“Do you suffer from allergic reactions? To nuts, perhaps? Or goose-down bedding?”
“No.”
“Does saltwater sting your eyes? Do you suffer night terrors in your sleep? Are you uneasy at great heights?”
“No, no, and I actually enjoy great heights.”
“Right. You are invincible obviously.”
He did not argue, and she laughed. “Is that possible, Your Grace?”
“Well. I have a strong aversion to becoming duke. Does this count? You have so kindly pointed this out.”
“Oh right—that. And what is the source of this aversion, do you think?”
He looked out at the horizon and frowned. “I don’t want to talk about the bloody dukedom.”
Isobel found herself disappointed by this answer. She’d wanted to know. She was also a little surprised. In her experience, men of rank needed to be reminded of their greatness at regular intervals, even if only by their own boasting. Northumberland wanted to ignore the dukedom rather than crow about it.
“Do you not enjoy Middlesex?” she pressed.
He shrugged. “Middlesex is adequate. For a time.”
“For howlongdo you find Middlesex ‘adequate,’ I wonder.”
“Twelve hours?” he speculated. “Eighteen?”
“That long?”
“It’s not the location of Middlesex, it’s—” He shook his head and looked away.
Isobel was frustrated. “It’s—?” she prompted.
He shook his head again.
A polite woman would not press, she thought. Moreover, a woman who had no real interest or attachment to this man would not press.
A self-preserving womanwould not press.
“It’s your family, then?” she pressed.
Now he gave his head a violent shake. “Not that,” he insisted darkly. “Never that. I love my family. My mother and three sisters are the finest a man could hope for. I do not deserve them. And the tenants are decent, hardworking people. They—” He dug in his pocket for a coin. Instead of flipping it, he held it out, studying it from a distance. Speaking to the coin, he said bitterly, “They also deserve better than the likes of me.”
“I don’t understand,” she proclaimed. She’d asked too much to feign polite disinterest now.
“That makes two of us, Miss Tinker,” he said. He palmed the coin and leaned against the railing. “I don’t understand why but I dread it. And I despise myself for it. But there is no dark secret here. No hidden pain. No great sin. I am simply suffocated by the sedentary life of a country nobleman. Walking around in the footsteps of my father and brothers causes my skin to crawl and my heart to race. I feel caged behind the desk in the duke’s library. I lapse into a numb sort of trance when I ride the property. I am bored by the ledgers, apathetic about the farmland, and fall asleep when subjected to the neighbors. There are too many servants, too many portraits of dead relatives, too much sitting about, and too many doors that lead to empty rooms.”
He turned back to the water. “If you believe these reactions to be spoiled and indulgent and petulant you would be precisely, exactly correct. My pitiful attitude is almost worse than the numbness and boredom and suffocation. Almost.”
“Oh,” said Isobel, “I see.” Although she was not certain she did see. His pain and bitterness were real; he was clearly tortured by his future, but—
He took a deep breath and exhaled it slowly, a manfacing a terrible reckoning. “Perhaps it’s the thought of remaining there forever,” he said. “And ever.”
“You needn’t remain at Syon Hall if it doesn’t suit you,” she offered. “The city is awash with noblemen who prefer their London residences.”
The duke shook his head. “My father traveled to London for parliamentary business—no farther. My brothers traveled even less. The estate, when run properly, is demanding. The dukes of Northumberland have prided themselves on being present for the land and the tenants. It is the responsible way to manage the great bounty into which we were born. A good and worthy duke knows every family in his purview and every mile of his land. Doubtless, my father knew every bloody sheep. There is also a great foundry on the property. The mechanics of this and the safety must be monitored constantly. The whole lot is like a watched cauldron that must be kept forever at a low simmer. Never to boil over, never to go cold. Are you aware of the patience and care required to maintain a constant, relentlesssimmer, Miss Tinker?”
“No,” she said, her traitorous heart bending toward him.
