“Oh, bosh! You fuss too much, Squires.” Frederick downed his brandy. “What can happen to us here in this little plot of quiet countryside? Do you forget what London becomes at night? The worst thing that can happen to one of us here is that a moth might land on our coats.”
All three of his friends began laughing again.
“Very well, do as you wish. But please, stay far away from the wild mushrooms. I don’t need one—or all three of you—dying because you were stupid enough to ingest poison fungi. And be quiet if you venture out. The ladies are sleeping.”
“Don’t worry, we will creep outside like little field mice.” Frederick grinned. “And, if it pleases you, we will ask your gardener’s assistance in finding the edible gems tomorrow. That is, if he can make sense of Jefferson’s drawing.”
“Good idea.” Nate silently thanked the Lord that he’d been able to talk some sense into his friends. “And do be careful on the lake. The weather can change at the drop of a hat here.”
“It’s you who should be careful when you row out on the lake with Miss Eamont tomorrow,” Dodsworth said. “That Adelia looked like she wanted to eat you with a spoon.”
“He’s right,” Frederick drawled. “If you are not heedful, she and her mama will connive to trick you into being alone with her, at which point she will accuse you of compromising her reputation, and you will be forced to marry her. Then you will be as miserable as poor Harley here.”
Nate had almost forgotten about Harley, who sat apart from the others, quietly nursing a bottle of brandy.
“It’s true. I am miserable,” Harley said, looking up. “My aunt forced me into marriage by threatening my inheritance, and now she continues to threaten it because my wife is yet to produce an heir.”
“You’ve been married four years, have you not?” Nate said.
Harley nodded.
“And she’s never been with child?”
“Never,” he said miserably.
“But earlier you implied that your wife might beenceinte.”
Harley shook his head. “She isn’t. Her nervous stomach is down to fear. She is terrified every month when she has to give my aunt the disappointing news that she is not with child.”
“How awful,” Nate said.
“Especially since it’s my aunt’s fault—forcing me to marry a barren woman.”
“How do you know the fault lies with your wife?” Dodsworth asked.
“Pardon? What do you mean? Of course, the problem lies with her.”
“I have heard that the fault can lie with the man,” Dodsworth said.
“How dare you!” Harley said.
“Well, if you wish to know for certain, it shouldn’t be difficult to find out.” Frederick waved his hand casually.
“What are you talking about?”
“There are plenty of young, and might I say, fine-looking maidservants about. See if you can get one with child. If you do, then you will know that the problem lies with your wife and not with you.”
“Are you suggesting I father a bastard child?”
Frederick shrugged. “It’s not uncommon. I’m certain I have a few myself.”
“You mean you don’t know?” Nate asked with disgust. He’d always found Frederick’s rakish ways amusing. Perhaps he’d been blind to reality.
“No, do you?”
“Of course. I don’t have any children. There are ways to protect yourself.” Nate spoke with conviction, but something inside him shrank. How could any man be certain?
“I protect myself if I engage the services of a bawd. I don’t want a disease, but a maid is usually innocent—”
