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“We don’t have to continue.”
“No. I’m alright,” he persisted. “Andrew doted on me from the moment I was born. My mother joked that he was in the nursery more often that she was. Most of my childhood memories are of him trundling around the estate with me on his shoulders.” He smiled to himself, as if reliving the memory. “To be honest, he felt more like my father than the duke himself, but that proved to be a double- edged sword. He chastised me often when my school troubles began, and I chafed under his attempts to bring me to heel once I grew old enough to get into more adult trouble. It was out of love for me, I know this now, but I didn’t appreciate it at the time.” Nathan looked down into the grass, his voice lowering. “We had a bitter argument the last I spoke to him, and I left in a rage, declaring I’d never speak to him again. Their carriage overturned that night.”
“Oh, Nathan. I’m so sorry.” She understood now why he’d been so sensitive to her rumored bad relationship with her sister. Arabella couldn’t imagine losing Caroline under such circumstances. Just the very thought was enough to burn her eyes. When he didn’t respond, she sidled closer and leaned against him. “Thank you for sharing that with me.”
“They would have liked you, both of them. Though,” he quirked his lips as he looked down at her. “You would have had to be content with a second son.” The words carried with it a certain implication, but Arabella knew this was an inappropriate time to ask for clarification. Instead, she merely nestled further into his side. “You could be the tenth son of a mister, and I would still be sitting on this bank with you.”
“Arabella…” He gazed at her for a moment before leaning down for a kiss. Though her worries still persisted in the back of her mind, Arabella could only focus on the gentle spring breeze and the feeling of Nathan’s soft lips gliding over her own.
ChapterThirteen
Nathan strodeinto the billiards room, trying his best not to smile like a lovesick fool for the amusement of his friends. Thankfully, only Thurmont and Lockhart were inside, Derry and Kirkwood likely having wondered off as they were wont to do after dinner.
“Someone is happy,” Thurmont noted with a smirk as Nathan shut the door. It seemed that he went so good at hiding himself after all.
“At least someone is having a good time,” Lockhart grumbled, once again clutching a decanter of whiskey as he sulked on the sofa.
“Oh, don’t mind him,” Thurmont said. “He’s just sulking because Miss Balfour has been spending time with Mr. Lambert.”
Nathan rose an amused eyebrow as the baron only scowled harder. “The neighboring gentleman? If didn’t know any better, Lockhart, I’d say you were jealous.” It had been a mere jest to ribald the man, but Lockhart didn’t take the bait, only frowning into his glass as he took a long swallow of whiskey. Concern replaced Nathan’s earlier mirth. “Is everything alright?”
Lockhart waved his hand. “Don’t mind me. Just upset that I’ll be losing that bet is all.”
Nathan knew his best friend well enough to realize that there was more to it than that, but now was not the time to confront him on the matter. “Well, I’m sure you gave it your best shot.”
“You still have two months,” Thurmont chimed in. “Miracles happen. Speaking of miracles,” he tuned his attention to Nathan. “I see that you’ve had just the opposite luck from our hapless friend here.”
“That is putting it lightly,” he replied, his mood swelling even more at the thought of Arabella. “I am reasonably confident that I have found my duchess.” More than reasonably, if he were being obvious. The last week with Arabella had been sheer bliss, every moment spent with her proving more glorious than the last. Her dry humor and intelligent conversation charmed him, and she seemed genuinely engaged when he spoke of his passion for horse breeding. Her own excitement as she spoke of her love for painting was infectious, despite himself never having picked up a brush or pencil in his life. He could imagine her now, perched somewhere on his massive estate and drawing the rising sun as he came to join her after his morning ride, much like their clandestine meetings at Thurmont’s lake.
The memory of this morning was still fresh on his mind. Arabella was the only other person besides Lockhart that he’d told the full details of his last moments with Andrew, and the fact that he’d had no qualms with sharing such a raw, visceral part of his past had solidified his decision. Arabella was to be his duchess. There was no other woman he could even begin to imagine filling that role besides her.
“Fallen in love with your mark, eh?” Thurmont teased.
Nathan blinked and considered the words before realization hit him. “Actually, I think I have.” The revelation wasn’t shocking and merely caused a bubble of warmth to settle in his chest. The feeling was only natural, considering everything they’d been through. Whether she returned the sentiment, however, was another thing entirely. Arabella liked him, that much was obvious, but he was unsure if her feelings went beyond that.
Thurmont looked at him as if he were some strange specimen. “Congratulations, I guess. I cannot say I envy you placing your heart in the hands of someone who could easily crush it, but to each his own, I suppose.”
“Don’t damper his good news,” Lockhart said as he rose from the sofa. He clapped a hand on Nathan’s shoulder. “I’m happy for you, even if I cannot fathom it myself.”
“Don’t be so quick to doubt,” Nathan replied. “I fear you might find yourself unprepared if the time comes for you to feel this way.”
“Ha!” Thurmont interjected with a laugh. “Lockhart is even more of a hopeless case than myself when it comes to love, and that is really saying something.”
“Your loss,” Nathan said with a shrug. “Both of you.”
“Hardly,” Lockhart snorted. “But thank you for the sentiment.”
“I suppose I’ll be losing dear Bellona,” Thurmont said with a mournful sigh.
It was on the tip of Nathan’s tongue to correct the assertion, but something kept him from saying so. These two weeks had been such a wonderful experience, and he was loath to put a damper on things with something as vulgar as whatever punishment Thurmont would conjure up. He supposed he could ask Arabella to dance a waltz at some point during the season, but it was the principle of the matter. He wanted to assure her that he was serious about giving up that offensive wager, and leave no room for her to doubt his intentions. At the same time, he’d rather delay his inevitable humiliation. Perhaps he could let Arabella know he was only pretending to go along with things to delay the inevitable. His impending doom could be a source of amusement for the both of them.
All that in mind, Nathan leaned against the billiards table with a casual grin. “You suppose correct. I’ll ask her for a waltz at tomorrow night’s ball.” It was the last event of the house party, the lavish affair drawing in the surrounding aristocracy and even upper gentry to pad out the numbers. It would be the perfect place to cement his victory, not that he was going to be dancing in the first place. He’d come up with some reason to fail, but his friends need not know that. Perhaps he and Arabella could slip out for a clandestine moonlit stroll instead.
“You can take Bellona with you when you leave, if you wish it. I see no way that you could fail now.”
Nathan looked at Lockhart, preparing to tease him about attempting a waltz with Miss Balfour, only to see the baron paling at the sight of something just behind him. “I think there is one way, Milton,” he murmured urgently and jerked his chin. Nathan turned around and froze at the sight of Arabella in the doorway. She must have been eavesdropping, for he was almost certain that he’d closed the door.
Her pale face was stony, her mouth set in a grim line. “I see.”
