Nineteen #2
The marquis said not a word. He merely jerked his head in the direction of the stairs and Nate fell into step with him.
He marched alongside his lordship to his study.
Evidently he was to receive his dressing down out of the hearing of the servants.
All things being equal, Nathaniel decided he’d rather take his chances with the marquis instead of Georgette’s mother.
The female of the species is always the most deadly when her offspring is threatened.
But he was still obliged to step lively to explain why Georgette was gallivanting about Covent Garden at a time of night when all good Christian girls should be at home safe in their own beds.
“I understand that she’s become fixated with helping these unfortunates,” Lord Yorkingham said gruffly. “But I asked you to stay here in order to protect Georgette, not aid in this misbegotten crusade of hers.”
Still standing because he’d not been invited to sit, Nate clasped his hands behind his back. There was no pretense of equals seated near the fire together this time. Lord Yorkingham was ensconced in the throne-like chair behind his desk.
“Lady Georgette was set on going once we received word of the death of one of the girls there. If I hadn’t taken her with me,” he said, “she would have simply gone on her own.”
“Damn it all, you’re probably right. That willful, stubborn…
” Lord Yorkingham raked a hand through his thinning hair.
“Why must she muck about in that festering sewer? Why can’t she simply hold teas and raise funds for the care and reformation of these soiled doves from a safe distance in a conventional fashion? ”
“Because, my lord, your daughter is not a conventional girl.”
“Bite your tongue, man. She is. She has to be.”
Lord Yorkingham stood and stomped over to glare out the window, looking down on his pleasant, well-lit street.
It occurred to Nathaniel that even though the marquis had enough wealth, power, and prestige to dazzle the ton, he was not a very happy man.
His misery showed in every tense line of his frame.
“The duke may want someone who flies in the face of orthodox behavior for his mistress,” Yorkingham said, “but for a royal consort and the mother of his heir, Cambridge wants a pattern sort of girl.”
“Have you considered that Georgette may not want to be a royal consort?”
Dark eyes snapping, the marquis turned back to face Nate like a man-o’-war with canvas flying, all guns ready to be brought to bear.
“Don’t be ridiculous. Of course she does.
No woman of sense would eschew such a high honor.
” Then he leaned on the back of his desk chair as if all the wind had suddenly spilled from his sails. “Has she said as much to you?”
“Not in so many words,” Nathaniel admitted. “But I think she’s not as appreciative of the honor His Royal Highness pays her as you are.”
“Then you’ll have to convince her.” Georgette’s father finally motioned for Nate to pull up a chair and sit down. “Heaven knows, she won’t listen to me.”
“Perhaps it’s not words she needs from you,” Nathaniel said as he sat down, relieved the adversarial portion of the conversation seemed to be over. “Part of what concerns Georgette is that this arrangement with the royal duke is not a love match.”
“Rubbish! What difference should that make?”
“None. I know. It shouldn’t make a particle of difference, but women tend to see such things differently, I’m told.” Nate leaned forward slightly. “I understand your own marriage was a made one.”
“What of it?”
“Perhaps if Georgette were to see that you and the marchioness are happy together—”
“Who told you we weren’t?”
“No one.”
“I should say not. What passes between Lady Yorkingham and myself is no one’s business but our own.”
“Of course. I quite agree.” Nate leaned against the tufted back of his chair. “Then I take it you and her ladyship are happy in your arranged marriage.”
“Well, of course we are. We’re jubilant. Ecstatic, even,” the marquis declared. “If we were any happier, we’d be damned delirious.”
“Good. My congratulations. So many marriages that began as yours did are not,” Nathaniel said. “What I was thinking was that if Georgette could see for herself that a made marriage can grow into a love match, then—”
“Then she’d be more amenable to the royal duke’s suit,” the marquis finished.
“Exactly.”
“Very well. I’ll call her in to my study tomorrow and apprise her of the felicitous state of her parents’ marriage and—”
“I’m afraid that won’t do. Lady Georgette is the sort who likes to figure things out for herself,” Nate said. “I suggest you allow her to see you wooing your wife.”
“Wooing?”
“For lack of a better word, yes. Wooing.”
Lord Yorkingham frowned in puzzlement. “How?”
“Send the marchioness some hothouse flowers. Compliment her at the supper table. Escort her someplace she’s been wanting to go, especially if it happens to be a place you’re not too keen on.” Nate ticked off the suggestions on his fingers. “Women appreciate that sort of gesture out of all knowing.”
The marquis dragged a hand over his face. “Oh, Lud, not the opera.”
“Perfect. That’s the ticket. Capital idea, my lord.”
Lord Yorkingham exhaled noisily. “I suppose it would do. Anything for my Georgie.”
“You mean anything for your marchioness,” Nathaniel amended. “If Georgette sees that you and your wife are happy together, she won’t ask for more from you.”
“I should hope not. I absolutely draw the line at the infernal ballet.”