First Comes Scandal (Rokesbys #4)(30)

“Do you know,” he said, wiping his eyes, “that is exactly what my father said.”

She shook her head. “I don’t understand.”

“No. Neither did he.” He stopped and bowed; they had reached the spot where the path broke in two. One way to the house, the other to the stables, where she presumed he had left his mount. “I bid you good day.”

Good day, indeed.





Chapter 8





Well, that went well.

Funny how it had never occurred to Nicholas that she might say no.

“It’s a relief,” he said to himself as he handed his mount over to the grooms at Crake’s stables. “I didn’t want to marry her anyway.”

“I’ve done my duty,” he announced to the empty lawn as he marched over to the house. “I asked, she refused. There is nothing more to be done.”

And finally, when he yanked open Crake’s massive front door and stamped into the hall, he muttered, “It was a cock-up of an idea, anyway. Good God, what was I thinking? Georgiana Bridgerton.”

“Sir?”

It was Wheelock, materializing from thin air, as was his habit. Nicholas nearly jumped a foot.

“My apologies if I surprised you, sir.”

Nicholas could not begin to count the number of times Wheelock had uttered this exact sentence. It was approximately equal to the number of times he had not meant it. Wheelock lived to sneak up on Rokesbys.

“I went out for a ride,” Nicholas said. It wasn’t a lie. He had gone for a ride. To Aubrey Hall, where he’d asked a woman to marry him, been hit in the neck with a pile of mud, and been turned down, although not strictly in that order.

Wheelock eyed Nicholas’s muddy sleeve, the one he’d used to wipe his neck.

“What?” Nicholas snapped. He’d regret it later, talking to Wheelock with such incivility, but he could not manage anything else just now.

Wheelock paused before replying, for the exact amount of time necessary to make it clear that one of them was the epitome of serenity and calm and one of them was not. “I merely wished to inquire if I should call for refreshment,” he said.

“Yes,” Nicholas said. “No.” Gad, he didn’t want to see anyone. But he was hungry. “Yes, but have it sent to my room.”

“As you wish, sir, but might I add—”

“Not now, Wheelock.”

“You will want to be aware that—”

“A bath,” Nicholas announced. “I’m going upstairs, taking a bath, having a drink, and going to bed.”

“At half eleven in the morning?”

“Is that what time it is?”

“Indeed, sir.”

Nicholas bowed with a flourish. “Then I bid you farewell.”

Wheelock looked at him as if he’d gone mad. Hell, he probably had.

But Nicholas made it only three steps before Wheelock called out again. “Master Nicholas!”

Nicholas groaned. “Sir” he might have been able to ignore. “Master Nicholas” threw him right back into childhood, when Wheelock’s word was law. He turned slowly around. “Yes, Mr. Wheelock?”

“Your father is waiting in his study.”

“My father is always waiting in his study.”

“A most astute observation, sir, but this time he is waiting for you.”

Nicholas groaned again, this time with purposeful volume.

“Shall I divert your refreshments to Lord Manston’s study, then?” Wheelock asked.

“No. To my room, please. I won’t be there long enough to eat.”

Wheelock looked dubious, but he nodded.

“You’re going to send them to my father’s study, aren’t you?” Nicholas asked.

“To both locations, sir.”

Nicholas should have seen that coming. “Good God, you’re impressive.”

Wheelock nodded graciously. “I do my best, sir.”

Nicholas shook his head. “If butlers ruled the world …”

“We can only dream of such a utopia.”

Nicholas smiled, despite his hideous mood, and took himself to his father’s study. The door was open, so he gave the wall a little knock and went inside.

“Ah,” Lord Manston said, looking up from his desk. “You’re back.”

“As you can see.”

His father’s brow wrinkled as he tipped his head toward Nicholas’s shoulder. “What happened to you?”

As Nicholas had no intention of telling the truth he merely said, “It’s muddy.”

His father glanced toward the window. It looked as if it might rain, but they both knew it had been dry all morning. “I see,” he murmured.

“I was down by the lake,” Nicholas said.

His father nodded, fixing a placid smile to his face.

Nicholas let out an exhale and waited. He knew why he was here. Three, two, one …

“Did you ask her?”

There it was.

“Not yet,” he lied. He wasn’t sure why. Probably because he felt like a fool. A rejected fool.

“Isn’t that why you went to Aubrey Hall?”

“She was minding Anthony and Benedict. It was hardly an ideal moment.”