Page 5 of The Duke's Sister's Absolutely Excellent Engagement (The Notorious Briarwoods Book 11)

T he Duke of Westleigh hurled a dagger across the room with lightning speed and precision.

The blade planted itself dead in the center of the target, vibrating as it came to rest. And the duke stood, his feet perfectly placed apart, his shoulders pulled back under a dark linen shirt, his head tilted up, and his entire body crackling with satisfaction.

“Is this an unfortunate moment?” Nestor asked from the doorway, knowing that his father always had time for his sons, or any member of his family, for that matter. But he couldn’t help adding, “Will you be killing anyone I know?”

His father drew in a deep breath, swung his gaze to Nestor, and his eyes, which danced with intelligence, caught sight of him. Those dark eyes transformed from hard obsidian fraught with frustration to ebony full of warmth and excitement. “My son, do come in.”

Nestor strode into the study, the very room where he had witnessed his father having an episode all those years ago. The memory was still as vivid as if it had happened yesterday, but there was nothing about it that upset him.

No, it still empowered him.

“Will you have a cup of tea with me?” his father asked.

“Of course, Papa. What are you drinking today?”

“Need you ask? Green tea, of course!”

His father had become a connoisseur of teas, drinking the beverage imported from many different parts of the world. At present, he was particularly in love with a fine green tea. He said it made him feel calm and well.

His father went to the silver teapot over by the fire, took up a strainer, and began to pour out.

Now, some might have found it an incongruous image, the mighty Duke of Westleigh with his Herculean shoulders and raven-black hair pouring out tea. But Nestor was so accustomed to it that he waited for his cup eagerly. His father was a master at pouring tea, far better now than Grandmama or even his mother.

The duke extended a simple black porcelain cup painted with gold and blue flowers. It was a bit ominous, that cup, like a summer storm. But so could his father be, so Nestor felt he could be too.

Nestor took the cup and saucer easily, eager for this conversation, and yet… His stomach hummed with nerves. What would he say?

“Now, my boy, what can I help you with?” his father asked as he busied himself in pouring out his own cup.

Nestor drew himself up and replied confidently, “I’m getting married.”

The duke tensed for a moment, but then he swung back to his son and exclaimed, “How marvelous. To whom?”

“Oh, Papa,” he observed, both relieved and full of love for the father who had guided him from boyhood to manhood, “you know that you are a singular fellow, don’t you?”

“I do. It is sometimes trying and other times liberating. But why do you say that in this moment?”

“Because you don’t protest. You don’t get upset. You don’t ask why I didn’t beg for your permission.”

His father crossed to the crackling fire, and despite the warm summer evening, he paused before the flames, clearly enjoying the heat.

“Why in God’s name would I do that? You are my son, and I trust you implicitly,” his father said as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. “You’d never ask someone to marry you who would make you miserable or the family unhappy, so I offer you my felicitations. Now, again, may I know the name of the lady?”

His father waggled his brows, and for a moment Nestor was certain that his father knew his answer but was being polite.

“You already know, don’t you?”

His father stared enigmatically. “Well, perhaps I have considered a name,” he replied, his lips curling in a smile, “but I could be completely mistaken.” The duke’s eyes grew merry, then his smile turned rueful. “Now, my mother and my wife, your mother, seem to have some ideas about a lady they think you favor, and they are usually never wrong. Still, I’d like to hear you say her name.”

Nestor could not stop his own smile from spreading across his lips. “Lady Margery.”

“Brilliant, my boy. Brilliant,” his father all but crowed in that booming, intense voice he had. “She is an excellent choice. She already fits in quite well with the family, and she’ll only grow in confidence and courage over the years with you and the rest of us by her side.”

A wave of relief traveled through Nestor as he realized he would meet no resistance. “That’s what I thought too,” Nestor agreed.

“Shall we sit before the fire?” his father asked. “Would you like to discuss it?”

“No,” Nestor said honestly. “I have too much energy. I am full to the brim now with excitement at your approval.”

“Good!” his father replied, his face full of pride. “I don’t feel like sitting, in truth, but thought you might prefer to discuss such details like two old parliamentarians.”

Nestor laughed. “You will never be an old parliamentarian negotiating before the fire.”

“I pray not,” his father said softly. “As it is, I have spent too much time sitting at my desk today, going over bills, wondering how I’m going to refrain from strangling several of the lords who have determined that our recent laws around slavery are a mistake. I don’t really understand those people, but money will make people do the worst of all possible things, no matter how much they have of it.”

“And yet,” Nestor returned, “money can also be the most glorious thing, can’t it, Papa? Look at what you do with it.”

His father nodded again. “Very wise, Nestor. It is all about what one does with money. We’ll never run out of it, you know, because we love it so well. And we take care of it and aren’t terrified to lose it… For we will not try to keep it or make it at any cost.”

“And we know what to do with it,” Nestor put in.

“Exactly. Well said,” his father praised before he took another drink of tea, looking as if the day’s stresses were slipping away with every moment of their conversation.

Nestor loved that he helped his father relax, that their time together wasn’t a burden. He knew so many young lords who did not give a damn about their fathers. And fathers who only cared about their sons for the line they carried on.

His father looked to the dagger still embedded in the target on the wall and sighed. “Once I have dealt with the idiots who long for slavery, I shall turn on those fellows who insist that children and women go down the mines and work for paltry wages. It is an ever-going battle, and I don’t know if it shall ever be won.”

“But we must continue to try,” Nestor said. “We cannot give up.”

“Exactly, my boy. No doubt you shall take up the mantle of the fight when I am long gone from the world.”

“Please don’t say that,” Nestor urged, his hand tightening on the fragile cup.

“Say what?” his father returned. “The truth? It is the truth, and one day it will be time, just as I took up the mantle from my father. None of us wishes to lose our fathers, Nestor, when the father is good. The death of a father has quite the impact. Sometimes, when a man has a brutal father, it has a terrible and lasting effect.”

“Like Rufus?” Nestor queried, hating this talk of death but knowing his father was right.

His father’s hard face softened with sympathy. “Yes, like Rufus, but now he has us. Lady Margery has us. So there are no concerns on that point. I say you two marry this summer.”

“You’re not going to suggest we wait?” Nestor rushed.

“Why would you wait?” his father countered. “I don’t believe in waiting. If you have a good idea, you should engage and act upon it.”

Nestor cleared his throat. He shouldn’t have been surprised. “I thought perhaps…”

“Yes?” his father prompted as he finished his tea and put the cup down. “That was just what I needed. And your company too.”

His father’s brow furrowed, and he pointed to Nestor’s cup. “You take a drink, boy. You look a bit tense.”

Nestor took a drink of his tea, then asked, “Do I?”

He gazed about the room. He’d never hesitated in telling his father anything. Why would now be any different?

“Are you worried that I was going to censure you or berate you for knowing your own mind?”

A deep laugh tumbled past Nestor’s lips. “When you put it like that, my fears sound ridiculous.”

“Fears often are. What concerns you?”

“Some might say I am being impetuous or passionate.”

“Good,” his father intoned, growing serious. “Passionate is wonderful. Sometimes impetuous is even better. I have seen so many men throw their lives away, thinking about what they should do rather than doing anything at all.”

To waste a life only thinking of what one would do, never doing it, seemed a tragedy. And Nestor would never let that befall him.

“Now that that concern is assuaged. Why else do you think I might delay you? Is there something wrong with the lady?”

“Of course not,” Nestor returned swiftly. “She is only to be admired.”

“Then there is no need to hesitate,” his father said with easy finality, as if the matter was now done. “I would rather you were happy now than wait for ten years because society says a young man should sow his oats and see the world. If you have found your lady, do not let her go. But I will ask… What is the matter?”

Nestor hesitated.

“Oh dear, here is the first rub,” his father observed. “You already have my approval, but tell me why you want to marry her?”

Nestor hesitated again, part of him unwilling to put the truth out into the world. “When I saw her, I knew I had to have her and not because of lust. There was something in her that spoke to me, something I knew that I had to soothe, something that I knew I was to play a role in. I could see she had a sorrow that is my role alone to fix.”

His father gave him an odd look then. “There you must be careful, my boy, because no one wishes to be fixed. Is that all you want her for, to fix her?”

“Of course not,” Nestor protested, realizing how terrible that might sound, “but I long to see her happy.”

“Ah, another rub,” the duke sighed. “You must be careful. If you are basing this marriage on changing her, then I fear for you. She may never change, you know.”

Nestor frowned. His father had to be wrong. With the right and proper care, Margery would blossom and be happy, and he would be able to give her that.

“Right now, I’ve said my piece,” the duke said gently. “I will not spend any more time trying to dissuade or encourage you because you said what matters to me most.”

“And what is that?”

“Oh, you said what all we Briarwoods know whether we admit it or not.” His father folded his arms across his chest and leveled a powerful stare at him. “You saw her and something in you recognized that she was for you.”

“Papa,” Nestor scoffed. “You don’t really believe all that nonsense, do you? That stuff that Grandmama goes on and on about?”

His father was quiet for a moment. “You don’t believe it, Nestor?”

“Of course not,” he said simply. “It’s nonsense, magic, all old wives’ tales.”

The duke merely nodded, then winked at his son. “Whatever you say. You are far more knowledgeable, no doubt, than me. Young people always are.”

“Papa, you are speaking as if you are a grandfather.”

His father laughed, a deep, warm sound. “Perhaps I will be this time next year.”

His father’s eyes lit with joy and hope and anticipation. “Can you imagine so many generations of Briarwoods living in the same house?”

Nestor blinked. “I never thought about that.”

His own father tilted his head to the side, the fire causing his dark hair to glint like dark embers. “You never thought about becoming a father?”

“No, I confess not.”

“Well, that is part of marriage, old boy. And, of course, being my heir.”

“Yes,” he said, his whole view suddenly changing. He was choosing to become a husband and quite possibly a father. Those were the greatest roles he could ever hope for, and he only prayed he would be as excellent as his father.

“It will be wonderful, won’t it?” His father spoke as if this was his greatest achievement. A loving family that would continue to grow. Oh, he had passed some of the most important bills in English history, he had conversed with the king and the most powerful men for the last three decades, his voice often being the most important in the room.

And yet his voice and his gaze were full of the most pride and love when speaking of his family.

“You’ll have a great deal of energy if you start having children now. You’ll play with them wonderfully,” his father said, a surprising sheen touching his eyes. “And I cannot wait to see it myself.”

The love remained in his father’s eyes, but something else suddenly joined it. Something as hard as steel. “But you must tell her the truth.”

Nestor frowned, stunned by his father’s sudden statement. “What?”

“The truth, Nestor,” his father stated. “About me, about you, about your great-grandfather, and about the possibility that your children could be like us.”

“She won’t care about that,” he replied quickly, wanting to assure his father before he grew agitated about it. “It’s not important.”

“It is important,” his father returned, “because it’s up to her to decide whether she wants to love someone like you or me.”

At his father’s words, Nestor’s heart ached, and again that memory of his boyhood came back. “Papa, why do you judge yourself so harshly?”

“I don’t, my boy,” his father said, even as his voice lowered with emotion. “It is you who fails to understand because you have grown up surrounded by this family. You think that it is normal the way we are.”

“I know it’s not normal,” Nestor said calmly. “I’ve seen how cruel the rest of the ton can be.”

“I would not wish you to know the suffering that most of the ton knows,” his father replied, “but I will not give you consent unless you tell her the truth. And you do need my consent because you are not actually old enough to marry without my say.”

Nestor narrowed his eyes. “I could run off to Scotland,” he said.

His father laughed. “I love you, my boy, how I do. Nothing will stop you, and I admire that. Or you could go to America, your mother’s land, and defy us all. But I don’t think you will. I think you’ll do exactly as I ask because you know it’s the right thing to do.”

Nestor let out a sigh. “I just don’t see how it’s as important as you think, Papa, but of course I will. I think you’ll be surprised by her.”

“By Margery?” his father countered. “She could never surprise me. She’s better than most. I can tell you that. She should have been born a Briarwood.”

“Well, I’m glad she wasn’t,” Nestor teased, “or else I couldn’t marry her.”

His father crossed the room and clapped him on the back. “I’m happy for you. And Margery? She will accept you as you, but she deserves all the facts.”

“What’s transpiring?” his mother called as she bustled into the room, several manuscripts in her arms.

“Our son is going to be wed.”

His mother’s eyes widened with pleasure, and she thunked down the massive stack of parchment. She let out a cry of delight. “I knew it! Are we to be grandparents soon?”

“Mama,” Nestor exclaimed.

“Oh my dear, do forgive me,” his mother replied, unable to hide how happy she was at the turn of events. “I shouldn’t assume that you and Margery have gone off in a corner, acting as young people ought. Especially those who wish to marry each other.”

Nestor groaned, unsurprised by his mother’s comments and yet… “I don’t think it ever would’ve occurred to her to be a bit rebellious like that, Mama. Nor would I so risk a young lady’s reputation, in truth.”

She crossed to him and patted his cheek. “I am very proud of what a good man you are,” she said, before crossing to her husband and stepping into his embrace.

It was a fact. And his mother’s pride was warranted.

He’d never attempted to seduce a young lady, no matter how he might have wished to. It didn’t matter that he was a notorious Briarwood. He’d just never felt compelled to put any lady at risk when he did not wish to marry her.

But the idea of doing what young people ought with his future wife in every corner of the great house, well that was quite appealing indeed.

“So you give your permission too then, Mama?”

“Of course, I do. We both do,” she said firmly, squeezing her husband’s arm. “We’ve been waiting for this day for months.”

“What?” Nestor asked.

“I saw the way that you took her under your wing and knew that she wasn’t just a friend. No, Lady Margery has always been destined for you. And your father agreed.”

“There’s that nonsense again,” Nestor sighed, wondering at the madcap nature of his parents and his aunts and uncles. “You all believe in pure magic.”

“Ah,” Mama said merrily. “Magic. I think it is around us all the time, whether we want to admit it or not.”

“Mother, you’re supposed to be a pragmatic American.”

“I am,” she said. “So, why should I deny what we can clearly see?”

Of course, she was right. Magic or not, he was determined to make Margery his.