Page 6 of The Duke's Sister's Absolutely Excellent Engagement (The Notorious Briarwoods Book 11)

“I need to speak with you,” Nestor declared, just as a fire-eater swallowed a burst of flame.

The entire back gardens of Heron House had been transformed as only his grandmother and his aunts could do in the space of a few hours.

Having been in the theater, or raised around the theater, for all their lives, they knew how to put on a good production, and Heron House had been changed into a veritable magical land.

Elaborate lamps had been positioned all throughout the gardens. Potted plants with roses and exotic blooms were strewn about the green. A special fountain had been installed and dancers dressed as Greek goddesses frolicked from lily pond to lily pond. Then they posed in various tableaus from famous myths.

A trapeze artist walked a tightrope back and forth across the long garden, and another swung high above from a set of wires.

Jugglers went about, and the entire guest list of very powerful lords, politicians, soldiers, academics, and artists were thrilled.

Gasps filled the air, and every now and then, without warning, fireworks burst across the sky. For Nestor’s grandmother did not believe in the concept of a fireworks show.

No. She said the evening needed to start out with bursts of excitement and grow until there was a great conclusion at the end.

Food of the most delicious varieties went about on silver trays carried by footmen in costumes from various Greek myths, and the guests were delighted by the elaborate nature of it all.

They also delighted in the champagne and punch that flowed freely as they traversed the gardens of Heron House, a place that all wished to visit, though not all were admitted.

The Duke of Ferrars turned to him, arched a dark brow, and said, “Speak to me about what?” He frowned. “I need to go to my wife. I’ve made an appearance, and now I should go. She’s feeling rather poorly today and needs my support. I’m only here because your father convinced me that my presence was necessary to convince a few annoying old lords to vote on the bill coming up tomorrow. I’ve spoken to them, and I think we might succeed.”

Nestor clapped the older man on the back. “Glad to hear it. Glad to hear it. Now I have something that I must ask you.”

He’d asked his own father for permission… Now, he had to make certain her brother would approve, for he liked and admired the man and wished it all to go smoothly.

“Be quick about it,” Rufus said as he stood there, folding his hands behind his back as he surveyed the company with what some might think was disdain but was, in fact, shyness.

Now, as he stood beside Rufus, who was an imposing person, Nestor considered retreating. After all, Rufus could say no. Margery could say no. Unlike Portia, he was actually not convinced of the yes that his cousin seemed so certain would occur. After all, he was young. He had not achieved any great noble acts and, unlike his brother and cousins, he had not fought in any battles. He was, as it were, a man in waiting.

Oh, he had several charities that he took care of, but he was not in Parliament. Not yet. He did not have the ability to make truly great changes. Not yet. And he wished his father to live for as long as possible, which meant he wouldn’t have significant power for decades.

He was waiting in the wings, as it were.

And, frankly, he was…inexperienced. But surely, he made up for all of that in other important ways.

Perhaps Rufus would tell him to go to the devil. The only way to find out, of course, was to ask.

“I wish to marry your sister,” he declared with as much confidence as he could.

Rufus coughed loudly and then grabbed a glass of punch from a silver tray traveling by, which almost dislodged all the other glasses. Rufus professed a quick apology to the servant and downed the punch glass in one go.

“You wish to do what?” Rufus asked.

“I wish to ask for Lady Margery’s hand in marriage.”

Rufus’s brows drew together, and he let his gaze linger on the company. “I’ve noticed you’ve been kind to her. I’ve been deeply grateful for that. Whenever she comes into a situation, you are always there to protect her, to assure her that all will be well, and I cannot ignore that.”

This did not feel like the precursor to a yes.

“But, Nestor, you’re not yet twenty-one years of age. Why in God’s name do you wish to marry?”

“Because she needs me.”

“Needs you,” Rufus repeated.

“Yes. I can’t explain it, but from the moment I saw her, I knew I had to protect her. I wish to make it official.”

“That is very…empathetic of you.”

“So, you understand,” Nestor replied.

The marriage between Portia and Rufus hadn’t started out as a love match, at least not for Rufus, or even for Portia, for that matter. Nestor had been amazed at how quickly Portia had fallen in love with her husband. It had taken Rufus a little bit longer to allow himself permission to fall in love. He had seen her potential to be a great duchess, and the truth was Lady Margery would be a great duchess too.

His family adored her. She would be kind. She would be gentle. She would be an excellent mother to his children, and he could make her happy. She deserved to be happy.

Rufus scowled. “This is a surprise. And you haven’t mentioned love.”

“It shouldn’t be,” Nestor replied. “And love will surely grow. How could it not with your sister?”

“You admit you don’t love her.”

Nestor frowned. “I don’t know what I feel, but I know that I wish to make her mine. And I like her a great deal.”

“Yes, it is obvious that you like her, but I thought it was as a friend. She doesn’t seem to have any of the attributes that Briarwoods would typically desire.”

“Of course she does,” he returned, slightly offended for Margery.

“Forgive me,” Rufus said. “I did not mean to be rude about my own sister. She’s wonderful. But to put her in the view of society as the future Duchess of Westleigh… Well, you’ve seen your grandmother. Margery is nothing like her.”

“Margery is only nothing like my grandmother because no one has allowed her to be, not even you. Though I know you have done your best,” he quickly amended.

Rufus blinked. “I never really thought about that.”

“Why would you? She’s the perfect young lady in every aspect, except for the fact that she doesn’t really allow herself to be free. And why would she? She’s been schooled not to. Most young ladies are schooled not to. But if she’s my duchess, Rufus, she won’t have to stay in the prison that was put up around her as a girl. I know you broke her out of that, but she still seems…”

“Lost,” Rufus said softly.

“Exactly, and I want to make her happy and shield her from all the unpleasantness of the world.”

Rufus swallowed, his throat working, and much to Nestor’s astonishment, a sheen of tears crossed the formidable man’s eyes. The duke was a fortress, and yet here he stood, on the edge of tears. It was a new thing for him, emotion.

Nestor had witnessed it begin to occur, and he was quite proud of his cousin-in-law. He had been an instrumental part of helping Rufus see how important his love for Portia was and that he could let all the pain go, that he could let his past go, that he could let the way his father had controlled him go. And Nestor wanted the same thing for Margery.

“Well, I can’t tell you no, Nestor. Tempting though it might be. You are the son of a duke. She could not hope for a better marriage.” Rufus was silent for a moment, but then he cleared his throat. “I just hope you know what you are doing. Young men don’t often know what they truly want.”

“Balderdash,” Nestor countered without hesitation. “Young men are full of purpose and passion. They’re the ones who lead revolutions. They’re the ones who make change. The old men are the problem. That’s the truth.”

Rufus let out a long laugh. “I suppose I can’t contradict you on that. So, you wish to be a young man who makes decisions and leads. Then you best start, Nestor,” he said. “I’m glad you’re happy, and I’m glad you want to make her happy, but the world is on fire. You can’t escape that here at Heron House.”

“Of course I can’t,” he replied tersely. “I see my cousins and my brother going off to war.”

Rufus winced. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to offend you. Of course, it must be very difficult watching them go off to war when you cannot.”

“Even Maximus has gone,” Nestor bit out, “and he’s the heir to an earldom. But there are two more heirs, so he can go, but I can’t because Calchas is in the Navy, and well, the Westleigh dukedom cannot risk the loss of all its heirs.”

“You know your duty and that is good,” Rufus said. “You wouldn’t want it to pass to some terrible cousin out there who has entirely different ideas than you.”

Nestor shuddered. “Apparently, there is a branch somewhere off in Scotland that are quite puritanical. We couldn’t have that, could we?”

Rufus laughed. “That horror must never be allowed to occur. So, without going to war, you have to find a way to make great change at home. Without the risk.”

Make great change without risk? Such a thing sounded impossible.

“But you’ll permit the marriage?”

“Permit?” Rufus suddenly grinned. “Since I’ve met you Briarwoods, I understand that such a word is ridiculous, but I give you my approval. How could I not? Without you, my world would be a dismal one indeed. I just worry that you’re so young and that you don’t really know who you are either. Not truly. Both of you…could be a bit lost, looking for yourselves, and that is a frightening thing.”

“We’ll find ourselves together then,” Nestor declared.

“The wisdom of the Briarwoods,” Rufus replied softly, “is an astonishing thing. So I wish you the best of luck, and I hope she’ll say yes.”

“She may not,” Nestor allowed.

Rufus laughed. “I think you’re the only future duke I know who doubts a young lady might say yes.”

“Arrogance,” Nestor began, “though my cousins champion it, isn’t actually all that helpful. It’s good to be confident, but it’s also good to be realistic.”

“Realistic,” Rufus mused. “You’re the first Briarwood I’ve ever heard use that word.”

“Oh, but, Rufus,” he said, “every Briarwood is a realist far more than most. We just choose to be optimistic in the face of all of it because cynicism is…”

“The route of those who have given up,” Rufus finished.

“Yes, that’s right. And Briarwoods never give up.”

“There’s too much beauty waiting in the world to give up. So, if you can free Margery in a way that I’ve never been able to as her brother, I applaud you, and I wish you the best of luck. But if you hurt her, Briarwood or no…”

Nestor nodded. Rufus didn’t finish.

He didn’t need to.