He glanced at Patrick’s gold watch on the nightstand. “Quarter to eleven, my lord.”
Patrick stood up, still dressed in his black evening clothes from dinner. “Hand me my coat and hat. If I’m not back by one, you can retire for the night.”
Twenty minutes later, Patrick found himself standing on his sister’s doorstep.
“Is the Duchess awake?” he asked the footman who showed him in.
“Yes, my lord,” the young man replied. “Their Graces are entertaining in the blue drawing room.”
Patrick looked at his watch. “Entertaining? At this hour? Shouldn’t she be resting?”
He showed himself upstairs, sweeping through the large double doors of the drawing room. Georgiana reclined on a Louis XV chaise, a plate of puff pastries balanced on her bulging belly. Hereford sat cross-legged on the floor beside her, and five or six other guests were spread about the room.
“Patrick!” Georgiana smiled when she saw him at the door.
He smiled, feeling more than a little foolish for barging in. “I hope I’m not intruding.”
“Not at all, old boy!” Hereford said, picking a pastry from his wife’s lap.
Someone scooted over, giving Patrick a seat on a nearby sofa. He sat down and took a glass of brandy from the tray a servant offered. “I apologize for not ringing first. I dropped by on a whim.”
“Come over any time you like, Patrick,” his sister said. “I hardly ever leave the house these days, and I’m usually bored to tears.”
“It’s true,” Hereford added. “There’s only so much I can do to keep her company.”
One of the ladies in the room reached over and patted Georgiana’s hand. “Enjoy it while you can, darling. Once the baby comes, you will have your hands full.”
Inwardly, Patrick cringed thinking of his sister frazzled and exhausted, up all hours of the night rocking a screeching banshee of a baby, while Hereford—whom he knew almost all his life and was really rather fond of—stood by, utterly at a loss as to how to help her.
“You have secured the proper nurses and nannies, haven’t you?” Patrick asked.
“Oh, of course,” Georgiana said between bites of pastry. “But the baby is still weeks away, and everyone tells me I’m more than prepared.”
“I don’t think one can ever be too prepared when there is a baby on the way.”
Hereford snorted and raised his glass. “I said the same thing to Cameron Colthurst just the other day. His little one is due any minute, and they haven’t even finished the nursery.”
All this talk of babies made Patrick’s head spin. Why did the conversation always turn to children? Why couldn’t they have a normal conversation about Pancho Villa, or the Asquith-Stanley-Montague love triangle, or even Irish Home Rule, for Christ’s sake? If Patrick had to sit through one more discussion on wet-nurses, he would scream. And when they started in on nappies, he’d finally had enough.
“I only stopped by because I was in the area,” he said, setting his glass down on a giltwood side table. “If I don’t start for the club, my man will send for Scotland Yard.”
Georgiana frowned. “Oh, Patrick! So soon?”
“I’m afraid so.”
Hereford rose stiffly to his feet. “Let me walk you out.”
The two men slipped out of the drawing room and closed the doors behind them. The stair hall was deserted, but downstairs they could hear footsteps as the last of the servants hurried to finish their evening duties.
“Haven’t heard much of you these past few weeks, old boy,” Hereford said. “Should we be worried?”
“I don’t think so.”
Together, they descended the central staircase shoulder to shoulder, matching each other step for step.
“Been staying at the club?”
Patrick nodded.
“That is probably for the best,” the duke explained. “It’s all babies and nannies around here. Nothing a carefree young bachelor would be interested in.”
“I am hardly carefree, Hereford.”
“But you are a bachelor, and that in itself is a freedom.” They stopped at the bottom of the stairs. “Not that married life doesn’t have its advantages, mind you. I’m merely saying that I understand why you would wish to keep your distance.”
A footman produced Patrick’s top hat and evening coat. Patrick fished through the pockets for his gloves, slipping them on as he and Hereford continued their conversation.
“I will be blunt,” the duke said. “Georgiana is concerned.”
“She has more important things to worry about than me.”
“But she is a woman. And when women have too much time on their hands, they tend to overthink things.”
Patrick sighed. “You know me, Hereford. I’ve never been much of a social chap. Always kept to myself when I could,” he explained. “I have a few friends—of which I am thankful to call you one—and prefer to live as uncomplicated a life as possible.”
“We are not asking you to complicate your life.”