He’d stayed in mourning for two years after Father died.
And why the deuce had Lady Plymton’s uncle thought he needed to be warned? Lady Plymton was nothing to Nicholas. Not anymore. She’d destroyed his life once already. The lack of deference in Parliament hurt, but it didn’t hold a candle to losing his father’s respect. He crumpled the letter and threw it into the bin. Why was he even in London? If Lady Plymton was coming, perhaps he should return to Brushbend. The thought of running into her made his stomach twist like he’d eaten spoiled potatoes. He’d spent most of the past four years here, trying to live up to his father’s name, but the situation in Parliament only showcased how far he still had to go. The last thing the House of Lords needed was a reminder of Nicholas’s past.
A knock sounded at the front door, and Mother’s voice hitched to a blessed stop. The silence that followed was a balm to his soul. He rubbed a hand down his face. Praise the heavens that Patience had scheduled a visit every Thursday morning. His sister could keep Mother talking for at least an hour.
If Patience was here, that meant her husband, Ottersby, would be alone. It was time Nicholas accepted the fact that he wasn’t making progress with Parliament on his own. Woodbury was right. Nicholas needed to establish himself as a respectable leader like his father. He needed a plan, and no one was better at formulating a plan than Woodbury’s own son and Nicholas’s brother-in-law. It was time to pay Ottersby a visit.
Chapter 2
“Harrington. To what do Iowe the pleasure?” Ottersby strode decisively into his sitting room. His jacket was, as always, impeccably pressed across his broad shoulders and his cravat in perfect order. No one could see him and not know he was Lord Woodbury’s son. He walked like a soldier even though he’d never been one. “I hope Patience hasn’t caused you any trouble.”
“Patience?” Nicholas shook his head. “No.”
Ottersby gestured toward a sofa in front of the fireplace, and Nicholas marched forward and sat down. In front of him was a small table, upon which rested a few books and a wooden duck. This one looked as though it came from India, a contrast to the matching pair on the mantel. Ottersby waited for him to sit before taking his own seat on the opposite corner of the table.
What exactly had Nicholas come here to say? Ottersby’s father had told him to give his problem time, that people would eventually come to respect him. But Nicholas had been the Duke of Harrington for three years already without much headway, and the people in Ireland didn’t have time. Ottersby cleared his throat, but what could Nicholas say?I am a joke. A duke who no one feels they need to listen to. And on top of that, the constant singing in my own home is going to send me into an early grave.Nicholas smoothed his lapel even though it was clean and starched to perfection. His valet knew how important making a good impression was. Maybe he should start with the less pressing of his issues. “I’m thinking of moving Mother into the dower house.”
Ottersby’s eyebrows rose, though he didn’t say anything. He was a good man, but he was only talkative when Patience was around. Or perhaps Patience was talkative enough for the both of them.
Nicholas swallowed. “I need one place where I have some control, and since it is looking like Parliament isn’t an option,I’d like at least to be able to feel like my home environment is governed by me.”
Ottersby nodded. “And so, you plan to marry? I’m not certain that is the best way to havemorecontrol over your household. Mine was set on its head the moment Patience placed a foot in it. And she was a maid at the time.”
“No, I don’t plan to marry. What makes you think that?”
Ottersby raised an eyebrow. “That is typically the cause for moving a mother into a dower house, is it not?”
“You don’t think she would agree to it otherwise?”
“I don’t think you would ask her. The two of you aren’t exactly stellar at conversing.”
Nicholas tapped his fingers on the arm of the sofa. Ottersby was right, of course. If he was better at speaking to Mother, he could simply ask her to stop singing so much. Or keep her singing to times when he was out of the house. But he couldn’t do that. She was still hurting for Father, just as much as he and Patience were, even if he hadn’t realized it when she’d gone to Paris four years ago and left her two children alone to mourn him.
Ottersby tugged on his sleeves and then matched Nicholas’s rhythmic tapping on the arm of his own chair. After four taps, Ottersby looked up. “Unless youwereto marry.”
Nicholas waved his hand in Ottersby’s direction. “Controlling Mother’s singing is hardly a reason to marry.”
Ottersby tipped his head to one side. “Have you no other reasons, no desire to marry?”
Nicholas gritted his teeth. He should have led with his Parliament issues. This conversation was spiraling out of control. Over the past few years, he’d been overwhelmed with the task of keeping all of his estates running and making certain thetonknew he was his father’s son and nothing like the Dukes of Harrington before Father. He wasn’t certain how long itwould be until he felt settled enough withthattitle to take on the title of husband as well. Not to mention, he would have to court a woman in order to marry. His fingers stopped tapping, and he clenched the fabric of the sofa in his hand. Courting was a prospect he didn’t allow himself to think about. It was more uncomfortable than Mother’s singing would ever be. “I’m certain someday I will need to fulfill that duty, but I hardly think this is the time.”
Ottersby cleared his throat. “Patience would disagree. She has been worried about you.”
Worried? Why would Patience be worried about him? Did she think him not capable of managing his own affairs? “She and I don’t have a long history of agreeing about things.”
Ottersby chuckled. “Why don’t you think you should marry?”
“I think Ishouldmarry... someday. But now is not the time.” How often had he overheard whisperings when people didn’t realize he was nearby?“Nicholas Kendrick? A duke? Can he even grow a full beard?”He could. He simply preferred to be clean-shaven. His influence in Parliament and, blast, even Lady Plymton returning to London weighed heavier on his mind than Mother’s singing. “I’ve only been the Duke of Harrington for four years. I’m still adjusting to that. I’m not ready for more change.”
“My marriage came only three months after receiving my title. Having a wife has proven to be a wonderful benefit. She handles all of our social functions, and she speaks to the other lords’ wives and even to the lords. Patience has done a better job of establishing my position than I ever could have done on my own.”
That was simple for Ottersby to say. He had married Patience—a lady of extreme influence, the sister of a duke. And Ottersby hadwantedto get married.
Nicholas didn’t have time for women. When he’d beenyounger, his interest in women had done him no favors. The letter in his wastebasket was a testament to that. He’d mostly avoided them since his time serving under Lord Woodbury.
But Ottersby did have a point. Nicholas had been attending all the social events of the Season with the intent of solidifying friendships among theton.He had spent his time speaking to men and avoiding women. Four years into his dukedom, and he was still seen as an untested upstart.
Ifhe married, Mother would move into the dower house,andhe would gain an ally in his work. At twenty-five, most lords considered him too young and inexperienced to truly wield the power of dukedom. But if he had a wife... Not just any wife, but the right wife... Perhaps more of the peerage would listen and respect his ideas.
