Page 18 of To Have & To Hold

Charlotte hadn’t given him a moment’s rest since he entered the breakfast room. He had successfully evaded most of her questions the night before by placing her in a hired hackney with her maid and sending her home. He had not given her the entire story, but by the time he and Emilia hadreentered the drawing room, there were already plenty of versions floating about to fill in the gaps he had left.

He knew he should have escorted his sister back to the townhouse himself, but he needed the peace and quiet he knew she would not afford him to wrap his mind around everything that had happened.

Everything after the library was a blur. He had escorted Lady Emilia back to her guardian, who by all appearances seemed to be an amiable man, but something about the way she had not looked him in the eye put Nathaniel on edge.

He had sent a messenger to Lord Moorfield’s house before he had even dressed that morning. He found his eyes darting to the clock on the mantle every few minutes, though he knew he could not properly show up at their door for nearly two more hours.

Charlotte was currently recounting for him one of the many conversations she had heard regarding his disappearance, but he could barely make out a word that she was saying.

He stared at the leaves floating in his cup. He had forgone milk and sugar, hoping that the strong, bitter taste would break through the fog that he couldn’t seem to escape. But no matter how hot or strong the tea, it slipped cold and tasteless down his throat.

Oliver had once told him he had acquired a taste for coffee during all of his travels—perhaps that iswhat Nathaniel needed. Or he could sneak into the kitchen to see if his cook had any brandy hidden in the cupboards…

“Nathaniel, are you listening to me?”

Charlotte was practically leaning across the table, a forkful of kidneys suspended in the air. Nathaniel tried to recall the last thing he had heard her say, but realized he hadn’t truly heard a single word.

“I am sorry, Charlotte. I seem to be distracted this morning.” Nathaniel was typically unrattled under pressure; solving problems was usually when he felt the most comfortable, but the past 12 hours had consumed him. The sooner this whole marriage was settled, the sooner things could go back to normal.

“I do not blame you for being distracted,” Charlotte smiled. “I would be too if my night was as romantic as yours. I would have to be forced to think of anything else.”

Nathaniel took another sip of tea, wincing when he realized it had in fact gone cold.

“There was no romance involved in what happened last night, Charlotte. I need you to understand that.”

“You followed a woman out into a moonlit garden, pulled her into your arms, and told her you wanted to marry her. I do not believe there is anything more romantic than that.”

Nathaniel groaned. Her oversimplification of the matter was going to make her even harder to manage. After all the lectures he had given her on avoiding scandal, he had gone andstumbled right into one. Yet he couldn’t tell her the whole truth—that he had only gone into that garden because of his lack of faith in her.

“I did not follow her; I discovered her,” Nathaniel explained as plainly as he could. “We were happened upon by accident. There were no declarations. If I did not offer to marry her, she would have been ruined.”

Charlotte’s eyes narrowed as she observed him, entirely unconvinced. “Saved by a handsome duke!” She pressed her hands to her heart, unwilling to relent. “You truly have no notion of what romance is, do you?”

“I merely did what had to be done.”

“Did she at least swoon?” Charlotte asked, turning her attention to her own tea, which was filled to the brim with milk and sugar. “Every young lady deserves to swoon once in her life before getting married.”

Nathaniel rested his chin in the palm of his hand. His energy was quickly depleting, and he was unsure he had enough to hold his head upright and continue this discussion.

“I am sorry to disappoint you, but there was no swooning.”

She crinkled her nose in disgust. “At least tell me what you said when you asked her. Maybe there will be something salvageable in that.”

Nathaniel’s stomach twisted unexpectedly. “Asked her what?”

Before Charlotte could answer, the door to the breakfast room opened.

“Your Grace,” the footman stammered. “Lord Blackburn is requesting to see you.”

“Oliver is here!” Charlotte clapped her hands, punctuating the pounding in Nathaniel’s head.

“No,” he said, turning to the footman. “Tell him we are not ready for visitors.”

The footman’s expression turned apologetic, and before he could reply, Oliver Blackburn strolled into the room.

There once was a time when Oliver appearing at the duke’s breakfast table unannounced was a regular occurrence, but seeing as how last night was the first they had been reacquainted in two years, there was no question as to why he was here now.

“Ollie!” Charlotte squealed as she jumped from her seat to greet him.