First Comes Scandal (Rokesbys #4)(4)

“Anyway,” his father continued, “Lady Bridgerton and your mother were up in London—shopping, I suppose; I didn’t ask—and Georgiana went with them.”

“But not for the Season,” Nicholas murmured. As far as he knew, Georgie had never had a proper London Season. She’d said she hadn’t wanted one. He’d never inquired further. A Season in London sounded as appealing to him as having his teeth pulled, so who was he to question her?

“Just a visit,” his father confirmed. “I’m sure they went to some event or another. But nothing official. Season’s almost over, anyway. But Oakes called several times, and he took Georgiana out.”

Nicholas splashed a bit of brandy into his glass and turned back around to face his father. “With Lady Bridgerton’s permission?”

Lord Manston nodded grimly and took a long swallow of his drink. “It was all as it should be. Her maid accompanied them. They went to a bookstore.”

“That sounds like Georgie.”

His father nodded. “Oakes snatched her on the way out. Or rather, he made off with her. She got into the carriage willingly, because why shouldn’t she?”

“What about the maid?”

“Oakes pushed her to the pavement before she could get into the carriage.”

“My God, is she all right?” If she hit her head, it could be quite serious.

Lord Manston blinked, and it occurred to Nicholas that his father probably hadn’t considered the question of the maid’s health. “She’s probably fine if you haven’t heard anything,” Nicholas said.

His father was silent for a moment, then said, “She is home now.”

“Georgie?”

His father nodded. “She was in his custody for only a day, but the damage was done.”

“I thought you said she wasn’t—”

His father slammed his glass onto the side table. “She doesn’t have to have been violated for her reputation to be destroyed. Good God, boy, use your head. It doesn’t matter what he did or didn’t do to her. She’s ruined. And everyone knows it.” He looked up at Nicholas with a withering expression. “Except, apparently, you.”

There was an insult there somewhere, but Nicholas decided to let it slide. “I was in Edinburgh, sir,” he said, voice tight. “I did not know that any of this had transpired.”

“I know. I’m sorry. This is very distressing.” Lord Manston raked his hand through his hair. “She is my goddaughter, you know.”

“I do.”

“I swore an oath to protect her. In church.”

As his father wasn’t a particularly religious man, Nicholas wasn’t certain why the location of the vow held such importance, but he nodded all the same. He brought his glass to his lips but did not drink, instead using the tumbler to partially obscure his own expression as he watched his father.

He had never seen him quite like this. He was not sure what to make of it.

“I cannot see her ruined,” his father said firmly. “We cannot see her ruined.”

Nicholas held his breath. Later he realized his lungs knew what his brain did not. His life was about to take a drastic turn.

“There is only one thing to be done,” his father said. “You must marry her.”





Chapter 2





Quite a few things looped through Nicholas’s mind upon his father’s announcement.

What did you just say?

Are you mad?

You must be mad.

Yes, I’m sure you’re mad.

Wait, did I hear that correctly?

All culminating in: ARE YOU OUT OF YOUR BLOODY MIND?

What he said, however, was, “I beg your pardon?”

“You must marry her,” his father said again.

Proving that A) Nicholas had not misheard him and B) his father was indeed out of his bloody mind.

Nicholas downed his brandy in one gulp. “I can’t marry Georgiana,” he said.

“Why not?”

“Because—Because—” There were so many reasons Nicholas could not possibly coalesce them into a single statement.

His father raised a brow. “Are you married to someone else?”

“Of course not!”

“Have you promised to marry someone else?”

“For the love of God, Father—”

“Then I see no reason you cannot do your duty.”

“It is not my duty!” Nicholas exploded.

His father stared at him, hard, and he felt like a child again, scolded for some minor infraction.

But this was not minor. This was marriage. And while marrying Georgiana Bridgerton might—might—be the right and honorable thing to do, it certainly was not his duty.

“Father,” he tried again, “I am not in a position to marry.”

“Of course you are. You are twenty-seven years old, of sound mind, and in good health.”

“I live in a rented room in Edinburgh. I don’t even have a valet.”

His father waved a hand. “Easily remedied. We can get you a house in the new part of town. Your brother knows several of the architects involved with the planning. It will be an excellent investment.”

For a moment Nicholas could only stare. His father was talking about property investments?