“You held her hand,” Whit teased Fred as the three gentlemen rode back toward Rosemoore. “I thought you were only going to speak with her.”
Nicholas’ scowl deepened, and he purposefully kept his eyes on the road before him rather than glaring at his brother like he wished to do.
“She was putting on her gloves.” There was a bit of an unusual timbre to his brother’s voice. “She has lovely fingers. I should love to watch them…”
“Play the piano,” inserted Nicholas, finally allowing himself to turn his displeasure on his brother as he had longed to do all afternoon. First, Fred had walked with Mary. Then, he had held her hand and caused her to laugh and smile, and if that was not enough, Fred had claimed a seat beside her when they had returned to the sitting room. And because of it, Nicholas had been forced to endure yet more time with Miss Bingley.
“Or the harp,” added Whit with a smirk.
“Yes, only musical instruments,” Nicholas agreed.
“Can I not watch her use her hands to sew?” asked Fred with a look that clearly said his brother had quite possibly lost his mind. “Or if she is arranging greenery or lighting a candle, might I watch her fingers do that?”
Nicholas clenched his jaw in frustration. Why would his brother think that he would be watching Mary do any of those things? Fred would be gone before Christmas, although he supposed the Bennets might bring in some boughs for the wedding breakfast. “If you must.” His eyes narrowed on his brother’s green jacket. “As long as the greenery is not your coat and the candle is in the sitting room full of people.”
Fred’s eyes grew wide. “That is twice in one week that you have remonstrated me against dallying with the ladies. One would think that you think me a rake.”
“Are you not?” Nicholas pulled close to his brother. “You were holding her hand — and on short acquaintance.”
Whit made a strangled coughing sound.
“I imagine you are as bad as my brother,” Nicholas said, skewering Whit with a displeased look. Honestly, Nicholas did not know why he was so irritable as to accuse his brother or Whit of such things, but he was, and Fred, at least, seemed to be the cause. The child had always tried his patience. “You seemed quite at ease with Miss Kitty and Miss Lydia.” He raised a brow and looked at Whit with his jaw set in a harsh line.
“You are neither their brother or father,” said Fred. “Whether I hold Miss Mary’s hand or watch it smooth the lapel of my jacket is of little concern to you.”
Nicholas grabbed Fred’s arm before he could maneuver away. “She is not like others, and she is my friend. Besides that, you are my brother, and I will not have you married before you can afford to do so without my assistance. So it is of concern to me.”
“Your friend?” There was a hint of suspicion in Whit’s voice.
“Yes,” said Nicholas. “Miss Mary and I often speak when we meet and at assemblies. She prefers not to dance.”
“Do you meet with her often?” Whit’s tone still sounded doubtful.
“Only on occasion,” replied Nicholas, “when she is on some errand for her mother or attending her sisters to the shops in Meryton, or, as I said, at assemblies.”
“And what do you talk about instead of dancing?”
Nicholas considered not answering Whit’s question.
“Is it something unseemly?” his brother goaded.
“Books,” Nicholas snapped at Fred. “Miss Mary is an avid reader.”
“Novels?” Whit had drawn up on the other side of Nicholas.
Nicholas shook his head. “I said she was not like other ladies. She reads sermons and books on science and agriculture.”
“A bluestocking?”
Nicholas smiled at his brother’s disappointed tone. Maybe this bit of information would keep Fred away from Mary.
Whit laughed while studying Nicholas’ face carefully. “I believe your brother has the right of it. No matter how lovely her fingers or the shade of her hair,” he paused and then lifted a brow before continuing, “or how pleasing and soft her curves.” His face lit with a broad smile at Nicholas’ low growl and glare at Fred. “She is not the girl for you, Fred. Far too smart. She’d have you doing her bidding in no time. Imagine, she might convince you to actually seek employment instead of pleasure.”
Nicholas’ eyes turned back toward Whit in question.
Fred laughed uneasily. “She already has.” His sheepish admission took Nicholas by surprise.
“She has?” Nicholas asked.
Fred nodded slowly. “Miss Mary suggested I seek work with her uncle to earn what I need for the repairs to my curricle. I will have some work to do for him next week.”
Nicholas rode on silently for a few moments. Miss Mary had convinced his brother to work instead of play? Perhaps he was wrong. Perhaps Mary was precisely the sort of woman his brother needed. “That is excellent news,” he said at last. “Will you be calling on her again tomorrow?” The question tasted bitter in his mouth.
“So you approve as long as she is reforming your brother?” Whit said with a laugh.
Nicholas shrugged. “No one else has been successful, and my accounts could use the assistance.”
“You would hand over your friend to him,” Whit waved a hand at Fred, ignoring his friend’s protest, “for a bit of blunt?”
“It is not like that,” snapped Nicholas. “If she is happy, and it betters my brother, then yes, I approve.” He swallowed against the urge to spew his tea and biscuits on the road. How could she be happy with a reckless clod like his brother? “This dolt,” he nodded at his brother, “is part of the reason I need the blunt.”
“We will be calling at Longbourn tomorrow,” said Whit, “whether your brother wishes to pursue a bluestocking or not is irrelevant. I find both Miss Kitty and Miss Lydia to my liking and am having the devil of a time deciding which to favour with my attentions.” He prodded his horse to walk more quickly. “And I have an estate awaiting me, so I will be able to provide for a wife if either Bennet catches my fancy in that way.” He laughed. “Although, personally, I prefer to play the part of a rake.” He clucked to his horse and off they flew.
“Wait!” Nicholas called before his brother could gallop off. “You’ll not hurt her?”
Fred shook his head. “I have no intention of hurting anyone.”
“You never do,” said his brother, “just as you did not intend to damage your curricle.”
“The two are different,” protested Fred.
“And yet similar,” said Nicholas, “because if you cause her injury of any kind, I will see you pay.”
Fred caught up to Whit as Nicholas galloped past them. “He is more cantankerous than usual.”
“I had noticed,” said Whit. “He is still friendlier than my father would be, so I’ll endure until you leave for Bath.”
Fred laughed. “You would endure worse just to be near beauties like those Bennet chits.”
Whit’s brows flicked upward, and a sly smile spread across his face. “You know me well.”
“I would advise not playing the part of Lothario when Nick is in a temper.” Fred turned toward his friend, who was laughing heartily at his comment. “I would not even play the part of a smitten swain, or you’ll find your trunk on the steps and the door locked.” He shook his head. “He is rarely bright and cheerful, but seriously, I have not seen him is such a foul mood in years.”
“You truly do not suspect why?” Whit said in surprise.
Fred shook his head. “Normally, I can tell what has set him off, but this time I am at a loss.”
Whit chuckled. “I would enlighten you, but it seems your brother has come back for another go at you.” He pointed with his chin to where Nicholas had swung his horse about and was now racing toward them. He tipped his head and studied the horse and rider as they approached. “I think he would beat us all, so if he ever challenges someone, keep that in mind when laying your bet.”
“So noted,” Fred replied with a smile.
Nicholas circled and drew his horse up next to his brother. “When did you speak with Mr. Philips?”
“I inquired this morning before breakfast.”
Nicholas raised a brow in silent question.
“He begins his work early. Says he enjoys the solitude of the morning,” Fred answered.
Nicholas nodded but remained silent. He still was uncertain when his brother would have spoken to Miss Mary about seeking employment. They had spoken after church but only for a short period of time. Something did not seem right, and when something did not sit right where his brother was concerned it was likely because Fred had some transgression he was hiding. However, he also knew his brother did not respond well to interrogation, so, though it hurt to do so, Nicholas remained silent and waited.
“Miss Mary introduced me to him yesterday after the service. She knew I was studying law and thought he and I might get on well.”
Nicholas nodded again. “How did she know about your curricle?”
“I told her.”
“Oh.” Nicholas wished to ask more, but the hint of sharpness in his brother’s tone told him that he should return to quietly waiting for information.
They rode on for several minutes, Fred casting wary looks toward his brother, and Nicholas simply watching him.
“Very well,” Fred finally said. “If you will stop glaring at me, I will tell you that I met her the other day when I was riding, and she was walking.”
“Race you to the turn,” said Whit, shooting Fred a meaningful look.
Fred nodded and set off before his brother could detain him further.
“Remember what I said about the likelihood of his winning a race?” Whit said to Fred as they raced along side by side. “It is not only his horse that is quick. How long do you suppose it will be before he figures out that your meeting with Miss Mary and the visit by Mr. Halward happened on the same day? When he does, he may have more questions.”
Fred’s eyes grew wide, and he glanced back to make certain his brother was not following him. “She was on a walk, stumbled, and we stopped to help,” he said to Whit.
Whit smiled. “Very good. Do not tell him any more than that — no matter how much he glares.” Whit waited to get a nod from Fred before urging his horse to go faster.
Drawing to a stop a short distance from the stables at Rosemoore, Whit slid down from his mount and joined his friend. “I thought I had you from the jump.”
“Not today, not ever,” Fred returned triumphantly. They walked together to the stables and handed the horses over to a couple of grooms to be cooled down and put away properly. “Tell me,” said Fred, “why is my brother in such a mood?”
Whit tipped his head and considered the question. “How much do you wish to annoy your brother?”
Fred’s brows drew together, and he shook his head. “I do not wish to annoy him. It just naturally happens.”
“So, you do not wish to do him harm?”
“No. He is my brother and holds the purse strings.”
“Always about blunt with you two,” muttered Whit as they entered the house.
Fred shrugged. “My father has appointed him my keeper.”
Whit sighed. “Kitty.”
“Pardon?”
“I think, I choose Miss Kitty unless you prefer her? She is not so loud as her sister. Miss Lydia would be good for a tumble, but it is not worth the pleasure to risk having to listen to her every day forever.” He shook his head. “I honestly do not know how Mr. Bennet does it.” Whit turned to Fred. “Do you prefer Miss Kitty to Miss Lydia?”
Fred shook his head. “I do not prefer either.”
Whit tipped his head to the side. “Do not tell me you actually prefer Miss Mary?”
“I am not at leisure to prefer anyone. My brother has made that abundantly clear. ”
“Why does your brother not marry?” Whit shrugged out of his coat and took a seat in the corner of the library.
“He says it is money.”
Whit laughed and shook his head. “Of course, it is.”
“He said it yesterday at church.” Fred dropped into a chair next to Whit. “The estate is all he thinks of.” He shrugged. “He is a dour old grump, but his heart is good. I know Father spends more than he should. I have seen Mother fidget when speaking of spending, so I know it unsettles her.”
“And you add to the worry with careless accidents?” Whit’s legs were sprawled out in front of him and his head was resting against the back of the chair as he looked up at the ceiling.
“I suppose I do,” said Fred. “What does this have to do with why my brother is so cross?”
“You know how I love to have a grand time, do you not?” Whit sat up and leaned toward Fred.
“I do.”
“We must stop.”
“Having fun?”
“Reckless fun that causes your brother to put out unnecessary money.”
Fred shook his head in disbelief as he stared at his friend.
Whit sighed. “I believe he wishes to marry.”
“Nicholas? My brother?” Fred laughed.
“How many times has he mentioned the expense of a wife in the last two days? At least twice?” Whit leaned back again. “You should learn to listen for clues, Fred. Your brother wishes to marry, and I believe, he wishes to marry Miss Mary. That is why he is so cross.” Whit tipped his head to look at his shocked friend. “And we are going to help him.”