First Comes Scandal Page 2

  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?

  “You may consider it a wedding gift.”

  Nicholas brought his hand to his forehead, using his thumb and middle finger to press into his temples. He needed to focus. Think. His father was still talking, going on about integrity and duty and ninety-nine-year leases, and Nicholas’s brain hurt.

  “Do you have any idea what is involved in the study of medicine?” he asked, his eyes closed behind his hand. “I don’t have time for a wife.”

  “She doesn’t need your time. She needs your name.”

  Nicholas moved his hand. Looked at his father. “You’re serious.”

  His father gave him a look as if to say, Haven’t you been listening?

  “I can’t marry someone with the express intention of ignoring her.”

  “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.”

  To put it mildly.

  “But time is of the essence. You’ll need to make your decision by tomorrow.”

  “Tomorrow?”

  His father had the grace to sound at least a little bit regretful when he said, “It can’t be helped.”

  “I have traveled for nearly two weeks, through at least six torrential downpours, cut short my studies, and been all but ordered to marry my neighbor, and you cannot even give me the courtesy of a few days’ time to think about it?”

  “This isn’t about you. It’s about Georgie.”

  “How is this not about me?” Nicholas all but roared.

  “You won’t even know you’re married.”

  “Are you bloody gone in the head?” Nicholas was quite sure he’d never spoken to his father in such a way; he’d never have dared to. But he could not believe the words coming forth from his father’s mouth.

  His father had to have gone mad. It was one thing to suggest he marry Georgiana Bridgerton; there was a quixotic sort of logic to it. But to suggest that the act was meaningless . . . that Nicholas could carry on as if he had not taken her hand in marriage . . .

  Did he know his son at all?

  “I can’t talk to you right now,” Nicholas said. He stalked to the door, suddenly glad he’d never removed his muddy boots.

  “Nicholas . . .”

  “No. Just, no.” He laid one hand against the frame of the door, pausing to take a steadying breath. He did not trust himself to look back at his father, but he said, “Your concern for your goddaughter is commendable, and I might—I might have listened to you had you framed your wishes as a request.”

  “You are angry. I understand.”

  “I don’t think you do. Your utter disdain for the feelings of your own son—”

  “False,” his father snapped. “I assure you that your best interests have never been far from the forefront of my mind. If I have not made that clear, it is because I am worried for Georgiana, not for you.”

  Nicholas swallowed. Every muscle in his body felt ready to snap.

  “I have had a great deal longer to become accustomed to the idea,” his father said quietly. “Time does make a difference.”

  Nicholas turned around to face him. “Is this what you would hope for me? A loveless, sexless marriage?”

  “Of course not. But you already have affection. And Georgiana is a fine girl. I have every confidence that in time the two of you will find that you’re very well suited.”

  “Your other children married for love,” Nicholas said quietly. “All four of them.”

  “I had hoped for the same for you.” His father smiled, but it was a sad, wistful thing. “I would not rule it out.”

  “I’m not going to fall in love with Georgiana. My God, if I were, don’t you think it would have happened by now?”

  His father gave him an amused smile. Not mocking, just amused.

  But Nicholas wasn’t having it. “I can’t even imagine kissing her,” he said.

  “You don’t have to kiss her. You just have to marry her.”

  Nicholas’s mouth fell open. “You did not just say that to me.”

  “Very few marriages begin with passion,” Lord Manston said, suddenly all friendly, fatherly advice. “Your mother and I—”

  “I do not want to hear about you and Mother.”

  “Don’t be a prude,” his father said with a snort.

  It was at that moment Nicholas wondered if he were, in fact, dreaming this entire conversation. Because he could not conceive of any other scenario that involved his father sharing any sort of intimate details about his mother.

  “You’re going to be a physician,” his father said dryly. “Surely you know that your mother and I could not have produced five childr—”

  “Stop!” Nicholas practically howled. “M
y God, I don’t want to hear about that.”

  His father chuckled. He chuckled!

  “I will think about it,” Nicholas finally said, not bothering to mask the sullen tone of his voice. “But I cannot give you an answer tomorrow.”

  “You must.”

  “For the love of God, are you listening to me?”

  “We don’t have time for me to listen to you. Georgiana’s life is ruined.”

  They were talking in circles. It was like they were out on the lawn, treading the same path until the grass was worn down to dirt. But Nicholas was too weary by this point to try to break free of the circuit, so he just asked, “And this is going to change if I take a few days to think about it?”

  “If you don’t marry her,” Lord Manston said, “her parents need to find someone who will.”

  Which led to a terrible thought. “Have you discussed this with Lord and Lady Bridgerton?”

  His father hesitated a moment before saying, “I have not.”

  “You would not lie to me about this . . .”

  “You dare to question my honor?”

  “Your honor, no. Your judgment, I no longer have any idea.”

  His father swallowed uncomfortably. “I would have suggested it, but I did not want to raise their hopes in the event you refused.”

  Nicholas eyed him skeptically. “You did not give the impression that refusal was an option.”

  “We both know I can’t force you to marry the girl.”

  “You’ll just be profoundly disappointed in me if I don’t.”

  His father said nothing.

  “That’s answer enough, I suppose,” Nicholas muttered. He sank back into a chair, exhausted. What the hell was he going to do?

  His father must have realized that he’d had enough, because he cleared his throat a few times, then said, “Why don’t I get your mother?”

  “Why?”

  Nicholas hadn’t meant to sound quite so truculent, but really, what was his mother going to do?

  “She has a way of setting me at ease when I’m troubled. Perhaps she can do the same for you.”

  “Fine,” Nicholas grunted. He was too tired to argue any longer.

  But before Lord Manston could leave the room, the door opened, and Lady Manston stepped quietly inside. “Is it settled?”