Page 7 of Dancing with an Enigmatic Duke
Nash chuckled and shook a finger at Harcourt. “I do not think that is true. Besides, younger brothers tend to think themselves capable of getting in your business far more than sisters do. Thankfully, my brother is much younger and I rarely see him outside of visits to the country estate or when my parents come to stay.”
“Speaking of your parents, how are you coping with having them under your feet?” The smile on Harcourt’s face looked a little too pleased when he asked the question.
Nash narrowed his eyes at his old friend. “Ah, wanting to share the misery, eh?”
“Regale me with your stories and make me feel better about my sorry fate.” Harcourt leaned back in his chair with his tumbler of brandy cradled in his hand like a cherished babe.
With another chuckle Nash nodded his head. “Truthfully, you know how I feel about my mother being constantly around to tug my leash like some errant dog.” He took a sip of brandy and sighed. “Do you know that before I left today, I just so happened upon my mother having a nice luncheon with a young lady that she introduced to me?”
“Ah, the ol’ ambush. It is an ageing manoeuvre, yet an effective one.” Harcourt’s lips quirked up a bit in a smile. “I do not suppose that you succumbed to such tactics.”
Nash shook his head and tapped the arm of his chair with his knuckles. “I am not so easily ensnared. One should know how to cut the rabbit free and just take the loss. But Mother is not one to be dissuaded.”
“I am enjoying how you have gone from errant dog to crippled rabbit in a snare,” Harcourt said with a grin.
Nash tutted. “Wait until it is your turn to be at the season and to have women throw their daughters at you.”
“I am rather looking forward to finding a wife, actually. That is, if I can ever find my sister a husband.” Harcourt frowned and slumped back in his chair. “I had not realised that she had grown so tall.”
There was a moment of silence as Nash contemplated his friend, who was wallowing in misery. “What is so wrong with her being tall? It puts me in mind of a Greek goddess. Perhaps that is how you should brand her, your very own Aphrodite.”
“It is a fine thing for you to jest, Nash. A fine thing.” Harcourt’s voice was filled with disapproval. “It would be hard enough to get a man to take on an estate in Scotland who is not already fond of the place. Now I shall have to find some giant of a man who is willing to take on a wife of Greek stature.”
Nash could not help but laugh at the images Harcourt’s words brought to mind. “I do not think many men would mind a Scottish estate, especially one that was not lacking for land. She has a fair amount to bring to the table, and a quick mind.”
“Men do not seek quick minds, Nash, and you know it. Sell it all you like, but there is no way to make my sister more amicable to suitors.” Harcourt looked as though he were resigned to a horrible fate as he sat contemplating the upcoming London season.
Nash blew air out of his mouth and gave up reasoning with his friend. “I would rather not go through this coming season at all. Perhaps if I injure myself somehow… Do you think a broken leg would get me out of dancing?”
The snigger from Harcourt turned into actual laughter as he looked at Nash’s face. “You are serious? I had no idea you were so determined to not marry.”
“I do not hate the idea of marriage. I just do not wish to do so this year. There are business matters will require much of me, and I would prefer to give my whole attention to the fleet and trade at the moment.” Nash shrugged. He took a sip of his brandy. “Of course, Mother does not understand such things. She only wishes for grandchildren.”
“Your father perhaps could intercede?” Harcourt sat up, finally showing a bit more interest in the conversation than his own woes. He sat his brandy down and eyed Nash curiously.
Nash grumbled. “My father will not intervene with my mother’s plans. She has him completely wrapped around her finger.”
“I have heard that this does indeed tend to happen in marriage. So, you will find a bride. It is not the end of the world.”
With a sigh, Nash disagreed. “If I find a bride, it will be on my terms. I have not yet lost this war.”
“How will you evade your mother then? Shall you stay here until she assumes your death?” Harcourt’s voice held far too much amusement and Nash glared back at his friend.
“I just might.”
***
Nash stayed through most of the day as he was able, but work often called. His mother had begun to pester him even when he was at the office, much to his irritation. It was one thing to press him when he was at home, but quite another for her to venture to his place of work to nag at him. To Nash’s great annoyance, his father seemed to think it endlessly amusing.
“Mother, this is not the time. I have to write this correspondence, or we might all be in the poor house next spring. Is that really your aim?” Nash looked over his quill at the woman who stood before him.
His mother’s hair was pinned up under a hat that held flowers and looked completely impractical to Nash. The woman watched him with eyes that bore into him, nagging him with guilt from his childhood, tiny hands folded in front of her clutching her handbag. “Forgive me, Lord Torrington. I had no idea that your mother was such a burden upon you.”
Nash sighed and put the quill down. He pinched his nose to ward off a rising headache. “Mother, what is it that you are here to accomplish?”
With no hesitation, she produced a card from her handbag. “The Marquess of Daventry has requested a luncheon.” She placed the card on Nash’s desk with a smile. “I am sure that you will have plenty of business to discuss with him.”
“And I assume he has a daughter of eligible rank and age,” Nash supplied.
