First Comes Scandal (Rokesbys #4) - Julia Quinn Page 0,6
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