

"The daughter of an earl who is beyond destitute," his mother snapped. "Everyone knows the Beaumonts don't have a feather to fly with. They'll leech you of everything you have."

"It is fortunate, then, that I am rich."

"Hardly fortunate when you will abuse your riches in such a way. Besides, you've hardly seen the girl recently."

"Have I not?" Nathanial raised an eyebrow. "How can you be certain I have not been calling on her?"

"Well—" She stopped, frowned. " Have you?"

"I've seen her more than enough for me to be assured she is precisely the woman I wish to marry. "

"Nathanial," Elinor said, leaning forward and taking his hand in hers. "Can you look at me and tell me you're being utterly honest?"

"Of course he cannot be!" The Dowager pressed her fingers against her forehead. "He's only saying it to vex us for persuading him to marry."

"I am most certainly not," he said. "I have every intention of marrying Theo, with or without your approval."

"When I suggested you consider matrimony," she said, "I had no thoughts of you choosing a penniless chit of a girl with—is she even in possession of a dowry, Nathanial?"

"It seems rather churlish to care about trifles such as dowries when I have no need of them."

Elinor frowned at him. "Then you must love her."

"Of all the ladies I've had the pleasure of meeting, I've only asked one to be my wife. You may draw whatever conclusions from that you will."

Neither his mother nor Elinor seemed overly pleased with that statement, judging by the thinned lips and narrowed eyes they directed at him, but Elinor at least leant back in her chair. "I suppose it could be worse," she said.

"Indeed it could! Theo is a dear girl and I have every expectation she will make me a splendid wife."

His mother sagged in her chair. "She used to run wild in the woods with you at Havercroft, Nathanial."

"Then she is already familiar with the estate," Nathanial said, tired of the proceedings and the opposition he had anticipated but did not enjoy. Unlike Whitstable, whom he had positively enjoyed taking down a notch or two, his mother was a different matter. "I need not remind you, of course, that as my wife and a duchess, she will be deserving of every respect."

His mother bristled, but Elinor laid a hand on her arm. "Theo hasn't yet fully grown out of her tomboy ways," she said soothingly. "I'm certain marrying a duke will lay a sense of what's proper on her head. And consider how handsome their children will be!"

He groaned. "Please, no talk of children."

"You will sire heirs, Nathanial," his mother said, sniffing. "As for respect—you may be sure I shall do my duty, and I shall be civil , but I don't like it, and that's that."

"Luckily," he said, his tolerance for his family quite exhausted, "the only people required to like it are Theo and myself. As I know you have every intention of informing Cassandra and Penelope of my decision, Elinor, I shall leave my news in your capable hands. Goodbye, Mama."

He did not turn to see his mother's expression as he left the room.