Chapter 4
Nathaniel watched the exchange with interest. He had expected his little anecdote to blow back on Kingsmere, not Arabella. In truth, it made little difference to him, for the result was the same.
He had seen the spark between them there in town, and he knew he had to put that to bed as quickly as he could.
Arabella was more interested in the duke than she was in him, and that was the situation he needed to rectify.
After all, if she was going to marry him, he could not have some middle-aged academic getting in the way.
It was not that he loved her, far from it rather, but he needed her, and that was the center of his focus.
He would do nearly anything to secure his inheritance, absolutely anything, and marrying a longtime acquaintance who seemed to have no interest in the institution of marriage was just something that he needed to accomplish. That was the way Nathaniel looked at the world.
It was a good bet, or at least he had initially thought. She had not attended a social Season in several cycles, and by all accounts she had withdrawn herself willingly from the marriage market, much to Margaret’s displeasure.
He had assumed she would fall head over heels for him the moment he started paying her any attention; of course, that had not panned out the way he intended, and so he needed another approach.
After a short bit of further conversation, Nathaniel excused himself and began to make his way home.
He bid farewell with all his usual pleasantries and went outside to find his horse. He preferred to ride rather than jostle about in a carriage; there was no thrill in uncomfortable leather-covered benches when one was alone.
Sitting up straight, he set off at a rapid pace, charging down the lane that led away from the manor, letting the wind blow through his hair.
As his own house came slowly into view an hour later, he could already hear his father’s voice berating him as he walked in the front door. Nathaniel frowned, bracing himself for the coming storm, and he did his best to put on the absolute best posture that he could muster.
The house smelled stale, and the ticking of a grandfather clock on the far wall was the only sound, echoing off the sleek, polished wooden floors.
Nathaniel took a tentative step, his heels clacking over the wood, and then another. On the third step, the voice he had been waiting for called from the top of the central stairs.
“You have been gone four days,” his father said coldly, resting his hands on the banister as he stared down at Nathaniel with icy cold eyes.
“Yes, Father,” he said, his voice suddenly void of all the confidence that he carried with him everywhere, save his childhood home.
“And?” his father asked, taking a few deliberate steps down the staircase toward him. “Have you anything to report?”
“Report, sir?” Nathaniel asked, his eyes flickering between his father and his boots. “Nothing to report.”
“Oh?” his father reached the bottom step, and his feet came down on the floor with a resounding thud. “I have heard otherwise.”
“How so?” he asked, not daring to meet his father’s gaze. “I have been in Hartwell Green, pursuing Lady Montrose, as instructed.”
“Instructed?” his father sniveled, shuffling a few steps toward him. “I instructed you to find a proper wife,” then his voice changed into a wrathful roar, and he bellowed, “I did not instruct you to gamble away another month’s worth of your stipend with an old drinking companion!”
“I did not lose a month—” but his words were interrupted by a sudden and savage slap across his jaw.
“Not a word!” his father shouted, stepping up so close that there were only inches between them.
Nathaniel was reduced to a frightened child once again, frozen in place, listening to his father’s ragged breath through his flaring nostrils.
“You cannot lie to me, boy, not about my own money,” he went on, still huffing through his nose.
“You have already made up your mind on the matter,” Nathaniel said stiffly, his eyes still locked on the points of his riding boots.
“I have, and then some,” his father sniveled.
Finally, the old man broke away, shuffling coldly down the long, mahogany hallway as the grandfather clock continued to tick, steady and loud.
He paused as he reached a side table that rested against the wall beneath an odious portrait of Nathaniel’s great grandfather.
The painting looked down at everyone and everything with disapproving judgment.
“This cannot go on,” his father said at last, clutching the edge of the sideboard.
“No,” Nathaniel said with a frown. “It cannot.” His father was weak; they both knew it. His time on Earth was drawing closer to a close than it ever had been before, and his newfound urgency was plain in its origin.
“I have taken lengths to secure a better future,” his father grumbled, tracing the edge of the wooden furniture with a single, bony finger.
“A better future?” Nathaniel asked, raising an eyebrow suspiciously. It was never a good sign when his father began speaking cryptically, and he felt a cold pit welling up in his stomach. “For whom?”
“For all of us,” his father growled. “The next time you think to gamble away your stipend you will find your accounts suspended.”
“Suspended?” Nathaniel balked, taking a firm step toward him in outrage. “What are you on about?”
“You will not continue to fritter away our money on harlots and card halls,” his father said sternly, turning to face him once more.
The massive portrait hanging behind him seemed to cast an intimidating shadow of legacy.
“I will fund it no more. You will marry, as you ought to, as your mother has endeavored to arrange. Only then will your accounts be restored.”
“This is absurd,” Nathaniel scoffed, but he stopped his advance a few full paces away, unable to close the rest of the distance between him and his father.
The portrait was looking through him just as his father was, with cold, unapproving eyes.
“I have been courting a noble lady just this very day, in all the proper fashions, you do not know of what you say! It is all imaginings and exaggerations in your old mind!”
“Ha!” his father laughed. “Courting, are you? A fine job you have done of it, here you are alone in muddy boots. No, I have heard that excuse for far too long, and always a different lady at that.”
“This one is different,” Nathaniel stammered, and his confidence waned. He shuffled backward a step, his head falling again.
“Yes, and we have heard that before,” his father shot back. “You remain cut off until you can prove otherwise.”
Nathaniel stood silently, his left leg quivering ever so slightly as he chewed on his words and digested his father’s latest imposition.
He quickly tried to count how much money he had in his waistcoat, calculating how long it could last him, and he realized almost instantly that it would not be very long before he was without a penny to spend.
“I do intend to marry her,” he said, slowly lifting his chin. “Though you have spoiled that moment between us.”
“Good!” his father said, clapping his hands and putting on a devilish grin. “I am glad to hear it.”
“Nothing I say will change your mind, it seems,” Nathaniel muttered, biting down on his lower lip as he felt his temper flaring.
“You have not even brought her for supper,” his father said. “Some courtship it must be, eh?”
“How am I to continue my courtship without funds? I must buy her jewelry, flowers, and gifts. Surely, you understand that.”
“You are not wooing a harlot,” his father spat back.
“A noble lady needs no gifts, merely an appropriate period of courtship and a marriage contract. You will do this properly, or not at all, and woe is you without a wife, penniless! What will you do? Join the army? Ha! Invite her for supper, show her to your mother, if things are as you say they are, perhaps we could find some money for a gala or two.”
Nathaniel clicked his teeth together in the back of his mouth, his cheeks growing red with heat. He knew when a conversation with his father had played itself out, and there was no use in continuing past that point.
He detested the feeling that wrenched back and forth in his gut; he felt like a child again, being scolded about the house with his ancestors watching from the high wood-paneled walls.
His father’s sick grin was even more infuriating; the old man took pleasure in twisting the knife, driving his point home.
“Very well,” Nathaniel growled, and he turned away, marching quickly into the nearby parlor, just trying to find anywhere out of reach of his father’s dagger-filled eyes. He shut the door firmly behind him, and let out a ragged, nervous gasp, fumbling for a nearby decanter and a quick drink.
He needed to marry Arabella. That was already his plan, but he needed it done yesterday.
He had expected her to fall right into his arms, and yet, that had not happened, and he could not figure out why.
I will have to double my efforts, he decided, and he shook his head as he took down his stiff drink.
“I will not be penniless,” he grumbled, filling himself a second glass. If Arabella would not bite, perhaps he could arrange it all through her aunt, in the worst-case scenario. He nodded to himself as he sipped at his whisky. That was not a bad plan.
One thing was for certain: He needed to marry her as fast as possible, for his own sake, and he did not intend to fail that task.