“Not London,” said Lucas, curt.
“See?” said Lady Elizabeth to the room at large. “He wouldn’t go up to Town.” A mischievous smile tipped about her mouth. “My guess was that you’d run away to the circus. You always did have a liking for the travelers who came through with the seasons.”
Lucas swiped his napkin across his mouth, clearly irritated with his siblings, who wore the triumphant, meddling expressions of older sisters toying with their younger brother.
“If you must know,” he said, “on the road to Baron Hatton’s estate, my horse threw a shoe and I had to have her reshod.”
As one, Lady Elizabeth and Lady Catherine’s eyes narrowed. Their sisterly noses sensed withheld information. Their brother would yield it, their expressions said.
Watching Lucas squirm… Nell couldn’t help but find it fun.
“And where was this?” asked Lady Elizabeth.
“Matlock Bath,” said Lucas.
Lady Catherine’s gaze rounded on Nell. “Isn’t that where you’ve been staying, Miss Tait?” she asked, all innocence and anything but.
It was no longer fun.
For the Dowager Duchess’s part, the innuendo underlying the conversation—thankfully—seemed to have passed her by entirely. “Perhaps you can try again tomorrow, Lucas, and take a spare horse or two with you.”
Lucas stabbed his trout with more force than was strictly necessary. “I have no intention of visiting Baron Hatton tomorrow, or the next day, or any day, in fact,” he said with the studied calm that spoke of a storm beneath.
The Dowager Duchess’s fork clattered to her plate. “Now you’re breaking another engagement?”
Nell’s eyebrows drew together.Another engagement?Was the man an outright menace to unbetrothed women?
Carefully—too carefully—Lucas placed his utensils on his plate. “There can be no engagement when one hasn’t even met the young lady in question.”
The Dowager Duchess harrumphed, unwilling to concede the point. “It wasn’t so long ago that there would’ve been.”
“Thankfully, we live in the nineteenth century, and such marriages no longer happen.”
The sisters tittered, positively gleeful to see their brother twisting in the wind. Meanwhile, their husbands tucked into their meals.
“And yet,” said Nell, instantly regretting opening her mouth and yet unable not to, “there was one broken engagement.”
The statement wasn’t phrased as a question, but Lucas would know it for one. The full brunt of his gaze met hers. “There was.”
He hesitated, gathering his next words. Nell clutched the napkin in her lap, knuckles white, as she waited, breath held. His next words shouldn’t matter, but they did.
“It was agreed by all,” he continued, “and most particularly by the lady in question, that we didn’t suit. No hard feelings were left behind, and the matter was quickly resolved, Lady Dorothea’s reputation entirely intact.”
Nell shouldn’t, but she believed him. The earnestness in his eyes… It was genuine.
“She recently became betrothed to the eldest son of the Duke of Bolton,” said Lady Elizabeth.
“Almost as good as a sitting duke, I suppose,” added Lady Catherine.
Lady Elizabeth returned her feline smile to Lucas. She wasn’t finished toying with him yet. “Do you know what they call you in London, dear brother?”
“I reckon you’ll tell me.”
“The Farmer Duke,” supplied Lady Catherine.
“As a matter of fact,” he said, wearily, “I had heard that one.”
The Dowager Duchess lost her patience with this line of conversation. “Honestly, son, whom are you going to marry?”
