Chapter 2 #2
Listening to Lady Kari chatter on about Keane’s talents, Nathanial was hard-pressed to keep his mind from wandering. Despite her other qualities, he probably should not marry a woman he could not keep his attention on. He did not want to be a cruel husband, after all.
Not like his father, who had paid their entire family no attention at all, other than to try to beget a second son upon their mother. He’d given up after three daughters, then commenced becoming King of the Wastrels.
Sebastian chimed in to Lady Kari’s observations, quickly followed by Lady Nichole, who batted her eyes at him.
Emboldened by his responses, Lady Kari refocused her attention on the Duke of Bolton.
Nathanial barely noticed, because Miss Little was now laughing at something Matthew had said, and Nathanial’s stomach suddenly felt curdled.
He looked over.
He could not help himself.
Her laughter was quiet, almost surprised, as if she had not expected to find herself doing so.
Matthew appeared very pleased with himself.
Miss Little’s jewels gleamed at her throat, but they did not shine nearly as brightly as her smile or the spark in her dark eyes.
Both of which were currently directed at Matthew.
Nathanial jerked his gaze away.
Flexing his suddenly tense hand at his side, he tried to refocus his attention on the conversation of the eligible ladies. Perhaps a change of topic was in order. Something he could participate more fully in.
Before he could think of how to turn the conversation, there was a small stir at the door—a late arrival and a very prestigious one.
“Lucifer appears,” Lady Astrid muttered, barely bothering to keep her voice down as her fiancé greeted her parents.
As she was standing directly behind Nathanial, he also heard her nearly inaudible sigh before she brushed past him to go greet Drake, the Duke of Ormonde and her betrothed since childhood.
His mother was with him, and the Duchess greeted Lady Blackstone with the delight of long-time bosom friends who had not seen each other in far too long.
In contrast, the greeting between Drake and Lady Astrid could hardly be described as cold, but the heat was more contempt on her part and something more ineffable on his.
How Drake felt about his betrothed was something none of his friends understood, nor would he speak on the matter, but there was some kind of feeling there.
He claimed he would marry her at the end of the Season, after he’d had one last chance to sow his wild oats.
He did indeed seem to be intent on sowing them quite wildly.
“My goodness, the Duke of Ormonde is very handsome,” Lady Kari remarked, fluttering her fan and sending a sidelong glance at Sebastian and Nathanial, as if to see how they reacted to her remarks.
“Very,” Lady Nichole agreed impishly, a little smile appearing on her lips. “Though not as beautiful as the Duke of Montagu.”
“No one is as beautiful as Christian,” Sebastian replied, squashing any hopes the ladies had of stirring jealousy in their breasts.
Both of them looked a touch disappointed that neither he nor Sebastian had taken umbrage.
But if they hoped to play the friends off each other, they were going to be disappointed.
Christian was the only one of them who had made a lady swoon with nothing more than a wink, after all. And Nathanial did not care if they thought Drake handsome. He was. He was also betrothed to Lady Astrid and determined to see it through.
I wonder who Miss Little finds the most attractive of us.
No.
No, he did not.
Nathanial banished the thought from his mind. It did not matter who she found the most attractive.
“Nathanial, we need you to settle a disagreement,” Gregory said, putting his hand on Nathanial’s shoulder and turning him toward the woman he was so desperately trying to ignore. “Nathanial has read more books than anyone else we know. His library is stupendous.”
Only because, thankfully, his father had not realized the value of the books within it, otherwise he would have attempted to sell those off as well.
“What is it you wish me to settle?” he asked, far too aware of Miss Little’s gaze on him and doing his best to look at everyone equally. If he avoided her gaze, the others might notice. If he held it too long, she might misunderstand. Or someone else might. Like myself.
“Miss Little insists that Jane Eyre must have been written by a woman, even though the author’s name is Currer Bell. I have not read the work myself, but Matthew read the beginning and says he saw nothing to indicate the author to be anything other than a man. What say you?”
“I think it could be a woman,” Tiffany interjected before Nathanial could respond. The Duchess of Clarence shook her head. “But I think it could equally be a man. I do not know how I would be able to tell the difference.”
“Why not use her real name, if it is?” Matthew asked, with enough arrogance that Tiffany snorted. Miss Little looked away, and Lady Johanna looked down at the floor. Her companion, Miss Belle, looked as though she wanted to snort her derision along with Tiffany.
“Only a man who has put no thought into the plight of a woman would say such a thing,” Tiffany responded sassily, making both Gregory and Nathanial laugh.
When he first met her, Nathanial had found her quiet and retiring.
He’d even been interested in marrying her himself.
Since her marriage to Gregory, a much more fiery part of her personality had revealed itself as she gained confidence in her position as his duchess. It was rather entertaining to witness.
“You can see why we need an arbitrator,” Gregory said, giving his wife a sidelong look while Matthew scowled and subsided, obviously thinking about what he was missing that the women understood.
Nathanial could have told him. He had sisters, after all. If one of them was revealed to be the author of a book like Jane Eyre… gads, marrying her off would be impossible. The scandal of a lady of the ton, or even the gentry, publishing such a novel…
He shook his head.
“I think if the author is a woman, she would not wish her identity guessed,” he chided.
“Oh, we are certainly not trying to guess who,” Miss Little said softly, earnestly.
Having her speak directly to him made him feel as though his skin was too tight on his body, and he clenched his fist by his side, then spread his fingers wide to try to alleviate some of the discomfort.
“But just whether the author is, indeed, a woman. I think the insights into Jane’s mind are far too personal to have been written by an author who is not.”
“The thought had not occurred to me while reading it, but it is very possible,” Nathanial conceded. “There were many instances where I found myself impressed with how her character was portrayed.”
As the conversation went round, Nathanial had no trouble paying attention. Other possible women authors writing under names not their own, or as Anonymous, were brought up. It was lively, entertaining, and Nathanial found himself far too impressed with Miss Little’s literary knowledge.
It would have been much better for him if she had loathed or been disinterested in books.
Instead, he found himself engaged in a deep discussion of the merits of reading the classics versus the newer publications. He was so engrossed in their conversation, he did not realize they’d moved away from the rest of the group until Lady Astrid appeared at his elbow.
“It is time for dinner,” she said, smiling brightly between himself and Miss Little, a gleam in her eye that made him realize his mistake. “You can escort Miss Little in, Your Grace.”
There was no gentlemanly way to refuse.
“Of course,” he said tightly, turning toward the door and offering Miss Little his arm. He did his best not to react when she hesitated, then lightly rested her fingers on his coat, though it felt as if his entire body was now attuned to that one spot on his arm. “Miss Little.”
“Thank you, Your Grace,” she replied, ducking her head, as if she realized he was displeased.
It was not her fault that they had been standing next to each other when it was time to move to the dining room.
Nor was it her fault that she was not a suitable bride for him, though she would be for any of his friends who did not have the same hurdles to overcome with Society.
However, the gleam in Lady Astrid’s eyes was destined to be disappointed, and he did not want to lead Miss Little on when he could not marry her.
It was going to be a tightrope walk for dinner with her at his side. Yet there was a part of him that rejoiced in the excuse to have her company for it. A part of him that he knew he needed to excise ruthlessly.
After dinner.