Page 20 of Dancing with an Enigmatic Duke
Nash opened the door to his study and saw his mother waiting. She held a cup of fragrant coffee aloft. “Ah, there you are Nash,” she said with a smile. “I thought this might be the most likely place to get a word in with you.”
“I have a large amount of work to be done this morning, Mother,” Nash warned. “Could this not wait?”
She frowned. Her voice held that low tremble that told Nash she had had quite enough of his foolishness. “It simply will not wait. Now shall you sit, or shall I stand?”
Nash fought to keep from rolling his eyes. He had no desire to test his mother’s mood this morning. There was no doubt that any further arguing would only delay her leaving. “What is it that is so urgent?” Nash put his hat down on the desk and sank down into the well-worn leather cushions of the old desk chair.
His mother offered him a smile over her coffee cup. She took a slow slip of the liquid as steam rose. “I know you were not too taken with the marquess and his daughter. Frankly, I had my doubts about those two. But you simply must choose someone, Nash. Surely not every young lady of society has some great folly against them?”
Nash frowned at her. Luckily the door opened, and Charles appeared with Nash’s breakfast tray. “Forgive me for intruding, Your Grace,” Charles said upon seeing Lady Sutton seated in front of her son’s desk.
“Not at all,” Nash said with a wave. “Just put my tray down on the desk here, and you may go see to your own breakfast, Charles.”
Charles dipped his head and set the tray down as he had been instructed. As he stood up to leave, Charles gave Nash’s mother a bow before he exited the room. “I always liked him,” she said with a smile. “What I meant by my words earlier, Nash, was that if you would merely tell me what you like in a woman, then I could put my mind to use finding you a proper match instead of simply introducing you to every eligible lady in London.”
“I do not think such a lady exists,” Nash said in amusement. He eyed the tray of eggs, fruit, and a warm porridge that, as a child, he had liked to put his fruit in. He started with the eggs and a sip of the coffee. “If I told you that I wanted a quiet woman, you would pick a sweet, demure sort, which only means that the girl is shy. Once she was not shy, she would then babble on and on.” Nash tapped his fork against the dish containing the fruit. “What I want, Mother, is a woman who will not prattle on about foolish things but instead has a mind for business and the world around her.”
Lady Sutton sighed as she placed her coffee cup down on its saucer, which sat on Nash’s desk. “A woman is a woman, Nash. She will not act like a man. The sort of woman that you describe is more like Countess Dewitt. A woman of such a mind has no need or want of a man.”
“I would settle for one who knew her own mind. The marquess’s daughter, for example, could not even respond to questions without looking to her father.” Nash shook his head as he picked up a piece of what appeared to be a peach that had been cooked in sugar. “You are of a quick mind, Mother. Can you not find a woman like yourself?”
A smile spread over his mother’s face. “That is a very nice thing to say, Nash.”
“It is true,” Nash said simply. “I am still not aligned with this idea of getting married at the moment. But at the very least I would appreciate a woman who can stand on her own feet.”
Lady Sutton appeared to be taking what Nash said to heart. She nodded her head. “You are right. You need a strong partner. I was trying to appeal to a young man with the beauty of a woman’s face. But what you need is a true partner. I shall see what I can do.”
She stood, and Nash stood with her out of respect. He did not really know what to say. She was still going to be looking for a bride for him, but at least now she might find less superficial ones. To say that Nash doubted that she would find a woman fitting that description easily was an understatement.
Once his mother had bustled out of the room, her maid swooped in and cleaned up the coffee cup behind her. “Pardon me, Your Grace,” Gretchen said with a dip of her head before she was swiftly gone again, as though she had never been there.
Nash sighed. “At least that might keep Mother busy for a few days. I might get some work done.”
He set aside his tray for the servants to collect later and spread out the papers that needed his signature. He had learnt long ago that one did not merely sign things, for there were plenty out there who sought to take advantage of the duchy, including writing in ridiculous amounts for services not even rendered. He scanned the first manifest and judged it in order.
He had gone through three more manifests when there was a knock at the door. “Enter,” Nash called.
Charles came through the door. “I came to see if you were done with your breakfast, Your Grace.”
“Yes,” Nash said as he looked at the paper before him. “Could you have one of the boys from the stables at the ready? I shall need these manifests taken to the shipmaster’s office when I complete them.”
Charles nodded as he picked up the tray. “Of course, Your Grace. I shall go directly there after I drop this off in the kitchen.”
“Thank you.” Nash only raised his hand to acknowledge him briefly as he fought to keep his concentration on the task at hand.
The morning passed swiftly with the paperwork to be done, and soon Nash was handing over the sealed envelopes to be delivered to the docks. “Take care with them. The ships cannot leave without their manifests being registered.” His voice was stern, but the boy on duty had never done this particular task before and Nash wanted him to understand how important it truly was.
The boy took the envelopes and put them in the leather satchel that was slung across his body. “I’ll take good care of them, Your Grace,” he said with fervour.
“Go then,” Nash said, waving the boy off.
The sound of the lad’s feet on the marble floors echoed back to Nash as the boy ran down the hall toward the foyer. Nash sat back in his chair. He could go into the office, but he also needed to send word to the country estate to authorise repairs.
“Charles!” Nash called out. He appeared a few moments later, as though he had been waiting nearby. “I shall need a horse saddled.”
“Right away, Your Grace.”
As soon as Charles was out of the room, Nash quickly drafted a letter to the manager of the country estate and pressed his seal on the paper to make it apparent to any who asked that the letter was official. He dried the paper over a flame and set it aside to cool while he put away his quill and straightened his desk.
