Page 8 of Dancing with an Enigmatic Duke
His mother’s smile was quite pleased. “Does he? It never came up.” She took a deep breath and sighed happily. “Well, it has been lovely to see you, son of mine, but I have to go and meet up with your father. He wants to look at some new suits.”
Nash knew that his father had little to no interest in fashion, but he nodded t his mother’s words. “I hope you two have a pleasant and productive day, then.”
“You will not forget your luncheon?”
Nash picked up the card and eyed it with doubt. “Of course not, Mother.”
“Very good.” She inclined her head to him and blew him a kiss before bustling out of the room leaving behind the faintest scent of whatever that flowery perfume was that she wore.
Nash tossed the card onto his desk with disgust. He rubbed his temples and eyed the letter he had been attempting to write. With resignation, he picked up his quill and started again. His mind was far away from shipping rates and bank notes, but he tried his best to focus.
It took far longer than it should have to get the letter written in a satisfactory manner. He set it aside to dry while his eyes went back to the card. He should get ready for the luncheon as he could not fail to show up after his mother had made the appointment for him.
“Charles,” Nash called, and the valet came in with an expectant smile on his face. “Would you fetch my jacket? Apparently, I have a luncheon to attend.”
Charles gave a quick bow and was quickly out of the room with a hurried, “Yes, Your Grace.”
When the man returned, he held out the jacket so that Nash could slip his arms in. “Is this thing on straight?” Nash motioned with a hand at the cloth wrapped around his neck.
“Almost, Your Grace.” Charles set to work with sure fingers and quickly got the cravat back in its original shape. “There you go. Good as new.”
Nash took a deep breath. “Grab my hat. I am eager to get this over with.”
Charles fetched the hat off of the rack by the door and handed it over. “Shall I stay here, Your Grace, or will you require my aid?”
“I do not think I shall be that long,” Nash said with a frown. “Might as well save yourself the pain of it. Go get a nice lunch from that kitchen around the corner.”
Charles smiled. “I might just do that, Your Grace. Are you certain that I can’t aid you somehow?”
“What is there to do? I am sure they will have servants fawning over me. I simply hope that some trade comes of it so that it is not a wasted luncheon.” Nash had been introduced to the marquess once before, but their paths had not crossed much since then. He tended to stay out of the country, which was just as well. Nash had no great desire to be roped into endless visits to their estate just because of an introduction.
Charles’ voice brought Nash out of his thoughts. “I fear you do not look as if you want to go at all, Your Grace.”
Nash chuckled. “You would be right about that, Charles. I would prefer to join you in the kitchen and have a meat pie, if I am truly honest.”
Charles put his hand on Nash’s shoulder. Nash did not mind the intimate contact. Charles had been his manservant for long enough that Nash felt as though the man were a trusted friend. “I shall save you one just in case the food is as undesirable as you think the company will be.”
“You are a good man,” Nash said, placing his hat upon his head.
Charles went to the door and opened it. “Do you wish me to run to the carriage house for you?”
“No, I think the walk will be nice. It is a rather mild day and the later I get there, the earlier I can leave.” Nash winked as he walked out the door, leaving Charles to laugh at his joke.
The street was full of noise. Nash looked around at carriages that clacked along the cobblestones. The sound of seagulls drifted in from the docks that were only one street over.
He had been contemplating a sea voyage to personally inspect the holdings in India, but with his mother’s schemes, he feared it would be poor sailing weather by the time he got a chance to embark on such a journey. There was little he could do except play along with her game for the moment. If he did get a bride, then his mother would be a little less of an issue.
The only problem with getting married was that then his wife would be the problem. Wives were not problems that simply went away unless a man was truly unscrupulous. Nash thought of all the horrible ways he could get rid of a wife, but he was smiling.
His boots made a satisfying crunching sound on the stones where he walked. He kept a watchful eye on the carriages and other pedestrians. Carriages had a nasty habit of going up onto the footpaths when it suited them.
At the carriage house, he tossed a coin to the boy standing outside to ensure he was the next person served. The boy grinned at Nash. “Hurry along,” he told the boy, who quickly dashed off.
Once the carriage was brought around, Nash set off to the townhouse of the Marquess of Daventry. He preferred riding on horseback, but had no desire to fight the flow of traffic through the busier streets. It would be just as well to let the driver earn his fare.
The townhouse was situated on a fashionable street that boasted enough noble names to make it a popular spot to be seen. Nash spotted several ladies and their maids out for walks, with their frilled umbrellas held aloft as if the weak sunlight might somehow damage them. He looked out of the window as his carriage pulled up in front of the house.
A servant came out to open the door for him. “Your Grace, His Lordship is expecting you in the conservatory.” The man was clearly the butler, Nash decided as he stepped out of the carriage. The butler snapped his fingers at a boy who was standing near the top of the steps holding open the door. “Daniel, straighten your shoulders.”
