Never Dance with a Marquess (The Never Series Book 2) Page 19

  “Later, perhaps, but thank you.” Nicholas turned to the vicar. “I shall leave you to attend to matters, Mr. Braithwaite.”

  “Wilkins, if you would be so good as to come with me to the stables?”

  “It promises to be straightforward,” Sir Henry said as he rose from the chair. “His lordship’s footman remembered his attacker spoke French.” He and Wilkins hurried out with Nicholas to view the two villains in the stables.

  The vicar remained seated, but his interest in the details of the affair was palpable. “More tea, Mr. Braithwaite?” Carrie asked.

  The vicar turned from his study of the closed door. “Yes, thank you, Miss Leeming.”

  The door opened, and Lady Penelope entered. Her glance took in Carrie’s expression. She was sure her impatience to seek out Nicholas was clear on her face. She looked in the teapot at the tepid brew. “Don’t send for hot water, Carrie. I shan’t have tea.” Lady Penelope turned to the vicar, who had risen to his feet with a small bow. “Mr. Braithwaite, how fortunate.” She seated herself and waved him into a chair. “I have a theological question to put to you.”

  Mr. Braithwaite cleared his throat and sank down again. “Indeed? Lady Penelope?”

  “Yes…”

  Carrie lost the thread of their conversation, wondering if it would be rude to excuse herself. Would Nicholas come to tell her what had happened?

  The vicar appeared to falter under the force of Lady Penelope’s argument. He refused another cup of tea and rose. Clearing his throat, he announced the necessity to do the sad task which had befallen him.

  “Such a bore and a busybody,” Lady Penelope said after the door closed behind him.

  Carrie gave a vague half-smile. Her great aunt was at times unpredictable, but she was inclined to agree with her.

  Going to the door, Lady Penelope expressed the wish for a bath. With a sigh, Carrie went to speak to Abercrombie and found him emerging from the servants’ stairs. She repeated her great aunt’s request. “I’m aware that the house is short-staffed,” she said with a sigh.

  “It will be done, Miss Leeming.”

  She left him, thinking what a gem he was. So capable and unruffled, despite the distressing events.

  A groom appeared from the stables to advise them that Wilkins had carted the two prisoners off to the cells. Sir Henry and the vicar had also departed. Carrie went upstairs to check on Bella and Jeremy. They were playing with their puppies in the schoolroom.

  “Shall we be able to go outside soon?” Jeremy asked.

  “I think so. Let me speak to Nicholas first.”

  She sought him out, finding him in the library. “I hoped you’d come and tell me what happened.” She stood with her hands clasped before her. He seemed so far away, and it unnerved her.

  He rose from his desk where he’d been writing a letter. “I was about to, Carrie. I was writing to my sister to tell her all is well.”

  “Oh, I’m glad. She is bound to worry.”

  “And to tell her you can return to London at the end of the week. I’m sure Gwen will want you to fulfill the obligations she has made.”

  Carrie’s heart throbbed. Put that way, she could hardly refuse. “If you wish,” she murmured. He didn’t want her here, so she must return to London. She drew in a breath and sat on the sofa to pet his dog. Chester wagged his tail, his fur like silk beneath her fingers. “I should still like to know more about what happened with my uncle. Please tell me.”

  Nicholas sat beside her. “It was fairly straightforward. We found Simon with his French friend, Bettencourt, plotting to bring harm to your family. The Frenchman recklessly tried to knife me, and Warren shot him in the arm.”

  She looked up at him in horror. “He might have killed you.”

  He raised his eyebrows. “But as you see, he didn’t.”

  She frowned at his matter-of-fact tone of voice. “Why did my uncle think he could evade the law?”

  “He considered himself untouchable once he became Baron Leeming.”

  “Inheriting the barony? That would mean…” She swallowed, unable to go on.

  “Bettencourt was to do his dirty work. And I suspect Simon planned to give him up to the police afterward with some jumped up story.”

  Tears filled her eyes. “I can’t believe anyone can be so evil.”

  “They will be dealt with, Carrie. The constable has taken them away to lock them up. There might be an inquest, but it will end badly for them, as Bettencourt has implicated your uncle.” He studied her, his eyes dark with concern. “Simon will be hanged. I hope that doesn’t upset you too much.”

  “Why should it! I’m glad,” she said. She gulped and wiped her wet cheeks with her finger. Her tears were not for Simon, whom she hated with every fiber of her being.

  Nicholas pulled out his handkerchief and gently dabbed at her cheeks. “Sweetheart, why the tears? It’s over now. Bella and Jeremy are safe. Life can return to normal.”

  “What is normal?”

  “Well, you can continue to enjoy the rest of the Season.”

  “And find a husband. I quite agree.” If she’d hoped to make him react, to show how much he disliked the idea, and beg her to stay and marry him, he betrayed no sign. His mind was made up, it seemed.

  Carrie pushed to her feet. “I’d best tell them they may go for a walk. Their routine is topsy-turvy.”

  “I must drive Lady Penelope home tomorrow.”

  “She may not want to go. I think she’s enjoyed her stay here.”

  “She is welcome to extend her visit, but you and I must leave for London on Friday.”

  “You plan to take me?”

  “Of course.”

  “Why not leave it to Gwen?”

  “She would have to come back for you, which would make her trip three hours longer. Besides, I would like to take you.”

  “Why?” she demanded.

  Nicholas shook his head. Despite his amused smile, his eyes looked strained and unhappy. “Because I will enjoy it.”

  “You needn’t come. I will be perfectly safe and have Anna for company.”

  He frowned. “Nevertheless, I shall take you, Carrie.”

  She shrugged. “That is kind of you.”

  “If you’ll forgive me, I must write some letters.” He flexed the fingers on his right hand. “I want one to go in tomorrow’s post.” Nicholas walked with her to the door. He opened it for her. “We’ll talk at dinner.”

  Carrie nodded, firmed her trembling lips, and glided out, her chin held high.

  She went upstairs, longing for a few moments to calm herself before she spoke to the children. It was just as well he didn’t want her. Nicholas would be a dictatorial husband, she thought with a frown. But she somehow couldn’t make herself believe it. Instead, she wanted to rush back and hug him and tell him her love would make him whole again. But he wasn’t hers. He never had been.

  And maybe it wasn’t within her power to make him happy. Was Sylvia the cause of his retreat from love? She must have been a wonderful woman. Death had preserved her perfection forever. How could another woman compete with that? Least of all, she, with all her imperfections: her possessiveness, her impatience to live life the way she wished, and her soaring and plunging emotions?

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Nicholas stared after Carrie for several minutes after she’d gone. Then he slowly shut the door. With a muttered moan that made Chester sit up in his basket, he returned to his desk. He finished the letter to his footman’s father, which reminded him of the very real pain the boy’s death would cause his family. Not that Nicholas had forgotten, but for a moment, he’d wanted to deaden the cruelty of fate by imagining a life with Carrie was possible.

  The letter signed, Nicholas sprinkled sand over it to dry the ink. He folded it, dripped candle wax onto it, and stamped his seal into the wax. Then he left it for the post in the morning. He would offer money to Alex’s father when he came to his son’s funeral to compensate for the family’s loss
of income. However, it would not make up for losing a son.

  He rose from the desk. “Coming, Chester?”

  Nicholas walked out the front door with his dog into the sweet-smelling spring gardens, bathed in soft light as dusk approached. Chester took off after a squirrel. As fast as he was, the dog was not fast enough. While he barked madly at the base of the tree, the squirrel merely watched him from a branch well out of his reach.

  “Life is full of frustrations, Chester,” Nicholas said, walking on.

  The dog ran to join him, and they continued down to the ornamental lake set in the lawns below the house.

  The peace and beauty helped him think clearly. Although Bella and Jeremy didn’t know the extent of what had occurred, and never would, Alex’s death had left them confused and unsettled. He would take them to London with him and Carrie in the coach. They could visit the Tower and Astley’s Amphitheater and eat ices at Gunter’s. And before Jeremy returned to school, the two of them would visit some Roman ruins. Nicholas sighed. If he thought the plan would make him feel more himself again, it failed. The hollow feeling near his heart seemed to have deepened. He assured himself once Carrie returned to the social whirl that was the London Season, his life would return to some semblance of normality.

  Dinner was a quiet affair, with everyone subdued by what had transpired, except for Lady Penelope, who asked why no one called. “It is like a tomb here,” she remarked. “Don’t you invite people to dinner?”

  Carrie’s gaze flew to his, her initial look of horror turning to appalled amusement.

  Nicholas raised an eyebrow. Lady Penelope was incorrigible. “I apologize for being such a poor host. But I have had a lot to cope with recently.”

  “Well, you had Simon, of course,” she admitted with remarkable indifference. “And you dealt with him smartly. I expect when next I visit, things will be different.”

  “I’ll make sure of it.” Nicholas averted his gaze from the laughter in Carrie’s eyes. “We’ll have a card party. I’ll invite Major Dunleavy and his wife and the Remingtons.”

  Lady Penelope nodded, appearing mollified. “I shall retire.”

  After Nicholas pulled out her chair, she stood and arranged her shawl over her arms. Gathering up her handkerchief and seizing her cane, she swept regally from the room.

  Miss Scotsdale rose, too. She looked pointedly at Bella and Jeremy.

  “We’ll ride tomorrow,” Nicholas announced as they dragged their feet toward the door. He was rewarded with a crow of joy from Jeremy.

  They were bustled out of the room, and he and Carrie were left alone.

  “Well, it appears to be only you and I this evening,” Nicholas said, coming to draw out her chair. “Shall we adjourn to the drawing room? A small fire has been lit there. A game of chess, perhaps?”

  “No, thank you, I shall make an appallingly easy conquest this evening.” She put her hand on his proffered arm, and they left the dining room.

  “Coffee?” he asked her when she was seated on the sofa.

  Carrie shook her head. “A glass of wine, thank you.”

  Surprised, because she had drunk wine at dinner, he went to the drinks tray and picked up the carafe of red wine. He complied with her request because he knew she was unsettled and disliked the idea of returning to London. He was sure that would change soon enough, once she was there.

  Nicholas brought her the glass of wine.

  Bright moonlight shone in through a break in the curtains.

  “It’s a full moon,” she observed, taking it from him.

  “Yes, many will travel the roads tonight. An excellent opportunity to hold a party or dine with friends.” He’d declined several such invitations recently.

  “The fairies will dance in the garden,” she said, a surprising note of laughter in her voice.

  He turned and grinned at her from the drinks tray where he poured himself a glass of port. “Fairies?”

  “Yes. Don’t you believe in fairies?” she asked, a smile lifting her lips.

  He sat beside her. “Can’t say I’ve given it much thought.”

  “Perhaps you are too pragmatic to be a believer.”

  He smiled, enjoying having her to himself. “You find me so?”

  “Yes, you fear disorder. Fairies would laugh at that.”

  “I suspect they would. In Shakespeare’s, A Midsummer’s Night Dream, they behaved disgracefully. Turning poor Nick Bottom’s head into a donkey’s.”

  “It was a war of love. Oberon and Titania were jealous because they loved each other so much.”

  “They played cruel games on the other lovers.”

  “But passion drove them. Do you see? And in the end, they made each other divinely happy.”

  “I can’t imagine…” Nicholas lost the thread of the conversation. He glanced at Carrie, who held up her empty glass.

  “Another?” he asked, eyebrows raised. “You might have a headache tomorrow.”

  “Please.”

  He rose and took her glass.

  “I had an Irish nanny,” she said as he refilled her glass. “She told me fairies live in beautiful palaces under the sea. They come out under the light of the full moon.”

  “Do they?” He came over and handed her the glass and joined her again on the sofa.

  “Yes. They come up onto the land to dance around the hawthorn trees with the fairies who live in the garden and drink fairy wine.”

  He grinned. “They will also have headaches in the morning.”

  She pouted. “You are no fun, Nicholas.”

  He sighed heavily. “I apologize, Carrie. But if you drink the rest of that glass, I shall have to carry you to bed.”

  “I shouldn’t like to put you to the trouble,” she said solemnly as she sipped the wine. “I shall retire.”

  Nicholas chuckled. “You sound like Lady Penelope.”

  “I daresay I will become like Lady Penelope in time.” She put down the glass and rose to weave her way to the door. “Consigned to a dreary life.”

  He rose with her, worried by her mood. “Why would it be dreary?”

  She halted near the door and turned to him. “I shall be a wife, shut away and expected to bear children for my noble lord.”

  “Surely that’s an exaggeration? Could you say that about Gwen or Nellie?”

  “It is different for them. This is not what I wanted for myself.”

  “Isn’t it? It is your intention to choose a husband who will allow Bella to live with you?”

  “Yes.” She put her hands to her face with a soft moan. “Oh. I am so confused.”

  Nicholas was beside her in an instant. “I’m sorry you feel unsure, but I’m certain it won’t last, sweetheart. Not once you’re back in London.” He opened the door. “Shall I walk with you to your bedchamber?”

  She shook her head. “You have relinquished that right.”

  He blinked and dropped his hand. “Have I?”

  “Yes.” She turned to walk down the corridor. In the flickering light cast by the candles in the sconces, she looked very much like a sprite in her white dress. A curvaceous and very beguiling one with a spark of battle in her eyes. How different she was from the subdued girl who first came to live at Elm Park. Amused, a little surprised, and more than a little stirred by her bewitching beauty, Nicholas smoothed back his hair and returned to his port. It would be a long night.

  ***

  Carrie wished she hadn’t told Anna to go to bed. Undressing herself had become quite difficult. She struggled with the buttons. Once in her nightgown, she pulled the curtains back and opened the window. The bright moonlight sent dancing lights into the small pond below, making the garden appear magical and inviting. A soft breeze flowed through the window, warm and scented.

  “I can’t go back,” Carrie whispered. She swung around and ran to the door. Barefooted and in her thin cotton nightgown, she made her way to the stairs, well-lit by the long window, and down to the shadowy great hall. Without a thought to whom
she might encounter, she darted across the marble floors, cool and smooth beneath her feet.

  No one was on duty. Relieved, for it hadn’t occurred to her that there might be, she unlocked the front door, opened it, and slipped outside.

  The floral-scented air lifted her long hair from her shoulders as she followed the path around the house. When her toes touched the rough damp of the lawn, she danced, feeling deliciously free. She needed this place, her family, and Nicholas, like she needed air.

  Lost in the moment, Carrie seemed to fly, her feet barely touching the ground. Then, with the sound of a window opening above her, she came back to earth. A little dizzy, her hand went to her bosom, freed from the corset.

  “What on earth are you doing, Carrie?”

  Nicholas.

  She refused to allow him to ruin the moment. She held out her arms and twirled, her hair flying. “I’m dancing. Like the moon goddess. Might you be Keats’s Endymion?”

  “You’ve had too much wine. Go back to bed before someone sees you.”

  Carrie scowled up at him. She was a trifle foxed, as Bella would say, but was there not a shred of romance in his soul? “They are all asleep. It’s a lovely night. Why don’t you come down?”

  “Go back to bed, please.”

  “No, I won’t. But don’t let me keep you. You probably need your sleep!”

  She heard a muttered curse. He moved away from the window.

  Her heart beating hard, Carrie danced on. Although still defiant, she suspected she’d feel very foolish when Nicholas poured cold water over her dreams tomorrow, as he always did.

  Surprised, she turned as Nicholas appeared, wearing a crimson banyan over his trousers and a white linen shirt. His throat was bare, and his hair tousled. He looked divinely wonderful, although not entirely happy to see her.

  “It’s a lovely warm night,” she said tentatively.

  “Yes. Isn’t it? Allow me to escort you upstairs.”

  She backed away from him. “You are not my husband, Nicholas.”

  “But I have your welfare in mind,” he said, following her.

  Her toe struck a stone object in the grass, and she almost lost her balance. It stung, but she clamped her lips on the pain.