He needed to make a decision.

He looked at his bed. He could not picture her there.

Not yet, the night seemed to whisper.

Her profile and lips and her wrist—it all flashed in his brain. But when he tried to hold on to them, to keep these images still and in focus, it was the laughter he felt.

With his gaze still on the bed he couldn’t picture her in he murmured, “I just don’t know.”

A breeze cooled his skin and he shivered.

Yes, you do.

He stood, giving his back to the night. It was time for bed.

Remarkably, he slept.

BY MORNING HE had accepted his fate.

Which sounded a lot more dramatic than it actually was. But given the events of the past twenty-four hours, he rather thought he’d earned a touch of self-serving hyperbole.

He’d borrowed his brother’s valet for a good shave, made himself eat a hearty breakfast, and sent a footman to the stables with a request to ready a horse. He would go to Aubrey Hall, find Georgiana, and ask her to be his wife.

It wasn’t his fault that Georgie had found herself in such dire straits. But it wasn’t her fault, either, and he honestly wasn’t sure he could look at his own face in the mirror knowing he’d abandoned her to an uncertain future.

It was actually rather simple: He had the means to make things right. He could save her. Wasn’t that what he’d devoted his life to? Saving people? Surely such benevolence ought to start at home. Or in this case, at the rather stately home three miles down the road.

When he reached Aubrey Hall, however, he was informed by one of the footmen that Georgiana was not in; she had taken her nephews out for a walk. Anthony and Benedict Bridgerton did not strike Nicholas as the most romantic of props for a proposal of marriage, but then again, this would not be a particularly romantic proposal.

He could try, he supposed, but she’d see through that in a heartbeat. She knew he didn’t love her. And her circumstances being what they were, she’d know exactly why he was proposing.

No one seemed to know exactly where Georgie and the boys had gone off to, but the lake seemed the most obvious spot. The bank was wide and only slightly sloped, perfect for an adult who wished to sit comfortably on a blanket while keeping an eye on two boys running about like berserker knights. The gentle incline also meant it was almost impossible to fall in.

Or if not impossible, then at least highly unlikely. Nothing was impossible when young children were determined to get wet, but if one wanted to actually dunk one’s head beneath the surface, it required some forethought.

You had to climb a tree, Nicholas recalled. Climb a tree and crawl out along a horizontal limb until you were far enough out and then—Plop! That was how you did it.

But hopefully Anthony and Benedict had not figured this out yet.

He headed across the lawn, taking his time as he pondered his imminent task. Should he just come out and ask her? Should he give some sort of lead-in? Talk about how they’d known each other for so long, they’d always been friends, et cetera, et cetera.

Frankly, he thought that sounded like rubbish, and he suspected Georgie would, too, but it did seem like a man ought to say something before blurting out, “Will you marry me?”

He supposed he’d have to figure it out as he went along. It wasn’t his style to do so; he’d always been the sort of student who studied twice as much as he needed to. But there was no preparation for this examination. There was only a question, and an answer, and the answer wasn’t even his to give.

Nicholas kicked a pebble along the well-worn path that led to the lake as he made his way up the slope. He wasn’t sure where he’d look next if Georgie wasn’t there, but sure enough, when he reached the crest of the hill, he saw the three of them by the water’s edge.

By all appearances, they’d settled in for a long spell in the breezy morning sunshine. Georgie sat on a dark blue blanket next to a hamper of food and what appeared to be a sketchbook. The two boys squealed and chased each other back and forth along the narrow strip of dirt that separated the water and the grass. It was a charming scene.

“Georgie!” he called out as he approached.

She turned and smiled. “Oh, Nicholas. Good morning. What brings you this way?”

“I came to see you, actually.”

“Me?” She looked a little surprised, but honestly more amused than anything else. “Poor you.”

“Poor me?”

She motioned to the boys with her hand and the hamper with her head. “There have got to be more exciting ways to spend your morning.”

“Oh, I don’t know. My other option involves my mother, her embroidery, and six different colors of thread.”

“Six you say?”

“Almost a rainbow.”

One side of her mouth made a wry curve. “I tell you this in all honesty, Nicholas. I have never felt so valued.”

He choked out a laugh as he sat down beside her, stretching his legs straight and long in front of him. It was remarkable how at ease he felt now that he’d made up his mind to marry her. All of the angst and awkwardness of the previous night was gone, replaced with what had always been there—the familiarity and ease of lifelong friendship.

“Were you sketching?” he asked.

“Jabbing blindly with pencil at paper is more like it,” she said. “I’m a terrible artist.”

There were several loose sheets of paper tucked under the sketchbook, and Nicholas sifted through these, stopping on one of a bird in a tree. It was done in pencil, but somehow Nicholas could tell that it was a red-breasted robin, and not just from the shape of it. “I like this one,” he said.

She rolled her eyes. “Benedict drew that.”

“Oh. Sorry.”

She gave a wave, clearly unperturbed by her own lack of talent.

“It’s really quite good.” Nicholas gave it a closer inspection. “How old is he?”

“Just five.”

Nicholas felt his eyebrows rise. “That’s … remarkable.”

“I know. The boy has talent, although I think right now he’s much more interested in torturing his brother.”

Nicholas watched the two boys for a moment. Anthony was holding Benedict upside down by his ankles.

“Or trying to avoid being tortured,” Georgie said.

“If that’s the case, he’s not doing a very good job of it.”

“No,” Georgie agreed. “Alas, the plight of the younger sibling.”

“We would both know, wouldn’t we?”

She nodded in absent agreement, keeping her eyes on her nephews, presumably to make sure they weren’t about to kill each other. “Actually …” she began.

He waited a moment, then prompted, “Actually … ?”

She looked over at him with a wry smile. “We’re both a little like onlys, aren’t we?”

“Onlys?”

“You’ve how many years between you and Andrew? Eight? Nine? Did he ever actually bother with you when you were growing up? Pay you any attention?”

Nicholas thought about that. Most of the time his older siblings had ignored him. Or more likely, simply forgotten his existence. “Not really, no.”

“If you asked him,” Georgie went on, “I’d wager he’d say he felt more like a youngest child than a middle one.” She turned, looking at Nicholas over her shoulder. “Which makes you an only.”