Page 6 of Dancing with an Enigmatic Duke
Lord Torrington agreed with a tip of his head. “She rather thinks that breeding should be done quickly. I sometimes wonder if it would be an injustice to visit her upon some poor woman.”
It was at that moment that Harcourt came in. “That Grissom is at it again. I swear, the things he sends me through correspondence could be all settled with one quick word at our next meeting.”
“Some people like the written word,” Lord Torrington said.
Harcourt sat back down and took a sip of wine as if to settle his nerves. His eyes came to rest upon Emmeline, much to her dismay. “I do hope that you have not set your mind against finding a husband this year, Sister. It really is for the best of everyone involved.”
“I am not against finding a husband,” Emmeline assured him.
Harcourt obviously took her words as a complete agreement to be obedient, as he nodded along with her.
Emmeline let the men pick up their conversation about trade as she toyed with the chocolate cake in front of her. She was suddenly quite homesick, but it would be some time before she saw the hills of Scotland again. Emmeline drew in a soft breath, and she eyed her brother. He was indeed very much a stranger.
Chapter 2
Nash walked up the steps to Pentworth Manor. His thoughts were on business matters. As he approached, the door opened and, to his surprise, Harcourt stepped out. “Did I catch you about to make your escape?” he asked, turning on his heel and accompanying his friend.
Harcourt grunted. “You are one to make jests about running away.”
“True, I do not have much of a leg to stand on. But I am perfectly honest about how I feel concerning my mother’s constant matchmaking. You, on the other hand, have the joy of being the matchmaker. Does that not please the great Harcourt?” Nash fell into step beside Harcourt and they walked towards the carriage house and stables.
Harcourt’s hand rose into the air and he curled his fingers into a fist to shake at the clouds. “That I have been shackled with such a lot is a harsh punishment.”
“A punishment well-deserved, if my memory serves me correctly. You were a sinner with the best of them at school.”
The look Harcourt threw his way was a mean one. It only made Nash smile all the brighter. He nudged Harcourt with his elbow. “Come on, old man. Surely your sister has not got the best of you. She seemed reasonable enough.”
“It’s the whole bloody thing, Nash.” Harcourt stopped at the stable entrance and bellowed inside, “Adam!”
A youth came scrambling out of the stables, managing to sit his hat on his head before stopping and bowing to the men. “Yes, Your Lordship?”
“Were you asleep again?” The question from Harcourt held suspicion, and Nash wondered how many times the young man had been caught sleeping.
Adam gave his master a sheepish look. “A little, Your Lordship. I had to cover Max’s shift last night because he’s still laid up in his bed with sickness.”
“Very well,” Harcourt said with a sigh. He waved his hand at Adam’s clothing. “Tuck your shirt in. I have a letter for you to deliver to the Marquess of Wilbury.”
Adam quickly did as he was told and took the letter Harcourt held out to him. “I’ll deliver it right away, Your Lordship.”
“See that you do.” Harcourt frowned as Adam took off towards the horses at a run. Nash waited and eventually Harcourt turned. They headed back to the house. “I have to set up a luncheon with the marquess. He has pull for getting some of the harder to obtain invitations.”
Nash grinned. “You sound very excited. I thought that you adored making deals and getting the better of people.”
“Business is one thing. The result in this particular game is to be tied to these people forever via my sister. Believe it or not, there are very few people in society that I am thrilled to be weighed down with.” Harcourt stomped back up the steps and yanked open the heavy door.
“Is it just dinner invitations that have you in such a dire mood?” Nash asked as he followed Harcourt into the entrance hall. The doorman bowed to him, and Nash hardly had time to acknowledge him before Harcourt was down the hallway.
No matter how many times Nash came to Pentworth Manor, the servants always stumbled over themselves to bow or curtsey at him. He supposed that it had to do with his stature as a duke, but he hardly found it efficient to stop folding laundry to curtsey. Nash inclined his head to yet another maid as he went down the hall after Harcourt.
Harcourt did not stop his mad bull-like stampede through the house until he arrived in his study. He collapsed into the leather chair behind his sturdy wooden desk. “Do you fancy some brandy?”
“I would not turn my nose up at it,” Nash replied, sinking into another chair that sat in front of Harcourt’s desk. There was a faint smell of smoke still lingering in the air. It reminded Nash of his father’s study, which always smelled of smoke and leather.
Harcourt shook his head. “Be grateful that you have no sisters.”
“I do not know if that is something to be grateful for. It could be worse, you could have a younger brother.” Nash took the tumbler of brandy that Harcourt held out to him.
“I would take ten brothers in the place of a sister,” he scoffed, lifting his drink and downing half of it in one gulp.
