Page 3 of The Duke's Sister's Absolutely Excellent Engagement (The Notorious Briarwoods Book 11)

S ome days, Lord Nestor Briarwood, Viscount Huxton, eldest son and heir of the Duke of Westleigh, felt mad.

Some days, he even acted as if he were mad.

After all, if he was honest, like his father, there were days when he was a trifle mad, a wee bit unhinged. Adrift, as it were, from the commonplace actions of all of society. But he did not recriminate himself for it. No. He loved it about himself.

He had found out quite early in life that he was different, quite odd and unusual. Again, he loved this about himself. While some people might berate and shame their souls over such a difference, he had been raised with such love and acceptance and encouragement that he had no fears about the sort of person he was on certain days. His father still did struggle, sometimes needing to go down to the country when his slightly mad and unhinged days came.

But once those days were done, his father returned in perfectly good health, ready to face the world and change it, as all Briarwoods wished to do. Nestor was no different. But he, well, he had decided that instead of trying to hide away when he felt mad, he would face it head-on. And he was certainly supported by an army of cousins at his back, ensuring that even when he acted his most odd, well, he was protected.

It was the greatest thing about being a Briarwood, the protection and the ability to do what one wanted. As the eldest son of a duke, well, what couldn’t he do? Except he had such care for society that he found himself not wanting to do wild things at all. Rather, he wished to improve the lives of those around him.

And Lady Margery was such a person whose life he wished to improve. He did not want to change or alter her. Oh no!

He did not think she needed righting. She needed aid.

He saw that her soul had been so diminished over the years, crushed by unkind parents, that he longed to lift her up out of the mire and polish away all the dreary cruelty which had dimmed her. He longed to shine the light of the Briarwoods upon her and…help her own light shine from within her.

He’d seen it the moment he’d spotted her, when her brother had come to court his cousin Portia. Something had lit in him when he’d spotted Margery. The deep desire to make her happy had seized him with undeniable and inarguable force.

But now as he stood opposite her outside of Heron House, he realized he had possibly miscalculated in his wish to assist her. She was eyeing him with great trepidation. As a matter of fact, her entire face had changed wildly in but a few moments. She had gone from appearing rather eager to assist him in learning how to dance, which was what he had wanted, to looking as if he was a shrieking demon straight from the depths of hell. And not the kind that ladies seemed to love in romantic novels.

It was all going quite off plan.

He’d wished her to feel validated, capable, important. He’d wanted to highlight one of her great skills—dancing—and show her how he had noticed it.

But he’d said something deeply amiss. Perhaps it had been the comment about passion. He often forgot that what was normal for a Briarwood was not at all normal for others. And, well, despite her brother’s union with Portia, Margery was still, in the minds of most, an other . The truth was that she had been brought into the family, and she seemed to love it. But whatever he’d said had caused her face to become grim with apprehension.

As a matter of fact, she did a quick curtsy, pivoted on her heel, and mumbled some words he could not quite take in because he was so stunned. Something about his imagination.

And then she left him, racing across the grass at a speed that shocked him and would have been the envy of any horse at Newmarket.

“Good God, man. What did you say to her?” his twin brother Calchas asked as he sauntered up beside Nestor, his golden epaulets shining in the sun.

Nestor scowled, thinking back. “Well, roughly, I simply told her that she was a marvelous dancer and that I didn’t want to learn dancing from counting the beats. I wanted to dance with the same sort of verve and passion that she does.”

His cousin Maximus, who had been born Marcus but used his second name because he was the eldest cousin of them all and because he lived life larger than most, strode up to him, clapped him on the back, and declared, “Bloody hell, I’ve never seen anyone make a lady run for the hills quite so excellently. What the devil did you do?”

“Exactly!” Calchas declared. “That’s what I asked him. And he said that he mentioned her passion.”

Maximus let out a groan. “Oh, badly done. Badly done, old boy. You never tell a lady who’s unwed and virginal that she’s passionate.”

“You don’t?” Nestor asked, perplexed.

Maximus gave a shake of his dark-haired head. Nestor’s older cousin, though only by about a year, did have a great deal of experience with the ladies. He was fast becoming a rake, living hard when home from battle.

His cousin Octavian joined them, tugging at his shirt sleeves, eyeing the young lady who was now in the shadow of the house. “I’ve never seen a flight so fast. You didn’t tell her about your frustrations around MacBeth , did you? It’s exhausting, that.”

Nestor scowled. He did have a pet theory about the Scottish play, but he did not share it because people got quite funny about witchcraft. But the truth was he would never forgive Shakespeare for writing such horrific anti-witch material in a time when normal people, especially women, were being killed as suspected witches.

For such a brilliant playwright, it had been terribly irresponsible of him.

Nestor rolled his eyes. “My opinions about MacBeth are far superior to your claims about Hamlet —”

“My theories about Hamlet are perfectly sound. I—”

Maximus let out a bleat of alarm. “We are not starting a debate about the Bard. We can do that later with Grandmama present, and she can decide who is right.”

Octavian scowled. “Just because she has performed in every Shakespeare play doesn’t mean she is always—”

“Grandmama is always right, you dolt,” cut in Calchas.

Octavian sighed. “Yes. She is. I just wish that sometimes she’d let us do Hamlet .”

Nestor laughed. “Never. Unless we let her play Hamlet. She never got over the fact that she couldn’t have that role.”

Maximus blinked. “We are not discussing Hamlet , MacBeth , future family performances, or Grandmama. We are dissecting how Nestor drove Margery away.”

Octavian nodded his dark head enthusiastically. “Right. Exactly.”

Calchas arched a dark brow and contemplated his twin brother. “Nestor, you don’t usually drive the ladies away. They usually flock to you.”

“Well, she’s different,” Nestor pointed out.

“Well, that’s obvious,” said Maximus. “Otherwise, you wouldn’t be interested in her. So when are you going to marry her?”

“What?” Nestor popped out.

“That is what you’re going to do, isn’t it?” Calchas asked, eyeing him carefully.

“I’m not old enough to get married,” Nestor blurted.

Maximus stared at him, started blinking, and let out a booming laugh. “Oh, do you need to go back to the nursery then?”

“Should we call for the nursemaid and the governess?” Octavian teased.

“He needs skirts again and leading strings, I tell you. Alas, he has not yet become a man,” added Calchas.

“Stop that,” Nestor said, feeling a bit befuddled. Could he marry? He could. But it had never occurred to him. Ladies were launched on the marriage mart quite early, but men were never officially launched, so to speak… Not in the search for a wife.

Had he found his? Already?

“It’s clear to us that you like her,” Maximus said, smiling.

Octavian shook his head dramatically. “If you don’t marry her this Season, man, someone else will.”

He blinked. Then he blinked again. The statement rattled through him, as strong as one of the punches of the famous fighting legend, Hartigan Mulvaney.

“Oh, God,” Nestor groaned. “You are right.”

“Of course we are,” Maximus said. “Briarwoods are always right. You, on the other hand, need to be dragged into reality. It’s quite obvious you are smitten with her.”

Any other family would be telling the heir of a dukedom to wait a good decade. And the fact was a man like him was not expected to marry until he’d sown his wild oats, gone off to the Continent for years, and done all sorts of things. The truth was going to the Continent now was almost impossible. Napoleon was making life there hell on earth. And the Briarwoods were very fortunate that Maximus, Octavian, and Calchas were home at all. It was very odd that the three of them had managed to have a leave together, but they were here, and Nestor was grateful.

“Marriage,” he breathed, the idea taking root. And the more he thought about it, the more he liked it. Briarwoods loved marriage! Why would he be any different? He would just get there first, before his male cousins. Being first could be quite appealing! “What an excellent idea.”

Octavian waggled his brows. “We only have excellent ideas.”

“Frankly,” Calchas observed, “I’m shocked that you’re not the one who suggested it. The idea must have not yet come to fruition in your brain, but we see the way you are with her. You’ll be very upset if she marries someone else.”

“I will marry her,” he exclaimed. The truth was he hadn’t even thought about that. But now that it was in his head, the idea of Margery— his Margery, the lady he planned to make happy—in the arms of some oaf, who would likely only make her life even drearier and wouldn’t understand her, appalled him. “And you know why?”

Maximus cocked his head to the side and considered him. “Why?”

“Because,” Nestor began, “if she marries someone else, they’re going to make her miserable. She’ll never be fully herself. She needs someone like me. To make her happy.”

“Very arrogant,” Calchas drawled before his eyes danced. “I like it.”

“Life should be lived confidently,” added Octavian.

Maximus nodded. “Ladies like Lady Margery need a Briarwood. It’s true. If she marries anyone else, she’ll never break entirely out of that shell.”

And it was true.

Lady Margery had already emerged a bit from the quite extensive walls of protection that she had put up as a girl. But she needed to be totally freed.

When she’d come to Heron House to stay and come under the protection and education of his grandmother and his aunt, Lady Juliet? Well, it had been a very good thing for her. Her brother, the Duke of Ferrars, was an excellent fellow, but the man had been terribly scarred as a child. And though he had done everything he could for his sister, both of them had been deeply, deeply hurt by the cruelty and strictness of their parents.

How Nestor wanted to soothe that hurt from Lady Margery. How he wanted to lift her spirits and show her how beautiful the world could be. How beautiful she was, and not just in face, but in spirit.

He knew that she did not think she was beautiful at all. No doubt, years of being molded by a mother who did not care for her, and a host of servants who had no wish to protect her from a duchess or a duke, for that matter, had led her to believe that she, as a person, was not important. No, Margery had been taught to believe she had one purpose. To make a great family alliance and unite her wealth with another’s powerful title.

Many gentlemen were pursuing her, but her brother had denied them all because her brother had, under the influence of his wife, decided that his sister deserved far more than a dutiful marriage.

He was bloody grateful to Ferrars that he hadn’t let the first earl with a fortune marry Margery.

Nestor wanted to show Margery that she was marvelous and interesting without her wealth and title, and she didn’t have to just be a vessel to carry on a family line. But he wasn’t entirely certain how to go about it. He’d thought he’d been doing a good job. He’d always made certain she had a glass of lemonade or a slice of cake or a pink macaron. But now, he’d discovered that asking her to dance and teach him had been quite a mistake.

He ground his teeth. “I think I’m going to have to come up with a new strategy.”

Calchas’s eyes widened. “You? Change your strategy?”

Octavian let out a cheer.

Maximus smiled a wicked smile. “Excellent. Let us come up with a battle plan.”

“Oh, I’m not interested in winning a battle,” said Nestor.

“No?” Octavian asked, quite disappointed.

Nestor smiled slowly, beginning to understand the next great adventure of his life had already begun. “No. If we’re talking in those terms, I’m interested in winning the whole war. I clearly just lost the battle. So, let’s assess. What is the best way to win her?”

“Win who?” his cousin Portia asked as she crossed over to them, sucking in a long breath of air, as if to steady her nerves. She looked a bit green. She was with child. And those first months, as he’d been told by his aunts and his mother, were rather tricky. And Portia seemed to be negotiating it fairly well, but she had to spend most of her time outside, often in a chair, and often on the verge of casting up her accounts.

He and Portia had played like wild things all their childhood, and he was rather amazed at how different it was for her as a woman. But she was strong and wonderful. And he thought her a wonder.

“How do I win Margery?” he asked honestly, for the cousins did not keep secrets.

Her eyes lit with joy, and she clapped her hands together. “Oh, good. Finally, you’ve come to your senses. You are going to woo her, aren’t you?”

“Portia?” he exclaimed. “Is everyone aware that I—”

“Well, the whole family hoped .” Portia laughed. “We saw the way you were with her. The moment you saw her, you took her under your wing, as if you could shield her from any unkindness.”

He gaped. “Is everybody watching me all the time?”

“Of course,” Maximus said. “You are the heir to the dukedom.”

He ground his teeth. “Is that the only reason?”

His twin pounded him on the back. “Don’t be absurd. Of course not. First, you’re family. Second, you are great fun to watch, Nestor. You’re the oddest of us all, and we never know what you’re about to do.”

He laughed at that, which turned into a half-groan. “Glad to provide entertainment.”

And he did take it in such a way. He didn’t take offense that he was slightly unpredictable. It was what made him great at things. It was what made his father great at things too.

And he would never apologize for that.

Now, he would just have to use his unpredictability to win Lady Margery over.

If admiration for her passion wasn’t the way to convince her, what was?

He turned to Portia, who knew Lady Margery very well. “And what way do you suggest?”

“Honestly?” she asked, pursing her lips.

“Honestly,” Nestor repeated.

“Just tell her the truth.” Portia leaned towards him and gave him a cheeky wink.

“I know our family is honest, but that’s far too simple,” Maximus said, scowling.

“No, it’s not,” Portia countered. “Men always overcomplicate it. Sometimes the simplest way is the best. No need for elaborate plans. Nestor, just tell her you wish to marry her. And then she’ll say yes.”

Nestor cleared his throat. “Are you sure?”

Portia waggled her brows. “Oh yes, very.”