“And marriage to Lady Angela will not be such a bad thing,” his mother put forward with her usual cheerful optimism.
Nathaniel stared at her incredulously. Did she truly believe that? Had she given such similar assurances to herself when her father, Nathaniel’s grandfather—another equally powerful, overbearing duke—had arranged a match between her and Nathaniel’s father?
“When do you leave?” his mother asked, proving she knew him in ways his father never had and never would.
Nathaniel tensed. He wasn’t due to sail for a number of days. That timeline now needed to be moved up. “I did not say—”
“Come,” she scoffed. “Do you truly believe I think you’ll let your father have the last say on all this?”
He remained stonily silent.
“Very well.” The duchess smoothed her palms along the front of Nathaniel’s jacket and patted him affectionately. “I know you think you will always want a life at sea, my boy. But you won’t. Someday, after you wed, you are going to find there is, in fact, a reason to remain on land, and you’ll be ever so happy to trade in your sea legs for land ones.”
He stared at her confusedly.
His mother laughed softly and patted him once more. “Your wife, Nathaniel. Your wife.”
Surely she didn’t expect he’d go and fall in love with the woman handpicked by the duke, his sole reason being the connection to be gained by their union? And at that, a woman who was still in love with his brother’s ghost?
Actually, the duchess likely could convince herself of as much.
“I will eventually marry,” he said quietly, needing to disabuse his mother of whatever delusions she had for him and his return. “I will do as Father requires and cement those connections.” Because he knew if he didn’t, ultimately his father would see his business ruined. “And he’ll get his all-important ducal heir, but only so that I can return to the sea, Mother.”
Because the sea was his home. The crew he’d assembled, who’d become like family, were men who relied upon him, and to whom he owed his real fealty. “But I’ve no intention of being landlocked, or of shifting my responsibilities to being the next duke.” He flexed his jaw. “Not when I expect Father will outlive all of us, just out of sheer obstinacy and for the love he carries for the Roxburghe title.” It was the one and only thing in the miserable bastard’s life he did, in fact, love.
A mysterious-looking smile hovered on her lips. “Yes, I expect that is what you think, Nathaniel. You will see.”
The only thing he saw was the work in front of him and the calming peace of a ship rolling softly under his feet when the waters were calm, and then the thrill of danger when they rocked the vessel violently about. That was all Nathaniel wanted or loved.
And the last thing he’d ever have a want or need of was some woman who would expect to tie him down and keep him ashore.
Chapter 2
London, England
With a leather sabretache she’d pilfered from her elder brother’s belongings and modified for her frame now slung over her shoulder, Lady Cassia McQuoid made her way along the north bank of the River Thames.
No one stared. In fact, no one paid her notice one way or the other.
After half a Season being stared at by everyone, it was a welcome way to find herself.
Undetected.
Unnoted.
Free.
A light breeze cut through the coal-smoke fog hanging over the city, bringing the stench of sewage mixed with the sulphury smell of the North Sea. That gust teased the wool, shovel-shaped hat Cassia had also availed herself of—the article having been one of the more cherished heirlooms her siblings had all coveted.
Pausing at the corner of Preston’s Road, Cassia adjusted her hat. She took care to keep her plaited braid tucked inside and hidden before continuing forward.
Nay, she wasn’t free. Not just yet. But she was close.
There was still the matter of boarding the boat her elder brother Arran was to sail on with his best friend, Captain Jeremy Tremaine, and then remaining undetected until they sailed away from London.
How difficult could that be?
Nay, going unnoticed should prove simple.
In all of Cassia’s two and one-quarter London Seasons, there had never been so much as an unkind word written about her in the gossip pages.
Neither, however, had there been kind ones.
More, nothing had been said about her. At least, not specifically.
Not when her parents had dragged her along to meet their new neighbor, the Duke of Aragon, and attempted to marry her off to the brooding, mysterious gentleman. Ultimately, the gossips had noted and not been kind to Cassia’s parents for those very public, grasping attempts. After all, one only privately grasped a duke.
Nor did Polite Society say so much as a peep about Cassia when her younger sister Myrtle, who’d not even had her Come Out and a London Season, had instead married the same duke.
No, the papers had heaped praise upon Myrtle for being so very witty and charming and interesting as to have snagged the once reclusive Duke of Aragon.
Which—at that point—had been peculiar praise, as not a single member of Society had so much as met Myrtle. Though in fairness, they’d not had to meet her. All they’d needed to know was that Myrtle was now the Duchess of Aragon.
And it was that, right there, that accounted for Cassia’s current plans.
Not the duchess part.
Cassia had no interest in being a duchess.
She’d be dreadfully bad at the whole “almost royalty” business.
Nor, for that matter, did she find Society had erred in their generous and bright opinion of Myrtle. They hadn’t.
Even at eighteen, Myrtle was clever and spirited and sunny, and had a keen wit.
And then there was Cassia.
Possessed of just as much spirit as the Lord gave any soul, and of average—if she was being generous with her own self—wit.
In short, Cassia was something unforgivable in the world of Polite Society: just an ordinary, unremarkable girl. She wasn’t a Diamond and she wasn’t flirty. She didn’t have any womanly wiles. She was simply . . . herself. There was nothing to distinguish her amongst all the other young ladies and misses.
Unmarried at one and twenty, and well into her third Season without so much as a suitor, Cassia did not harbor any misunderstandings as to the reason for her unwedded state.
Nor was she one given to self-pity or disparagement. Rather, her understanding came from a place of actual fact. Her sister was clever. Bookish. Her parents had believed in Myrtle so very much that they’d sent her away to a boarding school to further broaden her intellect and feed her love of learning, and . . . and . . . antiquities, and whatever else it was they’d had Myrtle and other students sent there to study.
Whereas Cassia? Her greatest skills: Painting. Needlepoint. Singing. Playing the pianoforte. Arranging flowers and rooms. Cassia possessed ladylike talents—the same ones perfected by every lady, and certainly not enough to recommend her. A skill set that didn’t require that she leave home, like Myrtle. But oh, how she wished to broaden her horizons with new sights and adventures. She’d lived a dull, ordinary life. It was, however, only just now she’d realized as much.
She wanted to know what it was to feel the ocean breeze upon her face, as her brother had regaled their family with tales of. Or to sail so far out that one lost the sounds of the gulls and seabirds and instead heard the squeals of dolphins, only to then reach distant lands where wharves brimmed with actual sunshine and people from all corners of the world. With the support of their parents, Arran, who’d partnered with Jeremy in his trade ventures, had seen that world. Even Myrtle had left home. Whereas her younger sister had learned about those fantastical lands from books, Cassia was determined to experience it all for herself. Her family wouldn’t have supported her in that dream, because they didn’t believe her capable or deserving of it. As such, she had been forced to take matters into her own hands.