Chapter Seven
Nathaniel had never developed a taste for brandy or port.
The number of times he had pulled Oliver out of a drink-induced scrape was enough to dissuade him from trying.
He never entertained at home, and when he did, he found that a lack of port was a guaranteed way to ensure any guest did not stay too long after dinner.
Nathaniel truly could not remember a time when he thought a moment may be improved upon by a glass—until this one.
Charlotte hadn’t given him a moment’s rest since he entered the breakfast room.
He had successfully evaded most of her questions the night before by placing her in a hired hackney with her maid and sending her home.
He had not given her the entire story, but by the time he and Emilia had reentered the drawing room, there were already plenty of versions floating about to fill in the gaps he had left.
He knew he should have escorted his sister back to the townhouse himself, but he needed the peace and quiet he knew she would not afford him to wrap his mind around everything that had happened.
Everything after the library was a blur. He had escorted Lady Emilia back to her guardian, who by all appearances seemed to be an amiable man, but something about the way she had not looked him in the eye put Nathaniel on edge.
He had sent a messenger to Lord Moorfield’s house before he had even dressed that morning. He found his eyes darting to the clock on the mantle every few minutes, though he knew he could not properly show up at their door for nearly two more hours.
Charlotte was currently recounting for him one of the many conversations she had heard regarding his disappearance, but he could barely make out a word that she was saying.
He stared at the leaves floating in his cup. He had forgone milk and sugar, hoping that the strong, bitter taste would break through the fog that he couldn’t seem to escape. But no matter how hot or strong the tea, it slipped cold and tasteless down his throat.
Oliver had once told him he had acquired a taste for coffee during all of his travels—perhaps that is what Nathaniel needed. Or he could sneak into the kitchen to see if his cook had any brandy hidden in the cupboards…
“Nathaniel, are you listening to me?”
Charlotte was practically leaning across the table, a forkful of kidneys suspended in the air. Nathaniel tried to recall the last thing he had heard her say, but realized he hadn’t truly heard a single word.
“I am sorry, Charlotte. I seem to be distracted this morning.” Nathaniel was typically unrattled under pressure; solving problems was usually when he felt the most comfortable, but the past 12 hours had consumed him.
The sooner this whole marriage was settled, the sooner things could go back to normal.
“I do not blame you for being distracted,” Charlotte smiled. “I would be too if my night was as romantic as yours. I would have to be forced to think of anything else.”
Nathaniel took another sip of tea, wincing when he realized it had in fact gone cold.
“There was no romance involved in what happened last night, Charlotte. I need you to understand that.”
“You followed a woman out into a moonlit garden, pulled her into your arms, and told her you wanted to marry her. I do not believe there is anything more romantic than that.”
Nathaniel groaned. Her oversimplification of the matter was going to make her even harder to manage.
After all the lectures he had given her on avoiding scandal, he had gone and stumbled right into one.
Yet he couldn’t tell her the whole truth—that he had only gone into that garden because of his lack of faith in her.
“I did not follow her; I discovered her,” Nathaniel explained as plainly as he could. “We were happened upon by accident. There were no declarations. If I did not offer to marry her, she would have been ruined.”
Charlotte’s eyes narrowed as she observed him, entirely unconvinced. “Saved by a handsome duke!” She pressed her hands to her heart, unwilling to relent. “You truly have no notion of what romance is, do you?”
“I merely did what had to be done.”
“Did she at least swoon?” Charlotte asked, turning her attention to her own tea, which was filled to the brim with milk and sugar. “Every young lady deserves to swoon once in her life before getting married.”
Nathaniel rested his chin in the palm of his hand. His energy was quickly depleting, and he was unsure he had enough to hold his head upright and continue this discussion.
“I am sorry to disappoint you, but there was no swooning.”
She crinkled her nose in disgust. “At least tell me what you said when you asked her. Maybe there will be something salvageable in that.”
Nathaniel’s stomach twisted unexpectedly. “Asked her what?”
Before Charlotte could answer, the door to the breakfast room opened.
“Your Grace,” the footman stammered. “Lord Blackburn is requesting to see you.”
“Oliver is here!” Charlotte clapped her hands, punctuating the pounding in Nathaniel’s head.
“No,” he said, turning to the footman. “Tell him we are not ready for visitors.”
The footman’s expression turned apologetic, and before he could reply, Oliver Blackburn strolled into the room.
There once was a time when Oliver appearing at the duke’s breakfast table unannounced was a regular occurrence, but seeing as how last night was the first they had been reacquainted in two years, there was no question as to why he was here now.
“Ollie!” Charlotte squealed as she jumped from her seat to greet him.
“You have gotten taller,” he said, returning her hug with an affectionate pat on the head. “And may I assume with that extra height comes even more mischief?”
“You may,” Charlotte said with a flounce of pride as she slipped back into her seat.
Nathaniel felt a twinge of guilt in his heart at the realization that by keeping his distance from Oliver the past few years, he had also deprived Charlotte of one of the few people in her life she considered family. But the sentiment only lasted a moment.
Oliver dropped himself into the chair across from Nathaniel, the look in his eye putting him on guard.
“Well, if it is not the dishonorable groom-to-be,” he chuckled. “You might have given a man some warning, Nat. I had to hear it through the rumor mill.”
Nathaniel sighed, “Good Morning, Oliver. You could have chosen a more decent hour to visit.”
Oliver settled himself further into his seat, plucking a piece of fruit off Charlotte’s plate, inspecting it before putting it in his mouth.
“You could have chosen not to put yourself alone in a secluded garden with an unchaperoned lady, yet here we find ourselves.”
Nathaniel buried his face in his hands, squeezing his eyes shut to try and dull the ache behind them.
“I am going to return to my room,” he mumbled. “When I come back, both of you will be gone.”
“Does that really work?” Oliver asked. “If so, you should have attempted it last evening with Huxley and his lady.”
Nathaniel opened his eyes to glare at Oliver as Charlotte burst into a fit of giggles. “Ollie, please do not torment him too much. He was just about to tell me how he proposed.”
Oliver’s smile deepened. “Yes, what exactly did you say to her?”
Nathaniel felt a momentary panic rise in his throat before he swallowed, pushing it down where he could no longer feel it. “What do you mean?”
“When you asked her to marry you,” Charlotte explained.
Nathaniel tried to recall every detail from the night before.
He could see Emilia’s shocked face when they had been discovered.
Huxley’s expression when he had declared they were engaged.
The quiet resolve in her eyes when she had accepted her fate.
In the chaos of the evening, he could not recall actually proposing the question.
He had simply told her that he was going to marry her.
“Do you not remember?” Charlotte’s question broke through his haze.
“I did not ask,” he admitted.
Oliver laughed, and Nathaniel resisted the urge to strangle him.
“What do you mean you did not ask?” Charlotte exclaimed. “Are you not truly engaged?”
“He is certainly engaged,” Oliver smirked. Nathaniel pushed himself up from the table, desperate for some space and air.
“It was a formality that I overlooked given the urgency of the situation.” He explained, forcing his tone to stay even.
“In the garden, I understand,” Charlotte pressed on. “But what about when you took her to the library? Surely you would have formally proposed then.”
Oliver, who had been leaning back in his chair, leaned forward with a thud. “You were with her in the library as well?”
Nathaniel ignored his friend and turned back to his sister. “I had other things on my mind.”
“Like what?” Oliver’s teasing grin and suggestive tone hung in the air, and Nathaniel felt his patience running incredibly thin.
“Like ensuring the poor girl did not faint from the shock of it all!”
“She did swoon!” Charlotte practically leaped out of her chair in excitement. “She is half in love with you already.”
“Charlotte, please!” Nathaniel was not usually one to raise his voice, but ever since they had stepped into the Beckleys’ drawing room the night before, he could not escape the feeling that his life was spinning completely out of his control.
“Charlotte, could you please leave us for a moment?” Oliver asked.
Charlotte nodded as she slipped through the open door. “Men get to have all the fun.”
Oliver shook his head in amusement, but when he turned back to Nathaniel, his expression had sobered.
“Nathaniel, what happened last night?” Oliver’s eyes held the amount of care and concern that could only be felt by someone who had known Nathaniel his entire life.
Oliver knew more than anyone the responsibilities Nathaniel held and the pressure that was on him to carry them all without faltering.
Last night would not have only ruined Emilia’s reputation, but it would have put cracks into the very foundation of everything he had spent the last sixteen years of his life building.