Page 7 of The Duke's Sister's Absolutely Excellent Engagement (The Notorious Briarwoods Book 11)

M argery’s heart beat so quickly against her ribs that she feared it might try to make a sudden escape from her chest. Something had happened to her this afternoon in the dowager duchess’s company, when she had realized that she could ask to learn ballet and that she didn’t have to be who she had always been.

It seemed rather ridiculous that she was only learning it right now, especially since Rufus had clearly learned it with his new wife. And Margery had assisted in that learning, helping Portia to understand exactly what her brother needed to heal.

But the truth was life was quite strange and full of oddities, and nothing ever progressed quite the way one thought it would. She was a young lady in her first Season, and she was determined to enjoy her life. If living with the Briarwoods had taught her anything, well, what would it be if not to enjoy life?

So, she crossed the green under the light of the flickering lamp lights, doing something absolutely shocking.

She homed her eyes in on Nestor. She was going to do it. She could. She absolutely would. And as she crossed swiftly, she was ready to do exactly as she wished, which was to ask him to dance, so that she could show him that, yes, she did indeed dance with passion.

And just as she was about to reach him, a mama thundered in with her young daughter. A beautiful young lady with perfect blonde hair, perfect blue eyes, a perfectly pert form, and a laugh that was lovely.

Margery knew her laugh was not lovely. Her laugh was loud and quite unique, which was why she didn’t laugh very often in public. Her mother had made certain of that.

But Margery had no idea what the young lady could possibly be laughing at. Nestor hadn’t even said anything. Nestor looked quite astonished too, in his beautiful black evening kit. She lingered just beside them, but she was completely ignored, as if she was an unnecessary bit of baggage, or perhaps a shrub outside in the dark gardens, lit only by lanterns and the occasional burst of beautiful fireworks.

“Oh, Lord Nestor,” proclaimed the mama as she fluttered her fan and her turban trembled atop her sausage curls. “It is such a shame you are not yet ready to wed. It will be such a treat when you are hunting for a wife. How wonderful you would’ve been for my dear Magnolia here.”

A strange look crossed over Nestor’s face, and Margery rather thought of an animal caught in a trap as he realized that there was no escape. She felt terrible for him, actually, for this was just the beginning. A man like Nestor, well, he was going to have to face a horde of hopefuls, who would corner him and do their very best, if not to convince him, then to bludgeon him into believing that their daughter was the very best for him.

“Yes.” Nestor cleared his throat and folded his hands behind him, which only emphasized his perfect form. “I’m sure Lady Magnolia will make an excellent wife.”

“Oh, do you think so?” cut in the mama, with a gushing tone of excitement. “Perhaps you should—”

“Oh, there you are,” Nestor exclaimed, catching sight of Margery just a few feet away. His eyes shone with relief and desperation. “How clever of you! You knew that I was coming to find you for our dance, didn’t you?”

Margery felt a hint of hesitation. This was not at all how it was supposed to go. Granted, as she had thought earlier, life did not usually progress as one expected, but she had been the one who was going to ask him to dance—a revolutionary act, especially for someone like herself. Now, she was the escape route.

She didn’t like being an escape route.

He was using her as a means to elude Lady Magnolia and her mama. How terribly rude of him. And yet she began to laugh, quite loudly and awkwardly, as she always did. It was a sound that was a bit more like a trumpet than a harp, and the mama and Lady Magnolia swung their astonished gazes back towards her.

“Oh, Lady Margery,” the mama exclaimed. “I did not see you there.”

“No,” Lady Margery sighed, “people often don’t pay attention until they hear the sister of the Duke of Ferrars is nearby.”

“But I spotted you immediately,” Nestor proclaimed. “And thank goodness too, for if I wasted another moment, half the dance would be done, and what a shame that would be. Good luck to you, Lady Magnolia,” he declared grandly as he swept forward, seized Margery by the arm, and said, “Thank God you’ve come.”

“Well, that’s really quite rude to Lady Magnolia,” she teased. “Can she be so very terrible?”

“I’m sure Lady Magnolia is perfectly fine, but the poor thing will be on performance for her mother, and her mother will watch every single beat.”

Margery bit back a laugh before she pointed out, “Her mother is still watching. Every single beat. She’s quite astonished that you would choose me over Lady Magnolia.”

“Why?” Nestor asked quite honestly.

She laughed again, that trumpet-like sound, wishing she had a more delicate laugh. “Oh, Nestor, are you truly that innocent? I didn’t think you were.”

“Innocent?” Nestor seemed to flush. “Perhaps a touch,” he said. “Though it is hard to believe that any Briarwood could ever be accused of being innocent.”

“There are all sorts of innocence, Nestor,” she assured. “Now, are you really going to dance with me?”

“Of course I am. If I don’t, it will be a scandal.”

She laughed. “Not dancing with me will be a scandal?”

“Yes, because Lady Magnolia’s mother shall profess to all the company that I avoided her. And my mother and Grandmama will never forgive me for such bad manners. We’re supposed to just buck up and get on with it, you know. We can be blunt, but we can’t be rude,” he said rather grimly.

“Oh,” she began grandly, hardly believing herself, “the sacrifices you must make for wealth and power and the beauty of Heron House.”

His brows drew together, and he looked at her anew. “I say, have you drank some magical potion? You’re not being yourself. You’re teasing me.”

She winced. “Perhaps I am being myself. Perhaps I’m finally being me. You don’t like it?”

He grinned at her. “I like it exceedingly well,” he said. “Now, let’s head to the floor.”

He took her hand and guided her to the wood floor that had been assembled and polished until it gleamed. “I upset you earlier. I didn’t mean to.”

“I was upset, but it wasn’t you that upset me,” she said. “You were honest. There’s a difference.”

“Yes,” he said, “there is. And I’ve been encouraged to be even more honest with you, if you must know.”

“More honest? Oh dear, whatever will you tell me?” she asked, as the notes of the waltz continued and she swept up the train of her ivory gown.

How she longed to one day wear the vibrant colors of a married woman. She could not wait to wear ruby and emerald, sapphire and topaz, and wear whatever she wished in her hair, and dance however she wished too. That? That was the promise of being a married woman. And how she wished it could be Nestor who was her husband. But he would not marry for years.

She tried not to let her spirit sink as he swept her hand into his gloved one, and then they began to circle.

“You are such a natural,” he sighed as he danced acceptably, though without flair.

“Thank you. I was drilled continuously from the age of eleven years old until, well, recently. Even after Mama died, my brother ensured that I had a dancing master, you see? So I could learn the fashionable dances.”

“Yes, but you do it so much better than everyone else.”

“And apparently passionately,” she allowed, though the word nearly caught in her throat. It felt so daring.

“Yes, that was ill-done of me. I shouldn’t have said it.”

“Why not, if it’s true?”

He winced. “You forgive me then?”

As they made their way about the floor perfunctorily, and she savored the feel of his hand upon her waist and her fingertips in his palm, she said, “Not only do I forgive you. I thank you, Nestor. You’ve made me understand something.”

His brows shot up as his locks tumbled playfully over his forehead. “What?”

She tilted her head back, drinking in the wonderful feeling of being in his embrace and dancing to the perfect music, played by the best musicians in Europe. “I love dancing. I’m not going to hide that anymore. I’m not going to be silly about it.”

“Good,” he said with a sigh of relief. “Then I shan’t be silly either. I’ll come straight to the point. I’d like to ask you to marry me.”

As he spoke, the music came to an end, and she stood frozen in his arms, locked in his embrace, certain she had lost her wits. And yet…he looked as if he had flung himself off a cliff and was waiting to find out if he would fly.

“You wish to marry me?” she breathed, her insides twisting with emotions she could not name or understand. “Pardon me, I don’t feel at all well.”

And with that, and much to his astonishment, she turned and swept away. Again.

Was he mocking her? She’d never thought he could be cruel. But to say such a thing! When he had never courted her. Or started a marriage contract between his father and her brother! Surely, he was jesting.

Struggling not to come apart with the thoughts rioting inside her, she headed out into the deeper garden. As she paced away from him, she realized she was doing it again. Twice in one day, she’d left Nestor Briarwood standing there astonished, and again it was after discussion about dancing. But this was really beyond the pale. She would not be made fun of.

It wasn’t funny. She had been truthful with him. She had exposed her feelings, and she had risked telling him the secrets of her heart in regard to dancing and her hopes for herself, and then to say—

“Stop,” he called, racing after her through the hedgerows.

She did not stop. She kept marching on, even as he came up beside her.

As she charged on, she tried to ignore him, mumbling, “Rude. Anybody would think that I was a foolish girl. A gullible twit. I cannot believe you would be so unkind, Nestor, after you have been—”

As they slipped into the shadowy, distant part of the garden, his hand grabbed her elbow, and he whipped her around, pulling her against his chest.

“I’m not being unkind,” he stated.

She was shocked at the power of his embrace, the feel of his hard body up against hers.

He was young, but he had the body of a powerful man. Broad shoulders, a hard jawline, sharp cheekbones, dark hair. His entire body was made lean through the practice of fighting with his brother and his cousins.

“Then what are you being?” she demanded.

“Truthful!” he exclaimed. “Isn’t that what we should be?”

“You don’t wish to marry me,” she countered. “I am not for you because you are too young.”

“Too young?” he bit out. “Tell that to Romeo.”

She let out a guffawing laugh, not like a trumpet. More like a donkey’s irritated bray. She winced at the sound. “Look here, Nestor. I wouldn’t be putting Romeo about as a good example of youthful marriage.”

“Perhaps not,” he allowed, chagrined. “But the truth is that people used to get married quite young all the time, and I don’t see why I shouldn’t marry you. It’s not as if I’m a juvenile. I’ve lived a strong, good life, and I want you.”

She swallowed, hardly daring to believe her own ears. “You what?”

He pulled her tighter to him, bowing her back, arcing her into his frame, his youth making him all the more passionate. “I want you, Margery. From the moment I saw you at that outdoor party in the afternoon here at Heron House, and you had that pink pastry, I’ve wanted you. I’ve wanted you every day since then, and if you haven’t noticed, I’ve paid a great deal of attention to you.”

“I have noticed,” she breathed.

“Well then, there should be no surprise,” he growled, his voice now a low rumble as he splayed his hands along her back.

“Of course, it’s a surprise,” she argued.

“Why?” he challenged.

“Because I’m me.”

“Yes, you’re Lady Margery Barret,” he ground out. “Sister to a duke. Daughter of a duke. No doubt you have a fortune almost as large as my own.”

She frowned. “No, that’s not possible. Even you know it. But yes, I have a great deal of money, a great deal of land, but that isn’t enough reason to cause someone like you to marry me.”

“Why not?” he scoffed. “And that’s not why I want to marry you, but you certainly would be considered an excellent candidate.”

“Men like you wait decades to get married. Sometimes they wait until they’re fifty.”

“I’m not waiting until fifty to have children,” he declared. “And I’m not like other men, so stop comparing me to them.”

“Even so,” she replied, and then suddenly she rather thought that the idea of having children with him would be quite interesting. But she did not allow herself to think overly on that. She couldn’t. She dare not. Did she?

She certainly had dreamt of his kisses while alone in her bed.

“This has to be a jest, Nestor,” she ground out. “Twenty-year-old heirs to dukedoms don’t—”

“When have the Briarwoods done what everyone else does?” he whispered softly.

She sucked in a sharp breath. “Never,” she admitted, suddenly realizing he was being earnest. And that realization caused her world to spin so thoroughly she could not breath, nor think.

“So please believe me when I say I’m not trying to make fun of you.” His gaze narrowed and lowered to her mouth. “I remember the crumbs of the macaron on your lips. I knew what I wanted to do then. I know what I want to do now,” he said, lifting his hand to her mouth, stroking that soft skin as if he could still feel the morsels there.

His gaze grew hooded as if he wished to taste the macaron upon her lips.

“Say yes, Lady Margery. Marry me.”

She swallowed. “I don’t know if I should.”

“Why not?” he asked.

“The risk.”

“What is this life without a bit of risk?” he said. “Your brother said I needed to start taking risks.”

“Are you asking me to marry you because of my brother?” she demanded.

“Quite the contrary,” he said. “He wasn’t certain you’d say yes. I wasn’t certain you’d say yes. So if you want to tell me no and marry someone else, fine. Go marry some suitable person this Season. But I promise you that I am suitable, and I shall make you happy. I shall spend my entire life making you happy, Lady Margery.”

His words thundered through her, but it was their meaning that stole all her doubt and all her fear away in that moment. It was the clearest she had ever been in her life about what she must say. “Then how could I ever say no?”