“You did what?” Julian said later that afternoon, as the two had sat down to a glass of brandy and liqueur at the White Gentlemen’s Club in London. It was quite convenient that the estate was in Brixton, which wasn’t too far from town. Indeed, he had a mind to stay in a hotel of some sort to avoid being in the same room as the body that was still lying in the parlor, as well as the willful woman who refused to leave the house.
“You heard me,” he sighed. “She made a compelling case against her being thrown out of the house. Can you imagine the scandal sheets if she went and sold a story about how I truly ejected her from the home of her late husband on the day of his passing? It would look?—”
“I thought you did not care about such things,” Julian said.
Nathaniel grunted. It was true. He did not generally put much thought into what the scandal sheets had to say, especially notthe English ones. Still, something in the way Evelyn stated her case had given him pause.
He had heard of Lowey and his gambling. Even if he had not, he had encountered that type of gentleman many times over the course of his twenty-eight years on this earth. Men who used their daughters to get themselves out of sticky situations they had gotten themselves into through recklessness. In fact, it explained some of the peculiarities of this marriage. He had assumed that she was the sort who looked to climb the social ladder, elevate herself from an earl’s daughter to a duchess, but she hadn’t appeared pleased with the title. She had wielded it formidably, but it hadn’t struck him as something she had wanted.
He looked around the room. He knew English society—and the Scottish one—liked nothing more than a scandal. And she must have suffered immensely as the object of such tales.
“I did not want an endless argument, and then to be in the scandal sheets for having evicted her when I haven’t even taken my seat in the House of Lords yet,” he said. “Also, I would not sleep well if I knew that I had sent her back home only for Lord Lowey to marry her off to some other ancient man.”
“And she agreed?” he said, taking a sip from his cognac.
“Yes. She put up a fight, but then she caved in. I think she saw the point. It is in both our interests that she makes a good match. For me, it is to get her out of my house before the scandal sheetshave a chance to dip their quills into the inkpot, and for her, it will be advantageous to have a choice in whom she marries.”
Julian wet his lips and sat back, drumming his fingers on the table. “Well, but there is one problem. You do not know how many eligible?—”
Nathaniel grinned. “That is where you come in. You’ve spent far more time in London than I have. You know everyone. Help me make a list.”
Julian grumbled. “A list? Am I a matchmaker now?”
“You have been seeking a profession other than being heir to your father’s dukedom,” Nathaniel jested.
Julian rolled his eyes. “Very well. Come, do you carry a pencil with you?”
“I do. I have already started a list.”
“Very well, let me see,” Julian said and took the page.
“Lord Barstowe is already engaged,” he said, crossing the name off the list. “Hazeltine is rumored to be romancing a governess in his uncle’s home.” He crossed that person off, too. Then he looked back. “Well, that leaves two you are choosing: Lord Pendleton and Sir Franklin. Not bad choices. You ought to start with them.” But here he scribbled and wrote five more names on the list before returning it to Nathaniel.
Nathaniel scanned the list. He was vaguely familiar with the first four, but the fifth made him sit up straight, shoulders pulled back.
“Not Halston.”
“Why not? He is titled. He is young. He is charming. The ladies tell me he is very handsome, and he is excellent at fencing. I should know. I partner with him.”
“No,” Nathaniel repeated. “Not Halston.”
“As you wish,” Julian said and crossed the name off with a flourish. “Well, what are you going to do in the meantime?”
Nathaniel rubbed his neck. “What do you mean by ‘ in the meantime?’ I aim to begin this immediately.” His voice rose so high that several pairs of eyes turned in their direction.
“You are aware of how long mourning is for a husband?”
“That is what she said,” he said, and waved a hand. “But it hardly matters. The marriage was not even consummated. If I wanted to, I could likely have the whole thing annulled.” It had occurred to him to do that, but he decided that seemed mean. His mother would never stop pestering him about it if he set out to harm this young woman. His mother had always been soft-hearted in that way.
“Look,” Nathaniel said. “Nobody is going to expect a twenty-year-old young woman to wait for an entire year to mourn a husband she did not want to be married to and who didn’t even make it to the end of the wedding breakfast. I shall explain this to all the gentlemen. I shall invite them to my new home. They shall have tea with her and go for walks. Then, in a few weeks, they can attend balls together. And then dinners. We will integrate her into the marriage mart slowly—and thus, quickly.”
“And you really think it will be that easy?”
Nathaniel paused. Evelyn was a puzzling woman. She was beautiful—there was no denying it. When she didn’t scowl, frown, or glare, she was a picture of youthful beauty. Of course, the few times he had met her, she had engaged in all three of these, which took away somewhat from her beauty. In addition, she had the personality of a scrub brush, and though she had shown the ability to compose herself, he knew that poise didn’t come naturally to her. He chuckled.
“What is funny?” Julian asked.
“I just thought it would’ve been rather amusing to see my uncle attempt to contend with Evelyn as his bride.”
