Chapter 8
A clever little oddity.
They had returned to the hall after their ride, with Meg unhappily aware that Nat was still in a temper. She could hardly be surprised. What on earth had provoked him to make such a rash and ridiculous statement, she could not imagine—except perhaps that men did not enjoy being thwarted.
For all his cleverness, her father had never taken it well if she had proven him wrong.
Usually he would get cross over something entirely different, just so he could vent his feelings.
But eventually, Nat would be forced to concede she spoke nothing but the truth.
She could only hope he took it well and did not feel he’d backed himself into a corner.
Meg could think of nothing worse than marrying a man who only did so out of obligation and some silly notion of honour.
Sadly, she did not believe his temper would be greatly improved upon hearing the news Betty had just delivered.
“He’s here,” the girl said in an undertone, as if she imagined someone might be listening in as she helped Meg out of her riding dress.
“Who is?” Meg asked in confusion.
“His grace.”
Meg stared at her in horror. Though she had known this was coming, she felt entirely unprepared for it.
“Have you seen him?”
Betty looked at her in surprise. “Me? Course not. When would I have seen him? But they’re all chattering about it downstairs.
Last time he was here, he had the most tremendous row with his grandmama over Lady Della playing for the ladies’ club.
He forbade her from doing so, and now that he’s come back, he’s bound to discover that she ignored him. Everyone is on tenterhooks, waiting.”
“Oh dear,” Meg said faintly. “That sounds like a recipe for a very ill-tempered duke.”
“Well, you’ve nothing to fret about, miss. Don’t look so frightened. I wouldn’t have told you if I’d thought you’d be troubled by it. Shall you wear the green cambric muslin, the one with all the little tucks? I’ve already taken the hem up.”
“Nothing to fret about?” Meg repeated, pinching the bridge of her nose. She sighed. “Yes, that will be fine.”
“Whatever is the matter?” Betty asked in concern, bringing the gown over.
Meg said nothing as Betty helped her into it, for she could not tell her the truth, or at least not all of it. “I am not fit to be Mr Ashford’s bride, Betty. I have no dowry and no connections. I’m a Miss Nobody from nowhere, and he will not like me marrying into his illustrious family.”
“Oh,” Betty replied, understanding dawning. “Well, miss, it strikes me there’s nowt he can do about it. Mr Ashford is a big boy, with a mind of his own, and he’s decided you are the one. I reckon he’s up to the duke’s weight.”
Meg groaned and prayed that Betty was right.
Nat stood outside the door to his cousin’s study, wishing he did not have the exact same feeling in the pit of his stomach that he’d had every time he got sent down from whatever school he’d been attending.
Just because Hawkney was a duke and head of the family, did not mean he had the right to dictate Nat’s personal affairs.
“Come.”
The familiar and, to Nat’s ear, imperious voice on the other side replied to his knock.
Well, he may as well get it over with. Fixing an insouciant smile to his face he was far from feeling, Nat swung open the door and strolled in.
The room was one his grandmother had completely renovated.
As a boy, he had always avoided it, especially as it was given over to reading, writing, and study, all occupations Nat avoided like the plague.
He’d found the room gloomy anyhow, smelling of mouldering books, and the chimney had always smoked, giving it a sooty stench, especially in the summer when no fires were lit.
Now, though, whilst it was still a masculine room, done out in shades of dark green, with many gold-framed landscapes and hunting scenes adorning the walls, there was a fresh feeling.
A fire crackled merrily in the hearth, whatever had been wrong with it apparently having been remedied.
Still, the only other person in the room made it feel less cosy than it might otherwise have done.
“How do, Hawkney,” he said, making his way across the room to the enormous desk the duke sat behind.
Nat was fairly certain that whoever had commissioned the massive piece of furniture had done so with the sole intention of intimidating whoever was on the opposite side of it.
He couldn’t blame Hawkney for that, he supposed, for the desk was ancient and had likely seen several dukes, though Hawkney’s father had brought it to Hatherley Hall.
Hawkney did not look up at once, involved in pressing his seal upon a blob of melted wax, so Nat flung himself carelessly down into a chair, sprawling in a way he knew Hawkney found provoking.
“Nat,” his cousin replied, glancing up. His lips tightened subtly, but he said nothing. “I hear congratulations are in order,” he said instead, going in straight for the kill, which Nat ought to have expected.
“They are, indeed. You may wish me happy, cousin, and congratulate yourself on finally seeing your scapegrace relation shut up in the parson’s pound.”
“May I?” Hawkney drawled, his dark blue eyes glinting. “Who is she, Nat?”
“Miss Margaret Bancroft,” Nat replied promptly.
The duke sat back in his chair and sighed. “Don’t play the fool.”
“Why not? I do it so well,” Nat replied, his temper flickering to life despite promising himself he would remain cool throughout the interview.
“Damn it, Nat, who is this girl? I hear she has no people, no money, she’s come out of nowhere.”
“Hereford,” Nat corrected. “Not nowhere.”
“Ah, yes,” Hawkney said, regarding him thoughtfully. “You were visiting an old schoolfellow when you met. It must have been very romantic.”
“It was, and she’s a lovely girl, Hawk. Respectable, and clever too. Lord, is she clever. I reckon she’d even run rings around you.”
Hawkney was silent for a long moment. “Then I shall look forward to meeting her,” he said abruptly. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have work to do.”
Nat blinked. “Is that it?”
“Is that what?” Hawkney replied calmly, opening a ledger and turning it to the correct page.
“The lecture. Where’s the bit about the family honour, lineage, what we owe to the name, et cetera et cetera?” he demanded, thoroughly unsettled by this unaccountable lack of reaction.
“And precisely what difference would it make to your plans if I ranted and raged and told you that marrying a woman you barely know and who has nothing to recommend her was a terrible idea? If I pointed out that you owed your family and your name a good deal more respect than you ever give them?”
“None whatsoever,” Nat said frostily.
“I rest my case,” Hawkney replied, having already turned his attention back to the book.
“I take exception to the ‘nothing to recommend her’ remark, for she has everything to recommend her. I’m the bad bargain, I assure you, but I cannot help but point out that you are an unfeeling bastard, Hawkney.”
“Yes, so I’m told,” his cousin replied, dipping his pen in the inkwell and looking entirely unconcerned.
Nat sat forward in his chair, glaring at the devil who never failed to vex him.
He was always so damnably in control, so…
so emotionless. Even when he lost his temper, he didn’t shout and stalk up and down the room or wave his hands about like a normal person.
If only something would ruffle that perfect exterior.
“Hawkney, old man, you are a damned cold fish, I only hope that you fall in love one day, irrevocably and helplessly in love with no hope of rescue, and to the most unsuitable girl one could possibly imagine, for it couldn’t happen to a nicer fellow. Lord, but I shall cheer for her.”
“I am afraid that will never happen, Nat, so you are doomed to disappointment, but if you are quite done, I really am rather busy today.”
“Oh, I’m done,” Nat said, surging to his feet. “Have fun with your ledgers,” he added over his shoulder as he made his way out.
Tempting as it might have been to slam the door and vent his feelings, it would only make Hawkney feel increasingly superior and he needed no help in that regard. Besides, Nat wasn’t a child any longer and such behaviour was beneath him, he assured himself.
Making his way back to the entrance hall, he looked up and felt his anger fall away as he saw Meg coming down the stairs. She looked pale and anxious, and he knew at once that she had heard about Hawkney’s arrival.
She hurried down the last steps, gazing at him as if she could read the information from his face.
“Well? You look agitated, are you agitated?”
“It’s all right. He was damnably provoking, but then he always is. He knows it’s none of his affair, though, and won’t interfere.”
“Then, there was no confrontation, no angry words or—”
“There’s nothing to worry about,” Nat assured her, though even as he said the words he did not believe them. Hawkney didn’t like it, and when Hawkney didn’t like a thing, it usually went away. Well, not this time, he thought grimly. No matter what.
“Oh!” she let out a sigh of relief, and he felt wretched as he realised how worried she’d been. “Thank heavens.”
Nat smiled at her and was about to suggest they take a walk to the town and look at the shops as she’d wished to, when his mother came hurrying out of the front parlour.
“Well, there’s the carriage coming down the driveway to deliver Miss Percy, and what I shall do with her, I cannot think,” she said crossly, glaring at Nat, who held up his hands.
“Don’t blame me, Mama, this is all your doing,” he said, rather amused though he felt dreadfully sorry for the poor girl. “I hope you did not tell her why you were bringing her here?”