Page 11

T he smell of the glue keeping up the new Chinese hanging paper in the hall penetrated his nostrils, and Nathaniel shuddered.

It is a horrid stench , he thought, as he removed himself from his chambers.

His quest to annoy Evelyn with these unnecessary renovations was working.

She was in a constant state of distress, which was good—because it matched his state of agitation, brought on by her deliberate attempt to end her courtships.

Yes, Nathaniel was certain now. He had managed to track down a very enraged, sniffling Pendleton two days after the scene at the pond.

He had caught a cold, of course, but more than the ailment, it was Pendleton’s anger that had made what had happened very clear to Nathaniel.

The man had given a play-by-play of the encounter, and Nathaniel had walked away certain that Evelyn had come up with this plan to sabotage the courtships deliberately.

A quick visit to Sir Franklin had confirmed his suspicions.

She had said everything he told her not to say to the man.

Every word of advice he had given her, she had weaponized. She would’ve made a rather grand addition to the Royal Army with her cunning and skill in deception.

Stafford? Well, he had been rather stern in his rebuke of Nathaniel, informing him that when Nathaniel had stepped out of the room, the young widow had cried and confessed she was not ready to move on from her beloved husband.

Nathaniel shook his head—yet, at the same time, a little snicker escaped his lips.

She was infuriating. But she was also entertaining.

He could not help but think that his uncle had escaped a fate worse than death.

The old man had an aversion to anything unorthodox or unusual, and Lady Evelyn was certainly unorthodox.

He wandered into the drying room and found her sitting there, legs up on the chaise, reclining on several pillows with a book in her hand. On the table beside her was a plate full of marzipan and a teapot, while she balanced the teacup on her lap.

“You have certainly made yourself comfortable in my home,” he said as she turned to look at him. He’d have expected her to spill her tea, but instead, she swung her legs around gracefully, placed the book—a tome called Mansfield Park—beside her, and set the cup down next to the pot.

“Mr. Sinclair,” she said, smiling at him.

If he was going to call her Lady Evelyn, she would call him Mr. Sinclair.

Too bad that his title and last name were the same; otherwise, it would have had more impact.

“Have you come to tell me of some urgent need to install a fireplace in the attic and forewarn me of the noise? Or some tomfoolery?”

She had, of course, seen through him. His quest to make her uncomfortable had failed miserably, as she was determined to find some quiet somewhere in the house, no matter the commotion.

Given that Sinclair Estate consisted of no fewer than seven buildings, and the main house possessed no fewer than seventy-five rooms, he should’ve known his quest was bound to fail.

He had to give her credit for her resilience, however.

“The work is being done upstairs today,” he said.

“I see. So you’ve been driven from your chambers due to the noise and smell,” she replied.

He looked at her. She set his bristles up every time he looked at her, and yet he had to admit, there was something about having a woman in his life who challenged him at every turn, who didn’t bow to him simply because he was a duke.

It was difficult to imagine how she had ended up in the position she was in—so full of fire, energy, and strength.

He could not fathom how her father had convinced her to marry his ancient uncle.

He chided himself for having positive thoughts about her. He shouldn’t think of her in any sort of charitable manner. It would only impede his quest to evict her from his home. Yet… he could not help it.

Of late, whenever he saw her in a room, he couldn’t help but let his eyes linger a little too long. But who could blame him? She was not only intriguing but also beautiful.

“I am attempting to remove every sign of my uncle from this house,” he said. “Make it mine. I am eight-and-twenty. God willing, I shall live another five decades, and I would rather have those years spent in a house that reflects my taste than my uncle’s.”

“You did not care for him much, did you?” she asked, tilting her head to one side. Her chin was pushed forward as she awaited his answer.

“Not terribly. Scarcely knew him. He only ever showed an interest in me when it appeared I might inherit. Then he showered me with attention—not the sort I would have liked, but attention nonetheless. The moment it became clear that there was a son on the way, it was as though I had been forgotten. So no, it’s fair to say I did not care for my dearly departed uncle. ”

“You haven’t missed much in terms of getting to know him. I had the questionable pleasure of spending time in his company. You had a lucky escape.”

He scoffed. “I suppose that’s something to be grateful for.”

“So,” she said, clasping her hands together, “what sterling gentlemen do you have to present to me next?”

He scoffed. “None, at the moment. In fact, I thought perhaps we should take a break.”

“A break?” she repeated, her voice pitched higher than usual, instantly affecting him, yet amusing him.

“But I thought I was to marry as soon as possible.”

“And you are. But I am going to introduce you to someone you cannot chase away.”

“How can you accuse me of such a thing? I have chased nobody away.”

“Evelyn,” he said, “please do not take me for a fool. I know perfectly well what you did to Stafford, and Franklin, and Pendleton—who, by the way, continues to suffer with the most trifling cold thanks to your efforts.”

“I cannot help it if the man has poor balance,” she argued back. “But I dare say, a little break shall be welcome.”

He crossed one leg over the other, letting his foot bounce up and down. “Pray, how is your family?”

She looked up at him, eyebrows raised. “You never ask about my family.”

“I know. That was remiss of me. I should have. Have you heard from your father?”

Her shoulders stiffened, and the light expression she’d held vanished. “He wrote that he will be back in town in a fortnight. He wishes to meet with me. No doubt to tell me his ideas as to whom I should wed.”

“I see.” He could shift this to his advantage—yet at the same time, it bothered him that she was filled with such apparent apprehension about a visit from her father. No daughter should be made to feel that way. “Well, perhaps we will have news for him.”

“And if we do not?” she asked.

“If we do not, then we will remind him that you are, as you like to say, the Duchess of Sinclair. And that I have taken charge. That ought to buy you some time.”

She nodded. “Very well. I should leave you to your own devices. I am going to take a walk.”

She stood then. Ordinarily, he would have let her go, but somehow, he wanted to find out more about this peculiar woman.

He wanted to know exactly what it was she wanted in a husband—for clearly, the three he had chosen so far had not suited her.

If he could learn what she preferred, he might be able to find a better match.

Besides, he found himself exceedingly bored that afternoon.

Julian had gone out shooting with some of his friends—men Nathaniel did not know—and there was no estate business to attend to.

“I shall accompany you,” he said.

“Accompany me?” she replied, as though he’d spoken in a foreign tongue.

“Yes. It is my estate. I can walk in it if I choose—unless you object.”

“I have no objections,” she said. “But I had planned to walk to the dower house.”

That again. The dower house. So she had not given up on that idea. In the back of his mind, he wondered if perhaps her secret plan was to dispatch every single suitor he found her—until Lady Appleton vacated the dower house of her own volition. But then again, they both knew that would never work.

They stepped out into the cool evening air, and he slid his hands into his pockets.

“Pleasant evening, is it not?”

“Evening? It is barely afternoon,” she said, glancing at him. “But yes. It is pleasant.” She started walking, and when he didn’t follow immediately, she turned and placed one hand on her hip. “Are you coming, or are you not? The house is this way.”

“I am perfectly well aware which direction the dower house is,” he said—then realized he really did not.

He had spoken to its occupant, Lady Appleton, several times, but she had always come to the main house.

Not wanting to admit he didn’t know his estate, he followed her, letting her take the lead.

“So,” he said.

“So,” she echoed. They looked at one another as they walked, the crunch of gravel beneath their feet the only sound.

“Your family. You never did answer my question. How do they fare?”

“Oh,” she said. “I told you, they are well. My father wishes to visit.”

“Yes, I know that. But that does not tell me how your sister fares. Your aunt? Has she relocated to London?”

She narrowed one eye at him, raising the other in a nearly comical expression. “Aunt Eugenia has lived with us for some time. Ever since our father decided to pursue his business pursuits,” she said, shrugging.

“I see. Is she a mother of sorts to you?”

“No,” she said with a chuckle. “She is an eccentric aunt. Nothing could come anywhere close to my mother. But she’s kind. She cares for us. All of us.” Then, to his surprise, she added, “She wanted me to come back to London.”

“Did she?” he said, seeing an opportunity to perhaps dislodge Evelyn from his house without all the rigmarole of matchmaking. Although, to be honest, part of him would be sad when she left. She injected a certain liveliness into the old place.

“Yes, but she holds my father in higher regard than my sisters and I do. She’s perpetually under the impression that he is still the kind, sweet boy she used to know when they were growing up.”

“As opposed to?” he asked, pulling one hand from his pocket and turning his palm up.

“As opposed to a man who does not put the needs of his family first. A man who thinks he’s doing his best, but really, barely.

A man who believes he has wealth in his pockets when he hasn’t even a sixpence to scratch together.

The sort of man who reverted to being a child upon the death of his wife.

” Her voice rose, and she spoke faster and faster.

It was clear how much anger she felt toward her father.

Her feelings mirrored those Nathaniel had for his uncle—but he didn’t say so.

“I see,” he said instead. “Well, it is good, then, that you can see him for who he is.”

“Is it?” she asked. “Sometimes I wonder if it would be better if I were blind. If I loved him with the same willful naivete that my sister Charlotte displays when she talks of him.”

“Perhaps she wishes to see the best,” he suggested.

“Perhaps it hurts her too much to see the reality, so she refuses to open her eyes fully. In any case, my sisters never had to see my father for who he was. Because I shielded them—and my aunt, in some ways.”

He wanted to ask what she meant by ‘shielding them,’ though he had an idea. A reckless father was not something anybody should have to endure.

However, they had arrived at the small, cozy-looking cottage.

A worn wooden fence stretched around it, and within was a garden as wild as it was beautiful.

Flowers grew tall, without any order, but the grass was perfectly mowed.

A small duck pond, surrounded by neatly stacked stones, shimmered in the distance. Ducks quacked upon it.

It was quaint. And oddly enough, it struck him as the perfect place for Evelyn.

It was wild and unruly like her, yet held a peculiar, meticulous order—a merge of two worlds.

“Well, I thank you for walking me here,” she said. “But Lady Appleton is expecting only me, and I would not like to overwhelm her with too much company.”

“Very well,” he replied, nodding once. “I shall leave you then.”

He bowed as she dipped her head and disappeared into the wild garden. As he stood there watching her go, a warm wave washed over him.

It had been a strange conversation, but an insightful one. The more he got to know Evelyn, the more he understood her reasoning for not wanting to return home. And the more he understood her, the worse he felt for trying to push her off on the first adequate husband he could find.

No. She deserved better. She deserved someone who understood her. Someone who wanted her for her.

As he turned and walked back toward the manor, Nathaniel resolved that he would cease attempting to find just any husband for her. From now on, he would seek one who was worthy of her.

At the very least, she deserved that.