Never Dance with a Marquess (The Never Series Book 2) Read online

  They arrived home late in the afternoon, after lunching at Mivart’s hotel. While they sat in the morning room enjoying a cup of tea, Nicholas arrived, dressed in black trousers, a gray striped silk waistcoat, black coat, and top boots. How handsome he looked. A gentleman about Town. Here in London, he seemed like a different person. She smiled shyly up at him.

  He joined them and, while pouring him a cup of tea, Gwen told him about their successful morning’s shopping.

  He smiled at Carrie. “My curricle is outside. While it’s such good weather, a drive to Hyde Park might be pleasant.”

  Gwen smiled. “Yes, do go, Carrie. I much prefer a well-earned rest.”

  “Please accept my apology. I cannot take you up, Gwen,” Nicholas said. “I have brought my groom.”

  “Far be it from me to put your thoroughbreds at risk, Nicholas,” his sister said with a wry smile.

  Nicholas chuckled.

  Carrie looked from one to the other. What passed between brother and sister was often beyond her, but their closeness and the fondness they showed for each other was most appealing. “I would love to ride to Hyde Park. I’ve heard so much about it. It shan’t take me above a few minutes to change.”

  The Town Hall clock chimed five o’clock as Nicholas drove into the park in his smart blue curricle drawn by gray thoroughbreds. An excellent whip hand, Carrie approved of how he’d maneuvered the curricle around a dray lumbering ahead of them on the way there. Such skill would impress Jeremy.

  “This is just as I’ve imagined it,” Carrie said, a little breathless as she gazed around the vast parkland. “It’s hard to believe we are in the center of London.”

  “It is.”

  Along the South Carriage Drive, the ton appeared in force, conversing with friends or there to show off a new carriage, horse, or flirting with someone of interest. Or so Nicholas explained. “The most intriguing gossip takes root here.”

  Carrie believed it. Laughter drifted on the cool spring air as men and women chatted. There was an atmosphere of suppressed excitement and expectation. Or was it just her? Her prior concerns ebbed away with the enthusiasm surrounding them.

  Two men left the footpath to approach them. Nicholas reined in his horses and introduced her to Lord Trevallyan and his friend. They stayed for several minutes, effusive in their greeting, and expressed eagerness to dance with her at tomorrow night’s ball. She couldn’t help being flattered by such attention, although neither was handsome, and one gentleman closer to forty.

  Many on horseback called to Nicholas from the path in Rotten Row. Nicholas seemed very popular. Carriages banked up behind theirs before he left the small crowd and moved the horses on.

  “My goodness.” Carrie wished she had her fan to cool her flushed face. “Do you always cause so much attention?”

  Nicholas chuckled. “When I have a pretty lady who is new to London at my side. You will cause a great deal more at the ball. Dance with those two gentlemen, by all means. But neither is suitable to pay his respects to you. We shall discuss it further after they present their calling cards on the morning following the ball.”

  She stared after the two men as Nicholas turned the carriage and drove out through the gates. “Are they not your friends? You seemed on such good terms.”

  “They are. But I should not wish you to wed either of them.”

  Carrie scowled at him. “Really, Nicholas. Might I decide if they will suit?”

  “I wish you would trust me more, Carrie.” He raised a hand to a man at the gate as they left the park. “You know nothing about those men.”

  “I liked Lord Trevallyan. He has kindly blue eyes.”

  Nicholas’s laugh sounded brittle. With a flick of the reins, the horses picked up speed, stirring a man crossing the road ahead of them into a run. “I doubt his eyes are a reliable means of judging a fellow’s worth, but you are correct. Lord Trevallyan is a kind fellow. But he is poor as a church mouse and must marry money. Perhaps a lady who seeks a title.”

  “I begin to dislike the way the ton treat people. And the mercenary attitudes to marriage.”

  Nicholas drew the horses up outside Gwen’s townhouse. He turned to her. “I shan’t stand by and allow you to throw your life away on an unsuitable man because you think he is kindly.”

  Carrie stepped down and took the footman’s proffered arm. “You have no faith in my judgment at all.”

  “I do. Believe me. I have great admiration for how you cared for your father during his illness and how concerned you are for Bella and Jeremy’s future. But we are talking about your life here.” Nicholas handed the reins to his groom. He escorted her to the door. “You must forgive my absence this evening. A prior engagement. Please convey my regrets to my sister.”

  “But you will escort us to the ball tomorrow night?” Carrie had visions of him coming late. She did not want to face the ton without him. Despite his annoyingly overbearing manner, she needed him with her but choked at the thought of telling him so.

  He frowned. “Of course. I shall be here at nine to escort you both.”

  She said goodbye and turned away to enter through the door with a nod to the butler. She hurried upstairs to her bedchamber. Carrie had been so sure of her course, but Nicholas had made her think, really think, about the sort of marriage she wanted. The dreams she had held in her heart, which she’d tried unsuccessfully to suppress. She yearned to listen to her heart, but what good was that when Nicholas didn’t want her?

  Gwen met her at her bedchamber door.

  “Why so woebegone?” Gwen raised Carrie’s chin and studied her. “Didn’t you enjoy the jaunt to the park?”

  “Yes, very much.” Carrie fumbled in her reticule for her handkerchief. “But Nicholas can be quite overbearing.”

  “Really, I should scold my brother. It’s just that he wants the best for you, Carrie.” Gwen opened the door and ushered her inside.

  “Oh, please don’t scold him. I shouldn’t like him to think I discussed this with you.”

  “Then I won’t. Nicholas takes any commitment most seriously, and especially this one. He and your father were very dear friends.”

  “Nicholas insisted Bella was not to learn the harp, and she shows some promise with the instrument.”

  Gwen sat on a chair with a faraway smile. “Did he? Dear Nicholas.”

  Carrie stared at her.

  “You mustn’t mind him. It is because of something that happened years ago before I was out of the schoolroom. I played the harp at my parents’ musicale. I wasn’t particularly talented and so nervous I played badly.” She laughed. “There were two young gentlemen there with their families, not much older than I. They made the mistake of smirking about my efforts to Nicholas the next day. He beat them both soundly and then got the strap from Father.”

  Carrie put a hand to her mouth to stop a giggle. “Did he?”

  “He was a wonderful, protective brother. But the boys’ opinion of my playing was correct.” She rose from the chair and came to kiss Carrie’s cheek. “Dry your tears. You want to look your best tonight, although it is but a small soiree with friends who wish to meet you.”

  Carrie sat on her bed after Gwen left. This was another side to Nicholas, unfamiliar to her. It made her wonder if she judged him unfairly. After all, he had a far greater knowledge of Society than she did. But she was gifted with a woman’s insight.

  She sighed and plucked at her skirts. Did he not believe in love? He disliked the Romantic poets. But he had been deeply in love once, so wouldn’t he want to love someone again? He was a passionate man. She had not missed the way he looked at her. The breathless silences that stirred the air around them when alone together. Was he not aware that when his gaze rested on her mouth, her heart pounded? She could see in his eyes how it affected him when their hands touched. If not love, what was it? Mere desire? It drove her mad, not knowing.

  Leaving the bed, she removed a handkerchief from the dressing table drawer. She dried her eyes, peering i
nto the mirror in disgust. She’d never been a weepy sort of person.

  Did Nicholas want to become a fusty old gentleman locked away in his library among his dust-laden tomes? He was strong and vigorous and so readily able to laugh at something he found amusing and to share it with her. She smiled. While they rode, or in the evenings over a game of chess or cards, they often laughed together. She’d enjoyed those times so much. And she’d assumed he did, too. Was he merely being polite? Merely waiting until he could resume his well-regimented life? No, she couldn’t believe it.

  It would be most unwise to allow such foolishness to affect her thinking. For he had as much intention of marrying her as the Prince of Wales did. She must order her thoughts. For now, she was here and could not escape her destiny. Whoever she might choose, she would have to gain his assurance that Bella could come to live with them if she chose.

  Gwen was so sweet to her and so keen to find her a husband. And Carrie had to marry. She was homeless. She could not go back to Elm Park. When the bitter truth of this threatened to overtake her, she bit her lip hard. She mustered all her strength. She would do what she had to do.

  Anna bustled in. “I have laid out your evening gown and called for your bath, Miss.”

  “Thank you, Anna.” She watched the maid arrange the delicate folds of the pale violet silk gown over a chair. “Do servants ever marry for love?”

  Anna looked up in surprise. “Perhaps more often than the upper classes, Miss Carrie.” She brought out the matching slippers. “But not as often as you might think.”

  Carrie undid her buttons. “Why not?”

  “Sometimes a hard-hearted view of marriage is the answer to a person’s needs. A man needs a woman to look after him and to give him children. A woman wants children but has need of a roof over her head to raise them. She can hardly get either without him and might not want to remain in service until she’s too old to work and has nowhere to go.”

  “My father always looked after his staff.”

  “Yes, but not everyone does.”

  “I suppose that’s true.”

  “It’s a harsh world, Miss.”

  “Yes.” Carrie swallowed to ease her dry, scratchy throat. “I must not complain. I am most fortunate. Anna, I hope you find happiness.”

  “May the good Lord answer our prayers, Miss Carrie. Here are the footmen with the hot water.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Nicholas climbed the steps to his house. As he entered the entry hall, he removed his hat and swept his hair back with an impatient hand. Carrie accused him of not trusting her. Rather, she should trust him to do his best for all of them.

  He’d found it devilishly hard to keep his head. She often tested him, but he approved how she questioned those accepted norms of society, which should bear some criticism. He had to admit when fired up, she was most appealing. Gazing into her wide, beautiful eyes, he lost his train of thought, and his arguments lacked conviction. His supposedly clear vision for her future seemed to fray at the edges.

  He’d handled things poorly, he admitted, and would hate to be on bad terms with her. Best he leave London. Gwen would keep him advised of any important decisions he needed to make. God only knew what those two children were getting up to at Elm Park. He feared it would be something beyond Miss Scotsdale’s ability to handle. Nicholas had asked Warren to observe them and prevent anything untoward. But could his secretary make a young baron puffed up by his own consequence, obey him?

  Deep in thought, Nicholas frowned at the footman who took his hat and cane. The man’s eyes widened.

  “Good man,” Nicholas said absently and gathered up today’s post from the salver on the hall table. He made his way to the library and, seated at his desk, flicked through them. The usual bills he would pass on for payment and a busy Season of invitations, which he would decline, except for this evening’s soiree at Carlton House.

  A scented letter caught his attention. It was from Lillian Burrell, whose elegant script invited him to a late supper at her home in Albemarle Street. Nicholas stared out of the window where the broad leaves of a plane tree stirred in the breeze. Should he accept? In dire need of some feminine company, her warmth and amusing conversation would clear his head of unwanted thoughts. And she was a charming woman, a wonderful distraction who would not attempt to hold him on a tight rein. He penned an acceptance before he changed his mind and handed it to a footman. Then sat back and contemplated the evening ahead. He kept abreast of parliamentary matters, although parliament didn’t sit until June. But he was sadly deficient in Court news. Prinny would no doubt supply it while taking him to task for his lengthy absence.

  Nicholas rose early the next day and rode with Charles, to wash away the cobwebs clinging to him after a dull evening. Apart from the latest endits, and a discussion of the surprising novel, Frankenstein, written by an anonymous author, the rest was forgettable. The diplomats talked of little but the Treaty of Mundosier, which served to bring the Indian states of Indore and Rajput under British rule. As Nicholas prepared to leave for his engagement with Lillian, the regent requested his company. He was in a talkative mood and kept Nicholas late into the night.

  He had left His Highness as soon as he decently could. But it was in the early hours when he stood outside Lillian’s townhouse, and only a few candles flickered through the windows. She would have gone to bed. He would send a note with his apologies stating something had detained him. Another time, perhaps. He hoped it would appease her, although Lillian would view it as a lack of passion on his part and rightly draw her ire.

  The next morning, he rode in Hyde Park again with Charles.

  “You were caught up with Prinny when I left,” Charles observed as they guided their horses away from Rotten Row to ride over the fields to the lake. “Did I miss anything of import?”

  “No. Dreary affair, wasn’t it?”

  “George still mourns his daughter and grandchild.”

  “I expect some women will still dress in black crepe this Season.”

  “I imagine so. The prince has grown quite stout. He is not keen to ride, and he always loved it.”

  “Yes. He does not travel well but plans to return soon to the Royal Pavilion.”

  “They have some contraption there to assist him onto horseback.”

  “That would be worth seeing,” Nicholas observed with a faint chuckle.

  “Prinny appeared brighter when he spoke of helping the Literature Fund. A good year already for literature with the publication of Keats’s Endymion.”

  “Ah yes. Have you read it?”

  “No. I don’t believe I will. You?”

  “Yes. Based on the Greek myth, Keats waxes lyrical about a shepherd’s love for the moon goddess. A rather incoherent poetic romance.”

  “Nellie saw the poem performed at some literary soiree and gave it her seal of approval. Women love the Romantics. It has come under some criticism, however.”

  “Carrie adores Keats’s poems. This one aroused a heated argument between us in the coach on the way here.”

  “Heated, eh?” Charles observed him for a moment. “By the way, Nellie has offered her assistance at the ball tonight. She already has two suitors in mind for Caroline.”

  Nicholas tensed. “Who might they be?”

  Charles told him.

  “Lord Sheen might own a good part of England, but he’s a pompous ass. Why Utley?”

  “Hails from Yorkshire,” Charles said. “Nellie thought Carrie would like him.”

  “Don’t care for either of ’em.”

  Charles cast him an amused glance. “You sound like a father, or rather…” He broke off. “Looks like rain. Shall we ride on?”

  ***

  Last night, the soiree had been a small and intimate party, as Gwen had prophesied. Her friends were warm and genuinely curious to learn more about Carrie. It gave her confidence when, on the evening of the ball, she stood before the long mirror putting on pearl earrings which belonged to her moth
er.

  “You look beautiful, Miss Carrie,” Anna said, giving Carrie’s short-capped sleeve a last tug.

  “She does.” Gwen, in wine-colored silk and emeralds, stood behind her while she clasped a string of pearls around Carrie’s neck. She stood back. “Shall we go down? It’s almost nine, and Nicholas is always prompt.”

  Carrie arranged the silk shawl loosely at her elbows and picked up her reticule and fan in nervous gloved fingers. A final glance in the mirror told her the circlet of rosebuds remained in place on her hair. What would Nicholas think of her tonight? He would be the first man to see her dressed in her finery. She really wanted to see approval in his eyes.

  One look from him reassured her. For a moment he stood, his gaze roaming over her from her hair to her slippers, then he came forward to take her hands, an appreciative gleam turning his gray eyes bluer. “You look lovely, Carrie.”

  The look in his eyes warmed her, but she should not put much store by it.

  He turned to Gwen, who surveyed him with a small smile. “And you, Gwen. That color on you is a tour de force.”

  “My goodness,” Gwen said. “This old thing?”

  His lips curled in amusement, and he offered them both an arm. “Well, shall we take Cinderella to the ball?”

  Carrie felt shy, struck by how handsome he looked in his midnight blue evening clothes. She took his proffered arm and smiled up at him. “Where is my prince?”

  Nicholas didn’t answer, but Gwen did. “I’m sure he is not far away.”

  ***

  The majordomo announced them, and the Fitzgibbons greeted them at the top of the stairs. Below, guests chatted beneath the chandeliers in the gold-swagged ballroom.