Chapter 12 #2
Nathanial never drank to excess. It reminded him too much of his father.
But here he was, a drunken sot, and all because of Miss Little.
Blasted hell. Maybe he should hope that one of his friends offered for her.
That would make her off limits. Perhaps that would help end his distraction.
Even though he would have to watch her wed someone else.
Reaching up, he rubbed his jaw, feeling the tightness. He was gritting his teeth together for some reason.
Would it be so bad to marry Miss Little?
She did have some powerful connections.
Perhaps she was not accepted by the entire ton, and she was not the Society paragon he’d hoped for, but she did have the backing of both the Duchess and Dowager Duchess of Clarence.
Lady Astrid had befriended her. Delilah as well.
Though a mere baroness, Delilah had moved within the circles of the ton her whole life, and she was friends with many of the more powerful hostesses.
But would it be enough?
That was the quandary. The unanswered question.
Would it be enough to give his sisters all they deserved? Would it be enough to help wipe away the stain his father had left on their name?
Especially with the Marquess of Stilton, her grandfather, unlikely to be pleased that his granddaughter suddenly outranked him.
He might have to acknowledge her then, but it would be begrudging at best and hostile at worst. Stilton and the rest of the family might even hold a grudge against Nathanial for putting them in such a position.
Though Nathanial was a duke, with three sisters to secure futures for, he could not afford any more enemies or ill feelings than his father had already made in Society.
The door to the library opened, and he jerked upright in his chair, suddenly very aware of his lack of jacket and how his cravat had come completely undone. If the new arrival was one of the young ladies…
Relief—and some regret—poured through him when he realized it was not one of the debutantes and not Miss Little specifically. It was her father. Seeing Nathanial in the dim light next to the lamp, he raised one eyebrow, closing the door behind him.
“Sorry to disturb you, Your Grace,” he said, though he continued walking into the room. He went past where Nathanial was sitting and toward the shelves. “I thought to find a book to read before bed.”
Bed? Blast. What time was it? Nathanial blinked blearily as he turned his head toward the clock on the mantle. Country times meant bed much earlier than in the city, but he had not realized so much time had passed so quickly. How long had he been sitting here? How much did I actually have to drink?
“Has everyone gone to bed then?” he asked, doing his best not to slur his words. If they had, perhaps he could make his way to his without being seen. That would be for the best.
“Mostly. I believe there are a few of the gentlemen who decided to remove themselves to the patio for another cigar.” Mr. Little smiled. “Not really my style. Ah… this might be, though.”
Rather than a book, it appeared that Mr. Little had found a decanter of… something. Amber colored. Whiskey perhaps. He poured himself a glass. Nathanial closed his eyes again, trying to muster the strength to stand.
“One for you as well, Your Grace,” Mr. Little said cheerfully, sounding much closer than he had before. Nathanial opened his eyes. The older man was standing over him, holding a glass out. Both hands held one.
Well. It would be churlish to refuse.
Nathanial took the proffered glass.
“Thank you.” He would take a few sips. Nothing more. Bringing the glass to his lips, he took one. The alcohol burned smoothly down his throat, the earthy notes of peat and cedar sliding over his tongue, followed by a hint of something more floral. “Damn, that is good.”
“Lord Blackstone’s cellars are superior, I have heard,” Mr. Little agreed, sitting in the chair beside Nathanial’s. “I will have to ask after his supplier. I think I would like some of my own.”
Nathanial wondered what it would be like to be able to just ask after a supplier and not have to wonder if he could afford whatever the cost might be.
“Ah. Well, it is very nice, I must admit,” Mr. Little said, making Nathanial start. He had not realized he had spoken out loud. “I should apologize. Knowing your situation, I should not have been so thoughtless with my words.”
“It is fine. Soon enough, I will know, too.” Nathanial took another sip of his whiskey. A larger one. “Once I am married.”
Mr. Little nodded slowly, leaning back in his chair.
“It should not be hard for a duke to find a wife with a dowry large enough to settle your debts.”
“Truth. But it is more than that.” Nathanial did not know why he could not hold his tongue.
Perhaps it was the drink. Perhaps it was because he had been sitting alone with his thoughts, and now there was someone to talk to.
Perhaps it was because the man was her father.
He could give Mr. Little the explanation that he could not give the man’s daughter.
“I have to shore up… things. For my sisters.”
He took another very large sip of the whiskey. More like a gulp, really. Admitting these things to his friends was difficult enough; speaking about it with a man who was nearly a stranger… Yet there was something very fatherly about Mr. Little’s demeanor. As though he cared. And he had a daughter.
“You have sisters?”
“Three of them. Julianna… should debut.”
“Ah. That is why we returned to England for Kalina’s debut. That and I wanted my father to meet my family.” There was ruefulness in Mr. Little’s voice and sadness as well.
Nathanial felt for the man.
It was a terrible thing, the way the Marquess of Stilton was treating the Littles.
“My father is a hard man,” Mr. Little agreed. “Very hidebound. Very proper.”
“Know you wan’ her to marry a duke.” Damn, he was slurring again.
“I do, but more than that, I want her to be happy. Please remember that.” Mr. Little cleared his throat.
Nathanial opened his eyes and found Mr. Little standing over him again.
He took the glass from Nathanial’s hand and gripped it, pulling Nathanial to his feet.
“Let me help you to your bed, Your Grace.”
“Yes… bed… I should…” He could not finish the thought.
Leaning heavily on the older man, he managed to put one foot in front of the other, though it took all of his concentration. Dimly, he was aware that the house was very quiet. They went up the stairs, and it seemed to take forever.
One more staircase… but no. He must have miscounted. Maybe it had taken so long because he had not realized they were on the second staircase. That made sense. They were going down a hall.
“In here, Your Grace,” Mr. Little murmured, opening a door. Nathanial could barely keep his eyes open as he stumbled in. It was so dark.
“Light?”
“No, it will hurt your eyes. Here, Your Grace, let me help you with that.”
Mr. Little moved him through the room, helping him strip off his waistcoat and shirt. Thank goodness Nathanial was in his ankle-length boots, having changed out of his riding boots after returning from the ruins. It did not take much to get him out of them and down to his smalls.
“Thank you,” he tried to say as Mr. Little tipped him onto the bed. He was not sure it came out right, though. Not that it mattered.
“Good night, Your Grace.”
The bed was soft. Warm. Far warmer than it normally was. Nathanial felt the dark coming up to close around him.
For some reason, even though he heard the door close behind Mr. Little just before unconsciousness drew him under, he felt as though he was not alone.