“Lord Pendleton!” Nathaniel said.
Then he pulled his dripping-wet waistcoat down further, stood straight, and marched down the pier, his shoes squeaking and water flying up in the air with every stride.
Evelyn closed her eyes and pressed her hand in front of her mouth again, willing herself not to laugh. When she opened her eyes again, he had made it some distance away, and she looked at Nathaniel.
“All right,” he said. “What did you do? Did you push him?”
“I would do no such thing. I already have a reputation as a bride who did not survive even twenty-four hours with her husband. I most certainly do not want to be known as the woman who has killed two potential suitors. However, Nathaniel, I dare say, you ought to read these gentlemen better. This one barely even survived the walk.”
She clicked her tongue and then left him standing where he was as she made her way back to the house, where she finally gave in to her urge to laugh.
CHAPTER 9
The smell of the glue keeping up the new Chinese hanging paper in the hall penetrated his nostrils, and Nathaniel shuddered.
It is a horridstench, he thought, as he removed himself from his chambers. His quest to annoy Evelyn with these unnecessary renovations was working. She was in a constant state of distress, which was good—because it matched his state of agitation, brought on by her deliberate attempt to end her courtships.
Yes, Nathaniel was certain now. He had managed to track down a very enraged, sniffling Pendleton two days after the scene at the pond. He had caught a cold, of course, but more than the ailment, it was Pendleton’s anger that had made what had happened very clear to Nathaniel. The man had given a play-by-play of the encounter, and Nathaniel had walked away certain that Evelyn had come up with this plan to sabotage the courtships deliberately. A quick visit to Sir Franklin had confirmed his suspicions. She had said everything he told her not to say to the man.
Every word of advice he had given her, she had weaponized. She would’ve made a rather grand addition to the Royal Army with her cunning and skill in deception.
Stafford? Well, he had been rather stern in his rebuke of Nathaniel, informing him that when Nathaniel had stepped out of the room, the young widow had cried and confessed she was not ready to move on from her beloved husband.
Nathaniel shook his head—yet, at the same time, a little snicker escaped his lips. She was infuriating. But she was also entertaining. He could not help but think that his uncle had escaped a fate worse than death. The old man had an aversion to anything unorthodox or unusual, and Lady Evelyn was certainly unorthodox.
He wandered into the drying room and found her sitting there, legs up on the chaise, reclining on several pillows with a book in her hand. On the table beside her was a plate full of marzipan and a teapot, while she balanced the teacup on her lap.
“You have certainly made yourself comfortable in my home,” he said as she turned to look at him. He’d have expected her to spill her tea, but instead, she swung her legs around gracefully, placed the book—a tome called Mansfield Park—beside her, and set the cup down next to the pot.
“Mr. Sinclair,” she said, smiling at him. If he was going to call her Lady Evelyn, she would call him Mr. Sinclair. Too bad that his title and last name were the same; otherwise, it would have had more impact. “Have you come to tell me of some urgentneed to install a fireplace in the attic and forewarn me of the noise? Or some tomfoolery?”
She had, of course, seen through him. His quest to make her uncomfortable had failed miserably, as she was determined to find some quiet somewhere in the house, no matter the commotion. Given that Sinclair Estate consisted of no fewer than seven buildings, and the main house possessed no fewer than seventy-five rooms, he should’ve known his quest was bound to fail.
He had to give her credit for her resilience, however.
“The work is being done upstairs today,” he said.
“I see. So you’ve been driven from your chambers due to the noise and smell,” she replied.
He looked at her. She set his bristles up every time he looked at her, and yet he had to admit, there was something about having a woman in his life who challenged him at every turn, who didn’t bow to him simply because he was a duke. It was difficult to imagine how she had ended up in the position she was in—so full of fire, energy, and strength. He could not fathom how her father had convinced her to marry his ancient uncle.
He chided himself for having positive thoughts about her. He shouldn’t think of her in any sort of charitable manner. It would only impede his quest to evict her from his home. Yet… he could not help it.
Of late, whenever he saw her in a room, he couldn’t help but let his eyes linger a little too long. But who could blame him? She was not only intriguing but also beautiful.
“I am attempting to remove every sign of my uncle from this house,” he said. “Make it mine. I am eight-and-twenty. God willing, I shall live another five decades, and I would rather have those years spent in a house that reflects my taste than my uncle’s.”
“You did not care for him much, did you?” she asked, tilting her head to one side. Her chin was pushed forward as she awaited his answer.
“Not terribly. Scarcely knew him. He only ever showed an interest in me when it appeared I might inherit. Then he showered me with attention—not the sort I would have liked, but attention nonetheless. The moment it became clear that there was a son on the way, it was as though I had been forgotten. So no, it’s fair to say I did not care for my dearly departed uncle.”
“You haven’t missed much in terms of getting to know him. I had the questionable pleasure of spending time in his company. You had a lucky escape.”
He scoffed. “I suppose that’s something to be grateful for.”
“So,” she said, clasping her hands together, “what sterling gentlemen do you have to present to me next?”
He scoffed. “None, at the moment. In fact, I thought perhaps we should take a break.”
