Page 18 of Dancing with an Enigmatic Duke
“I put nothing past her. She has tricked me into six luncheons and two dinner guests in as much as two weeks. I might be engaged before the first ball ever begins.”
“Oh, I am sure that you can keep yourself away from the altar if you see fit to do so.” Harcourt leaned on the desk and whispered, “Mind you, Miss Durant has been hanging on a lot as of late.”
Nash groaned. “She grates on my nerves. French or not, I cannot stand a clingy woman.”
Harcourt sniggered. “If it makes you feel any better, she has done the same thing to me.”
“I am not sure that cheapening it helps in any sort of a way, but thank you for that,” Nash said with a laugh of his own.
Harcourt raised his arms helplessly and then scooped up his tumbler of brandy. He took a sip and sighed in contentment. Nash looked at his friend. “You are the one who wants to get married. I shall trade places with you, and you can get married in my stead.”
“I think your mother would notice the difference between us,” Harcourt pointed out.
Nash scoffed. “You underestimate how much she wants grandchildren.”
“You have said yourself you do not mind getting married.”
Nash had to agree that was true. He nodded and conceded with a wave of his hand. “Yes, but I want to get married on my own terms. Besides, I would rather focus on business at the moment. Marriage has a way of disrupting things.”
“Honestly, you act as if marriage is the end of your life,” Harcourt said. “You can get married and still conduct business.”
While that might hold true in some instances, it would be certain to spell the end of his trips to India. “I would like to finish inspecting holdings before my future wife decides to keep me at home by giving birth to a child every other year.”
“I often wonder what happened in your childhood to make you so against marriage.” Harcourt mused. “I can see where a wife might not want you gallivanting all over, but you are a duke, Nash. You really should not be doing that stuff yourself anyway.”
Nash slapped his hand on the leather chair arm with a loud sound and a sting that crept up his arm. “You sound like my father.”
“I do not go to see my holdings personally, Nash. I have people who do that sort of thing.” Harcourt looked at his empty glass as if it had betrayed him.
“You are the last of your line, Harcourt. I am not. I have a brother and a half-brother. I have cousins. If I die, someone else gets the title.”
“Oh, well why did you not just say so?” Harcourt teased. “I suppose your mother would not mind that at all then.”
“There is no talking to you.” Nash leaned his head back against the leather seat. “You are not going to just ship your sister off to that merchant?”
Harcourt snorted with laughter. “He is a pitiful little thing, but every offer makes her that much more attractive to the next fellow. So, he has helped us out by trying to swoop in before the first ball.”
“I wonder what he looks like,” Nash pondered.
Harcourt’s brown hair shook with his laughter. “I swear, Nash, your mind must be a glorious mess.”
“It is,” Nash assured him. “I am serious though. If he thinks so little of his prospects at the ball, surely it cannot all be based solely on his income potential or status. I have known of some lowly men landing powerful women and vice versa. So, he must not think much of himself.”
Harcourt nodded as he poured another tumbler full of brandy for himself. “I do not think much of him either. So that makes the two of us even.”
***
The day had started out quite bright and clear, but as Nash neared his home, the clouds grew a little darker. From his knowledge of the people living within, that seemed to be quite poetic and correct. He rode leisurely along the road towards his home.
The threatening clouds were not nearly as much of a worry as the woman that was surely pacing inside as she waited to pounce on him. Despite his slow gait, he still had to eventually dismount and hand the horse off to the stable boy, who ran up eagerly to take the reins. Nash gave the boy a smile. “Make sure you brush him well, Nicholas.”
The boy bobbed his head as he walked the horse to cool the stallion down, leaving Nash to face the double doors of his home without reinforcement. Nash breathed deeply of the water-laden air that hung around him. He wondered if he could just stand here and how long it would take for anyone to realise that he had done so.
With a shake of his head, he took the stairs two at a time and reached for the door. Before he could grasp the handle, the door came open, and his mother stared out at him with stern disapproval. “Good morning, Mother,” Nash said with an exaggerated bow.
“Where have you been?” Her hands were clasped together so tightly that her knuckles were turning white.
Nash spoke gently and soothingly so that she did not strangle him. “I sent a messenger to let you know that my discussion with Lord Pentworth ran longer than expected. I simply spent the night as his guest.”
