“No,” she said. “It is fine. Serve whatever you wish. I just feel it’s pointless. Utterly pointless. I will never find a gentleman to court me.”
“Not if you enter the evening determined not to. But if you smile and you are charming, and you hide that sharp tongue of yours… Perhaps we can reel somebody in.”
“Reel somebody in?” she said. “Am I a fisherman?”
“When it comes to gentlemen, you should be.” He leaned back. “Would you like to fence later?”
She shook her head. “No. I am seeing my aunt Eugenia. We are going to Bond Street together. I have not been able to talk to her properly in quite some time.”
This was true. Ever since her father’s reappearance, she hadn’t been able to go to the London townhouse. Charlotte and Marianne had come to visit her, as had Eugenia, but not that often. Her father had installed himself in the London house rather like a frog on a log, refusing to move.
Well, that was not entirely true. He had moved all the way to the House of Lords, where he had attempted to talk to peers and spread as much discord as possible. Fortunately, he had managed to thoroughly ruin his reputation long ago, and therefore, no one took him too seriously. After all, he was a mere earl, and Nathaniel was a duke. When it came to passing bills, most would rather side with a duke, even if he had a rather peculiar living arrangement and suffered under some scandal because of that, rather than an earl who was known to throw away his money as though it grew on a tree.
“Very well,” he said. “Another time. Pray, did you say you know Lady Annabelle? Julian’s cousin?”
“I do,” she said. “From finishing school.”
“Well then, we shall also invite her to the ball. I hear she’s rather a good dancer.”
She narrowed her eyes. Did he intend to dance with Annabelle?
“I thought you did not care for dancing very?—”
“I adore dancing,” he said and chuckled. “I only did not wish to dance with you that evening.”
“Oh,” she said. Why did this feel like a slap directly to her heart? She knew exactly what he had meant. He hadn’t danced with her so she could dance with possible suitors, and yet the way he said it now, a part of her wanted to take it the wrong way, wanted to be hurt. But why? Why was he making her feel this way?
Her life had begun to resemble one of those tragic gothic novels that Mrs. Radcliffe was so known for. The tragic heroine, robbed of her octogenarian husband by way of a date pit, forced to live in the home of an insufferable tyrant who would not allow her to live the life she wanted.
Although that wasn’t true, she had been rather grateful for that errant date pit. It wasn’t a kind thing to say, but it was the truth. It had given her freedom. And Nathaniel wasn’t a tyrant. He was annoying, but there was more to him. He had protected her and her sisters, after all. And at times, she felt that he truly wanted to be in her company. That he wanted to be with her, and yet at other times, he was pushing her away.
“I have another thing I wanted to ask you,” he said, and she looked up.
“Yes?” she said.
“It is an offer I wanted to make.”
“As long as it does not involve something weird.”
“No,” he said with a chuckle. “Actually, I wanted to offer you to stay in the dower house. Lady Appleton has written and said that she intends to stay in Ireland for a while. The air has proven quite good for her lungs. I suppose your scheming has succeeded.”
“You’re giving me the dower house?” she explained, her jaw dropping, but he shook his head immediately.
“No, no. You misunderstand. I’m not giving it to you. It is still hers, but she has written stating that if you wish to stay there temporarily until you find a husband, you are welcome to do so. If you’re comfortable living amongst her ancient artifacts and making your way through countless jars of her cranberry preserves, which she has offered up as well.”
“But if it is not mine permanently, why would I take it up?”
“It would be better,” he said. “At least then we could say that you are the Duchess who lives in the dower house. Not the widow living with the Duke in the main house. It would help.”
“It would help you, you mean,” she said, and crossed her arms, then reminded herself to maintain poise.
“It would help us both,” he said. “Less scandal, and it will help you find a husband, which we have established you must.”
He was pushing her away again. Further away. He was shoving her with full strength, all the way into the house at the other end of the estate.
She wanted to argue, tell him that she did not understand him, that it was clear that he cared for her, and yet he was pushing her away. Why? She wanted to grab him and shake the truth out of him, but she knew none of these were options.
“Very well. I shall pack my belongings. I suppose at least I will not be disturbed by sudden surprise renovations.”
