First Comes Scandal
“I hope that does not prove to be the case,” his father responded. “I am merely trying to point out that your cooperation in this matter does not have to adversely impact your life at this crucial juncture.”
“That was an awful lot of words to tell me, in effect, to be a bad husband.”
“No, it was an awful lot of words to tell you, in effect, to be a young woman’s hero.”
Nicholas rolled his eyes. “After which I can go and be a bad husband.”
“If that is your wish,” his father said quietly.
Nicholas wasn’t sure how long he stared at his father in disbelief. It was only when he realized he was slowly shaking his head that he forced himself to turn away. He walked to the window, using it as an excuse to set his attention elsewhere. He did not want to look at his father right now. He didn’t want to think about him, or his mad proposition.
No, it wasn’t a proposition, was it? It was an order. His father had not said, “Would you marry Georgiana?”
He’d said, “You must marry her.”
It was not the same.
“You can leave her in Kent,” his father said after whatever he must have deemed an appropriately considerate stretch of silence. “She doesn’t need to accompany you to Edinburgh. In fact, she probably doesn’t want to accompany you to Edinburgh. I don’t think she’s ever been.”
Nicholas turned around.
“It would be up to you, of course,” his father said. “You’re the one making the sacrifice.”
“It is so odd to think that this is how you mean to convince me,” Nicholas said.
But it was clear they were having two separate conversations, because his father then said, “It’s only marriage.”
At that, Nicholas full-on snorted. “Say that to Mother and then come back and say it again.”
His father’s expression grew peevish. “This is Georgiana we’re talking about. Why are you so resistant?”
“Oh, I don’t know … Perhaps because you summoned me away from my studies, across two countries, and then when I arrived, you did not suggest that I might have the means to solve a difficult situation. You did not ask me how I felt about the idea of marriage. You sat me down and ordered me to marry a woman who is practically my sister.”
“But she is not your sister.”
Nicholas turned away. “Stop,” he said. “Please just stop.”
“Your mother agrees that it’s the best solution.”
“Oh my God.” They were ganging up on him.
“It is the only solution.”
“A moment,” Nicholas muttered. He pressed his fingers to his temples again. His head was starting to pound. “I just need a moment.”
“We don’t have—”
“For the love of God, could you be quiet for one bloody second so I can think?”
His father’s eyes widened, and he took a step back.
Nicholas looked down at his hands. They were shaking. He’d never spoken to his father in such a manner. He wouldn’t have thought it possible. “I need a drink,” he muttered. A proper one this time. He strode back to the sideboard and filled his glass, nearly to the brim.
“The entire journey down from Scotland I wondered,” Nicholas mused, “what on earth could be the reason for such a mysterious yet blatantly unignorable summons. Had someone died, I wondered.”
“I would never—” “No,” Nicholas interrupted. He did not desire his father’s commentary. This was his speech, his sarcasm, and by God he was going to get through it in his own good time.
“No,” he said again.
“No one could have died. My father would never compose such a cryptic note for that. But what else could it be? What could possibly have led him to call me down at such an astoundingly inconvenient time?”
Lord Manston opened his mouth, but Nicholas quelled him with another hard stare.
“Although inconvenient doesn’t really quite cover it. Did you know I’m missing my exams?” Nicholas paused, but not for long enough to indicate that the question was anything but rhetorical. “My professors agreed to re-administer them when I return, but of course I had to admit to them that I didn’t know when I would return.” He took a long drink of his brandy. “Now, that’s an awkward conversation.”
Nicholas looked over at his father, almost daring him to interrupt. “I don’t think they wanted to grant the delay,” he continued, “but this is one of those cases where being the son of an earl does come in handy. Not to make friends, of course. Because no one really likes the fellow who pulls rank to get out of exams. Even if that fellow has every intention of taking those exams at a later, although as I may have already mentioned, unspecified, date.”
“I have already apologized for pulling you away from your studies,” Lord Manston said in a tight voice.
“Yes,” Nicholas said blandly, “in your highly detailed letter.”
His father stared at him for a moment, then said, “Are you finished with your petulance?”
“For the time being.” Nicholas took a sip of his drink, then reconsidered. He still had one last thing to say. “I will tell you, though, of all the scenarios that played through my mind on the journey home, I never dreamed that I would arrive to find my father had all but promised my hand in marriage.”
“Your hand in marriage,” his father repeated with a slightly uncomfortable huff. “You make yourself sound like a girl.”
“I rather feel like one right now, and I have to tell you, I don’t like it.” He shook his head. “I have new respect for all of them, putting up with us telling them what to do.”
Lord Manston snorted. “If you think I have ever managed to tell your mother or sister what to do, you are sadly mistaken.”
Nicholas set down his glass. He’d had enough. It wasn’t even noon. “Then why are you doing so with me?”
“Because I have no other choice,” his father shot back. “Georgiana needs you.”
“You would sacrifice your son for the benefit of your goddaughter.”
“That’s not at all what I’m doing, and you know it.”
It felt like it, though. It felt like his father was choosing a favorite child, and it was not Nicholas.
It was not even a Rokesby.
But even Nicholas had to admit that the lives of the Rokesbys and the Bridgertons were thoroughly entwined. They had been neighbors for centuries, but it had been this current generation that had truly cemented the bond. The lords and ladies were the closest of friends, and each had been entrusted with a godchild in the other family.
The whole thing had been made even more official when the oldest Rokesby son married the oldest Bridgerton daughter. And then the third Rokesby son had married a Bridgerton cousin.
Honestly, give someone a ball of yarn and the family tree and one could make quite an incestuous cat’s cradle out of the whole thing.
“I need to think about this,” Nicholas said, because it was clearly the only thing he could say at the moment that would put a temporary halt to his father’s pressure.
“Of course,” his father said. “I do understand that this comes as a surprise.”