Chapter Twenty-Four
The following day, Nina twisted her hands together as the butler entered the drawing room at her family’s Park Lane residence.
Menders inclined his head. “Lady Nina, the Duke of Fernbridge wishes to know if you are in.”
With a concerned expression on her face, Caroline glanced up from where she sat on the sofa, reading a children’s book to her son, Michael.
Grandmother grinned and leaned forward in her chair. “Did he inform you he intended to call today?”
“Yes.” The unsettling sensation that had plagued Nina’s stomach throughout the morning and afternoon inched up her throat.
“Do you think he is here to ask for your hand?” Grandmother’s pale gray eyes gleamed with pleasure.
Finding her throat had gone dry at the thought, Nina nodded and tugged her lower lip between her teeth.
“Nina, if you gnaw any harder on your lip, you will draw blood,” Caroline said. “Do you wish Menders to tell him you are out?”
Grandmother pounded her cane on the floor. The sound echoed in the room. “Of course, she doesn’t wish to send him away. She’s brought the man up to snuff. Every chit from here to Scotland will envy her.”
Caroline drew in an audible breath. “Grandmother, one does not choose a husband because they wish to be envied. Love must play a role.”
“Pish.” Grandmother accentuated her disgust with another thump of her cane.
On the sofa, little Michael eyed his great-grandmother, then wrapped his tiny arms around Caroline’s neck as if the old woman were a witch from a Brothers Grimm fairy tale.
“It’s all right, darling.” Caroline gave Grandmother a scornful look and rubbed her son’s back. “Nina, what do you wish to do?”
Nina took a deep breath, attempting to calm the quick patter of her heart. “Menders, please show him into the drawing room. Caroline and Grandmother, will you give us a moment alone?”
“Are you sure?” Caroline asked.
“Of course, she is.” Grandmother stood.
Nina nodded at her sister-in-law and rubbed her clammy palms on the skirt of her blue dress.
Hesitantly, Caroline stood and exited the room with her son.
At the doorway, Grandmother turned around. “You might never come to love him, but you will have his ear and that is important,” she said and left the room.
Wringing her hands together, Nina paced.
What seemed like an eternity later, but was most likely no more than a minute, the duke entered the drawing room and smiled.
Nina felt nothing when she saw him. Not true—she experienced a great deal of apprehension.
“Lady Nina, how are you today?” the duke asked.
She’d been better. “Well, Your Grace, and you?”
“I am anxious to return to my country residence, which I’m sure you understand, having seen its splendor.”
Nina forced a smile. The home had contained a multitude of costly items from the furnishings to the paintings, but it had felt cold. Impersonal. Like the duke himself.
“I wish to ask you something.” He motioned to the blue damask sofa. “Sit.” He said it like she was one of his hounds.
Please don’t. The forced smile on her face made her tight jaw send a shooting pain up the side of her face and into her temple.
Fernbridge sat next to her and took her hand in his. His palm was dry as if he didn’t fear the answer to his question would be anything besides a resounding yes—that any woman would be beyond lucky to become his duchess. She didn’t feel lucky. She felt nauseous.
He gave her knuckles a perfunctory kiss.
She felt nothing. No longing. No burst of excitement as his dry lips touched her bare skin.
“As you are most likely aware, I came to Town to find my duchess.” He paused as if emphasizing the profoundness of his statement.
She needed to stop him. She abruptly rose. “Your Grace, what do you think of a woman who wishes to work?”
“Work?” As if the question baffled him, he stood and blinked.
“Yes, when a woman takes on an occupation.” The question shouldn’t have needed an explanation.
His gray eyes widened, and he suddenly looked as if someone had squirted sour lemon into his mouth. He drew in a slow breath as if he realized he should take care with his words, since Nina’s sister-in-law was not only a journalist but the owner of the London Reformer.
“If a woman must work to support herself, as members of the lower classes must do, then it is acceptable.”
Only the lower classes? The thump, thump, thump of Nina’s heart had shifted to a fast trot. She strode to the window, needing to calm herself, fearing she might say something she would regret.
She turned back around. “But what if this occupation brings her pleasure?”
He walked toward her and set his hands on her shoulders. As on the sofa, his touch brought her no spark of excitement. No warmth. No connection.
“A duchess, like her husband, would not need to work. It is the duchy’s holdings and wealth that make her part of the elite.”
He didn’t grasp what she was saying, or he did and still could not comprehend her point.
A knock sounded on the door.
Fernbridge lowered his hands.
“Come in,” she said. Relief flooded through her at being interrupted.
The butler stepped into the room and bowed. “Lady Nina, would you care for some refreshments?”
“Your Grace, would you care for tea?” she asked.
“No.” There was a wisp of impatience in his voice.
“Menders, I’ll take some, please.”
The butler exited.
The Duke of Fernbridge motioned to the sofa again. “As I was about to say—”
A crash sounded in the hall.
Nina lifted her skirts, dashed toward the door, and flung it open.
Georgie sat on the corridor floor. The hall table lay on its side next to where her brother sat, gripping his ankle and moaning.
Caroline was squatted beside him, examining it.
“Oh goodness, Georgie, what happened?” Nina asked.
“I twisted my ankle, and when I tried to grab the table for balance, both it and I fell.”
“Does it hurt terribly?” Nina crouched next to her brother and ran a hand down his back.
“Phillip,” Caroline said to the footman who’d come rushing down the corridor, “will you carry Georgie to his room?”
“Of course, my lady.” The footman scooped Georgie up.
“I want Nina to come upstairs with me,” Georgie said with a whimper.
Georgie wants me to go with him? Nina blinked. That didn’t seem like Georgie at all. He was an independent child who tried to act like he never needed coddling. Something smelled as foul as week-old fish. Confirmation came when Nina noticed Caroline winking at Georgie.
“Perhaps I should return tomorrow,” Fernbridge said.
“Your Grace, perhaps that would be for the best,” Nina replied.
“The child shall be fine,” Grandmother said from where she stood at the end of the hall. “No need to cut your visit short, Your Grace.”
“No, it is best I return tomorrow.”
Caroline stood. “Thank you, Your Grace.”
After the Duke of Fernbridge left, Grandmother thumped her cane. “What is going on here?”
“Georgie took a tumble,” Caroline said in a matter-of-fact voice.
The old woman released a heavy breath. “Children his age should be at boarding school.”
“He has a tutor,” Nina replied, following both the footman carrying Georgie and Caroline.
Grandmother made a disgruntled noise.
After Phillip laid Georgie on his bed and strode from the room, Georgie sat up and grinned. “How’d I do, Caroline?”
Her sister-in-law ruffled Georgie’s mop of brown hair. “You are born for the stage.”
Nina stared at them both. “He wasn’t hurt at all, was he? What is going on?”
Caroline took both of Nina’s hands in hers. “After I shooed your grandmother away from where she was eavesdropping outside the drawing-room door, I heard what you asked His Grace about women working. The man had no idea what you were trying to say. And I could tell from your voice you didn’t wish him to ask for your hand. Or was I mistaken?”
“No. You are correct. I do not wish to marry him.”
Caroline released a relieved sigh. “Thank God. If I’d misread the situation and botched up the Duke of Fernbridge’s proposal, I feared you would want me run over by a carriage.”
“Thank you.” Nina squeezed Caroline’s hands, then strode to Georgie and kissed him.
Her brother frowned as if she’d slapped his face with a wet eel and wiped her kiss off his cheek. “Yuck! No need to kiss me.”
“So, what are you going to do, Nina?”
“I need to think about it.”
* * *
If Nina didn’t stop pacing, she would wear a path in the carpet in her bedchamber. She forced her feet to stop their perpetual motion and glanced out the window. Outside, the London sky was dark and fog clung to the pavement like a lover reluctant to be parted. A carriage made its way down the desolate street. The clopping of the horses’ hooves the only noise outside beside the slight whistle of the wind.
She let the curtain fall back into place and glanced at the clock on her bedside table. Nearly one in the morning. For the last three hours, she’d contemplated doing something rash. Something she might regret. Something that would affect her for the rest of her life, and once done could not be changed. As the French would say, a fait accompli.
Now or never. She moved to the armoire and took out her navy cape and draped it over her shoulders, snatched her gloves and silk scarf off her dresser, and walked out of her bedroom.
The house was quiet as well, except for the tick, tick, tick, of the longcase clock on the first-floor landing. Everyone was asleep, except Anthony, who was not home.
On the tips of her toes, Nina made her way down the steps and out the door. As she moved through the night’s fog, she pulled her cape tighter over her shoulders to ward off the dampness in the air. A man stumbled out a residence and swayed on his legs.
With a shiver of apprehension, Nina moved closer to the building she was in front of so the drunk would not see her.
When she reached Charles Street, she hesitated.
She could turn back, or she could continue. This decision would affect the rest of her life.
Releasing a slow breath, she turned onto the street and headed to Elliot’s front door.