“A break?” she repeated, her voice pitched higher than usual, instantly affecting him, yet amusing him.
“But I thought I was to marry as soon as possible.”
“And you are. But I am going to introduce you to someone you cannot chase away.”
“How can you accuse me of such a thing? I have chased nobody away.”
“Evelyn,” he said, “please do not take me for a fool. I know perfectly well what you did to Stafford, and Franklin, and Pendleton—who, by the way, continues to suffer with the most trifling cold thanks to your efforts.”
“I cannot help it if the man has poor balance,” she argued back. “But I dare say, a little break shall be welcome.”
He crossed one leg over the other, letting his foot bounce up and down. “Pray, how is your family?”
She looked up at him, eyebrows raised. “You never ask about my family.”
“I know. That was remiss of me. I should have. Have you heard from your father?”
Her shoulders stiffened, and the light expression she’d held vanished. “He wrote that he will be back in town in a fortnight. He wishes to meet with me. No doubt to tell me his ideas as to whom I should wed.”
“I see.” He could shift this to his advantage—yet at the same time, it bothered him that she was filled with such apparent apprehension about a visit from her father. No daughter should be made to feel that way. “Well, perhaps we will have news for him.”
“And if we do not?” she asked.
“If we do not, then we will remind him that you are, as you like to say, the Duchess of Sinclair. And that I have taken charge. That ought to buy you some time.”
She nodded. “Very well. I should leave you to your own devices. I am going to take a walk.”
She stood then. Ordinarily, he would have let her go, but somehow, he wanted to find out more about this peculiar woman. He wanted to know exactly what it was she wanted in a husband—for clearly, the three he had chosen so far had not suited her. If he could learn what she preferred, he might be able to find a better match. Besides, he found himself exceedingly bored that afternoon.
Julian had gone out shooting with some of his friends—men Nathaniel did not know—and there was no estate business to attend to.
“I shall accompany you,” he said.
“Accompany me?” she replied, as though he’d spoken in a foreign tongue.
“Yes. It is my estate. I can walk in it if I choose—unless you object.”
“I have no objections,” she said. “But I had planned to walk to the dower house.”
That again. The dower house. So she had not given up on that idea. In the back of his mind, he wondered if perhaps her secret plan was to dispatch every single suitor he found her—until Lady Appleton vacated the dower house of her own volition. But then again, they both knew that would never work.
They stepped out into the cool evening air, and he slid his hands into his pockets.
“Pleasant evening, is it not?”
“Evening? It is barely afternoon,” she said, glancing at him. “But yes. It is pleasant.” She started walking, and when he didn’t follow immediately, she turned and placed one hand on her hip. “Are you coming, or are you not? The house is this way.”
“I am perfectly well aware which direction the dower house is,” he said—then realized he really did not. He had spoken to its occupant, Lady Appleton, several times, but she had always come to the main house. Not wanting to admit he didn’t know his estate, he followed her, letting her take the lead.
“So,” he said.
“So,” she echoed. They looked at one another as they walked, the crunch of gravel beneath their feet the only sound.
“Your family. You never did answer my question. How do they fare?”
“Oh,” she said. “I told you, they are well. My father wishes to visit.”
“Yes, I know that. But that does not tell me how your sister fares. Your aunt? Has she relocated to London?”
