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ChapterThree
Nathan rose early,as he often did, despite arriving at Thurmont’s estate well into last evening. One of the horses had thrown a shoe, forcing him and his mother to wait the delay out in a nearby village. And once they’d finally arrived, Thurmont had insisted on taking him aside for a night of brandy and billiards. Kirkwood and Lockhart wandered down in spite of the late hour, and the four of them had a bit of a raucous evening. Nathan rubbed the side of his mildly aching head with a yawn and peered out of his bedchamber window towards the emerging dawn. He always left his curtains open so the light would awaken him, lest he miss his daily morning ride. Every sunrise, barring some catastrophe, Nathan would saddle his horse and be off to explore wherever he was, whether that be the paths of Hyde park or the meandering fields of the countryside. The routine provided time to relax and contemplate whatever troubles he had with a level head. Today, he had a myriad of troubles to contemplate, most of them stemming from a certain wallflower.
“Bloody bold chit,” he muttered to himself as he stood from his bed. Nathan could still feel the burn of his cheeks as she delivered that brilliant set down and left him gaping like a fool in the middle of the ballroom for half the Ton to gawk at. His estimation of her wit had been right on the mark, and he’d deserved to be a victim of it. Nathan was no Lockhart, but he was still confident in his affinity for charm. And yet, in front of those scorching brown eyes and the impertinent smirk curling her red lips, he’d been tongue tied and unable to salvage the situation. What was supposed to have been an easy win and an enjoyable waltz with a fascinating lady had turned into an utter disaster, one he would have to rectify soon lest he lose the lady’s esteem entirely.
After dressing and procuring some bread from a surprised scullery maid, Nathan made his way to the stables. “I have it, lad,” he said brightly to a drowsy stable hand as the boy made to grab the tack. Nathan preferred to saddle horses himself, enjoying the relaxing routine and time to bond with his mount. He strode to Highwind’s stable, the glossy black stallion stirring at his approach. “And how is my favorite boy today?” he cooed, setting down the load to give the horse a gentle pat on his nose. Highwind leaned into the hand with a gentle chuff, but the stamping of his hooves belied the horse’s impatience to be out. “Yes, yes,” Nathan said with a chuckle. “I’ll have you ready to go soon enough. It’ll be a nice long ride today, for I have much to think about.”
After fitting him out, Nathan led Highwind out. They passed Bellona’s stable, and he slowed down to admire the striking mare. Having a close look at her shining chestnut coat and well muscled proportions, Nathan was all the more determined to win. “See her?” he said with a pat on his horse’s neck. “That is your future bride. Oh, your foals will be sublime. I cannot wait.” Highwind flicked a brief glance to the mare before jerking his neck to tug Nathan along, his disinterest clear.
Ah, well. There would be plenty of time to get the two acquainted once he had them in his pastures, and hewouldhave Bellona in his pastures. Rather than a deterrent, as Miss Hughs had likely hoped, Nathan’s spectacular failure had only emboldened him further. Thurmont’s snickering in the days that followed bolstered his determination to best the earl even more. This house party would be his best, perhaps the only chance to sway Miss Hughs to his cause. While his charm had undoubtedly failed, surely there was another means with which to convince the lady. He just needed to think.
“Alright, my good boy,” he said with a gentle stroke on Highwind’s mane before hauling himself into the saddle. “Let us go for a good long outing, yes?”
For the next hour, Nathan all but tore through the expansive lands, the great thunder of Highwind’s hooves blanking his mind and sweeping his every worry away. There was just something about the country that invigorated his riding far more than any brief excursions to the London parks ever could. The hobby had served him well in the wake of his inheritance. It had been one of the few balms to those dark days ten years ago, when the only other thing filling his mornings was an empty breakfast table and the silence of his mother’s locked door.
But these were better days now, and Nathan was thankful that his primary concerns were limited to marriage woes and stubborn spinsters. Thoughts of the former soured his mood a bit, and he slowed down to meander along the crest of an impressive hill. In the distance, he spotted Thurmont’s house, a towering marble monstrosity that was a testament to the Harding family’s decadence. He and his friends had spent many a summer rampaging through the extensive halls like the hellions they were. It was those fond memories and Thurmont all but begging for company during what was obviously a matchmaking party that had convinced him to accept the invitation. The duchess expected him to take some of the ladies here as serious contenders, had said as much on the way up. It was a task he was not looking forward to, as necessary as it was, though he supposed this way was better than morosely wandering a ballroom. But such thoughts were for later. He had a good two weeks up here, after all. For now, he would come up with a plan to get that horse.
Nathan continued along the hilltop at a leisurely pace, eyeing the inviting lake in the distance with anticipation. It seemed the idyllic spot to allow Highwind a refreshing drink and for himself to take a breather from the exhilaration of the ride. He’d spent many an hour as a young boy frolicking in the crystalline waters with the others, and the site was one of the reasons that Thurston’s estate had been their group’s favored place to stay during the summers between terms. He drew closer to the lake and soon realized that he was not alone. A young woman sat at the bottom of the hill, a sketchbook perched in her lap as she drew. Not wanting to bother a single lady alone and unchaperoned, Nathan made to urge Highwind along, until the woman turned her head enough that he could see the outline of a familiar chin and cheeks beneath the bonnet she wore. He’d recognize those fascinating lips anywhere.
Miss Hughs.
What delightful fortune, Nathan thought with a secret smile. He pulled Highwind’s reins to cancel the horse’s flight. Now was his chance to rectify the disaster of last week. If only he’d actually been able to come up with a reasonable plan during the long ride.
* * *
Arabella rose from her bed with a loud yawn. They’d arrived at the house party yesterday, everything going smoothly. Luckily for Arabella, her mother had opted to share a room with Caroline, leaving her alone with one of the two chambers they’d been provided. Unlike the other two, she liked to rise early. Lady Thurmont had mentioned a beautiful lake only a mile or so from the manor, and Arabella wanted to get there in time to see the sun rising over the vista. Sunrises were her favorite things to paint, and the thought of having several stunning paintings to create had been one of the reasons she’d agreed to the house party in the first place. Potentially finding a husband out of the many single gentlemen in attendance was Caroline’s task, not hers. After dressing and gathering her sketchbook, Arabella trotted happily through the silent halls and down the stairs. Only the servants were up at this hour, and several of them glanced at her with surprised curiosity. The air was refreshingly cool once she left the house, the heat of the summer day not yet taking hold this early in the morning. Following the directions given to her by Lady Thurmont, she made her way down the path leading to the lake. A young woman appeared on the horizon, walking in the opposite direction.
“Oh! Good morning,” the lady called with a cheery wave. “I did not realize anyone else would be up at this hour.” The woman came closer, revealing the face under the brim of her bonnet.
Arabella smiled cordially. “Miss Cecily Balfour, correct?” A few years her senior and often mocked over her passion for the sciences, the spinster was firmly on the shelf and seemed to prefer things that way, if her less than regular attendance at London events was any sign.
“Yes,” Miss Balfour replied with her own friendly grin. “I do not believe we have met, but you are Miss Arabella Hughs.”
“My reputation precedes me, I see.”
She laughed. “As does mine, apparently.” She gestured to Arabella’s sketchbook. “Off to the lake?”
“I was hoping to catch the sunrise.”
“It was breathtaking when I left. You won’t be disappointed.”
Arabella wondered what reason Miss Balfour would have for going to the lake herself, if not to sketch, but she wouldn’t pry. “I am glad to hear it. Let us speak again soon.”
“I would like that very much, Miss Hughs. Good morning to you, then.” With one last chipper wave, Miss Balfour continued on her way. At least she would have a friendly acquaintance to converse with for the next two weeks during the tedium of socializing. Arabella couldn’t hide in her room or wander the estate forever, after all.
After a few more minutes of walking, she reached her destination. The lake did not disappoint. Surrounded by scores of wildflowers, and almost seeming to glow under the light of the rising sun, the scene would make for a lovely painting. Two swans swam leisurely along the far shore, a charming addition to the idyllic image. Happy with the potential, Arabella plopped down and began her first sketch. Art had always been a wonderful distraction, and she’d delved even deeper into the hobby over the past year. Better to focus on the curve of a line or pontificate on the correct shading of a particular tree rather than dwell in unpleasant memories.
And yet, no matter how much she focused on the lake, images of a certain duke and his ludicrous display last week still pushed their way into her thoughts. She’d not heard hide nor hair of him since that ball, much to her relief. Perhaps the fickle man had already given up on the damn horse if he’d gone so long without even attempting another overture. And now she was out in the country and would be so for some time. No doubt he would grow bored with the sport. Arabella should have been relieved, but a part of her could admit to a small amount of disappointment. He’d seemed so determined, and she had wondered what kind of foolish antics the man would resort to, if only for her entertainment. The set down she’d delivered at the ball had been supremely satisfying. A shame that there wouldn’t be another opportunity to do so again. Though, her mother might well and truly murder her were she to go through with it. Her previous antics had earned a sound scolding, with her mother despairing of the duke ever showing himself again. Arabella settled more comfortably in the grass with a happy sigh. No matter what the coming months might bring, at the very least she would have some piece and quiet for the time being. No need to deal with his smiling face, those captivating eyes, or that sultry voi—“Ho! Is that the lovely Miss Hughs I spy so early in the morning?”
No. Impossible.
Arabella whipped her head toward the familiar voice, stomach dropping upon confirming that it had indeed been the Duke of Milton she’d heard. He sat upon a glorious black mount atop one of the grassy hills, looking far too lovely for her liking. If she didn’t despise him at the moment, Arabella might have had him stay right where he was for her to sketch. With his windswept dark hair, shapely lips curving as if the mere sight of her had made his day, he would have made for an utterly romantic painting. If only his personality matched that stunning tableau. She groaned inwardly as he steered his horse towards a nearby tree. What in the world was he even doing here?
“Why, I was invited. Thurmont is one of my best friends, after all,” he said, stopping before her. Blast, she’d said that last part aloud. She wasn’t sure whether to be relieved or concerned that he hadn't seemed to take the slightest offense to her acerbic tone.
Repeating her mother’s scolding like a mantra in her head, Arabella donned a tense smile. “Yes, of course. Good morning, Your Grace.”
“Did you not know the guest list, Miss Hughs? I was under the impression that most ladies made sure to know the names of every single gentleman in attendance at these affairs, as that is rather the point of going, or so my mother tells me. I’m not very well versed in the marriage mart as I should be.” He finished that line with a depreciating smile, and it angered her that she was charmed by his modesty.
