“It is such a lovely day,” Nathaniel said. “Would you care to take a walk with Her Grace? In the gardens? I dare say you would not even need to bring a chaperone. We can see you from here.”
She narrowed her eyes. This was unusual. He had chaperoned the meeting with Lord Stafford himself and then sent a maid to accompany her with Sir Franklin. She had expected the maid would be sent again this time. She had already ensured that the maid—a young woman named Clarissa—revealed none of the things Evelyn did or said to her suitors. She had been handsomely paid off, and through their brief conversations, Evelyn had understood that Clarissa did not think it was proper for her to be forced into a marriage so soon after her husband’s death, either. So she was inclined to help. But for some reason, her help was not required this day.
Shaking it off, Evelyn put on her brightest smile.
“Indeed, it is a lovely day. Shall we, Lord Pendleton?”
“And trout—one can never go wrong with a trout,” Lord Pendleton said as they strolled along the pond near the house. “Prepared just right, with just a little butter and vegetables—perhaps a potato—there is nothing better. I eat it at least every week. More if I catch them myself. There is something so satisfying about catching one’s meal. I am most envious of those who can sustain themselves in such a manner, providing for themselves. Without the need to go to the market and purchase items. To live off their?—”
Evelyn looked up at him, her eyes wide. “I suppose nothing is stopping you from living off the land. I take it your lands are large?”
“Oh, they are,” he said. “But unfortunately, while I can fish, I do not know how to raise a single vegetable from the ground up. I must leave that to those who are so skilled.”
“One could always learn,” Evelyn said.
She liked little less than the men of privilege who spoke about those beneath them in a romanticized manner. Men like Pendleton had no idea what it was like to be poor, to be reliant upon what one could grow or fish. Not that Evelyn knew either. But she had always made a point to speak to the tenant farmers at their estate in Brixton. Her mother had always encouraged her to do such things, to ensure she understood the needs of those who lived on their lands.
She also knew that after a particularly bad harvest, when many of the tenants had suffered, her mother had insisted that her father assist them financially, using her own funds, of course.
Pendleton, however, appeared entirely oblivious to her dismissive tone, continuing to talk about nothing but fish and the best ways to prepare them. If that was going to be her future, she might as well jump into the pond immediately, turn into a fish herself, and swim away.
“Pray, Lord Pendleton,” she said. “Are you a keen re?—”
“Reader?” he said and spun around. “Indeed! I adore nothing more than to read.”
This was promising. “Say, have you read any books by the author who signs her books as‘By a Lady’?”
His bushy eyebrows rose. “‘By a Lady’? Certainly not. I do not read novels by female authors. Preposterous! Where are we as a society going to be if women spend their time writing tales rather than tending to their families?”
“And preparing fish,” Evelyn added.
“Precisely,” he said.
Evelyn wanted to roll her eyes but reminded herself that she was a duchess now, and duchesses did not roll their eyes, cross their arms, tap their feet, or otherwise act petulantly.
However, there was something she could do about this. She was not going to waste an entire afternoon entertaining this bird-witted man.
She had to get rid of him. But how?
They walked a few more minutes while he continued to ramble on about things that did not interest her when it came to her.
“Say, I saw a large fish in this very pond just yesterday. It was at least this big—” she indicated with her hands, about two feet.
“Indeed?” he said. “What a spec?—”
“Yes,” she said. “Over there. I have seen it twice—yesterday, swimming by the little?—”
“Fishing pier!” he said with delight. “I wish I had brought my fishing rod and tackle. Let us go and see!”
“Indeed,” she said. “Let us.”
They made their way toward the pier, and she strode forward, her eyes peeled to the boards beneath her. She had indeed been on this pier several times, and that was how she knew that at the very, very edge, the wood was worn and gave way. She had almost fallen in herself the first time because the algae had made the area slippery as well as bendy.
Now she strode toward that spot with confidence.
“It was here,” she said, but stopped shy of the very edge. Instead, she gestured forward. “Oh, I see it!” she said, and pointed.
“You do?” he exclaimed, walking past her to the edge.
