He may as well answer the knock, otherwise Nelson would stand outside his door waiting silently for the devil knows how long.

“What is it, Nelson?” Everton asked without hiding the growl that enveloped his voice. With no one to talk to, his voice became gravellier with each evening he didn’t go out.

“Lord Bryant, you’ve a guest.” His butler’s voice was calm and collected, not that Nelson’s demeanor ever revealed anything about who had the audacity to invade Everton’s solitude. Nelson’s voice had been calm and collected months ago, on the day Prime Minister Robert Peel had come for a social call.

Outside his window, a flash of lightning brightened the sky. He ran through the possibilities of who would brave a storm in the darkness. Most likely it was a second or third cousin who had lost his shirt at the tables. He never should have helped out his devil cousin last year; it was as if he were advertising his willingness to bail out anyone who shared a drop of blood with him. Fortunately for Everton, there weren’t many people left alive who shared his blood.

He would have to make an example of the poor fellow outside. Otherwise, word would get out that he was willing to entertain during his liquor-watching time. “Who is it?”

Nelson cracked open the door. “It is a young lady, sir. A soaking wet one.”

“At this hour? What does she want?”

Nelson furrowed his brows, a strong reaction for him. “I didn’t think to ask. I’ll return shortly.”

Nelson hadn’t thought to ask? A rare slip for his butler. Everton ran his hand down his face. Who would brave a night like this for a social call? Lady Emily? There was no possibility her father would allow her out of her home at this hour. A few other names came to mind, but most of them were unlikely. Whoever she was, and whatever this woman wanted, it wouldn’t be respectable. The prospect may have amused him a few years ago, but now, and truthfully even then, he simply wanted to be alone.

Nelson had left the door slightly ajar, so he didn’t knock when he returned but instead slipped inside the study without opening the door all the way.

Everton waited a moment for him to speak, but Nelson only stood there. “Well,” Everton said, “what does she want?”

Nelson tugged on his neckcloth—a motion Everton had never seen him do—and cleared his throat.

“Out with it.” At no time had Everton needed to ask Nelson twice for anything. What was wrong with him tonight? “If it is another wretch claiming to have borne a child of mine, we both know that isn’t true.”

“That’s not it,” Nelson said with a shake of his head and a glance sideways. He leaned forward and lowered his voice. “But I am afraid you aren’t far off. You are thirty-one.” He furrowed his brows. “Perhaps it is time you stopped all this nonsense.”