When they left the busy thoroughfare, they entered an area of enormous mansions, elegant townhouses, and the cleaner, treed streets of Mayfair. Carrie’s heart gave a surprising leap. Well-dressed pedestrians strolled, rode on horseback, or passed in shiny carriages. It was like entering a different world. The glittering glamorous world of the Beau monde her father had often spoken of. It was here he had met her mother at a ball, and they fell in love. Carrie’s fingers clutched the windowpane as she gazed out. Her father had fretted when he was ill. He was so disappointed he could not show her this world.
“It pleases you?” Nicholas asked.
She returned his smile. While she found it exciting, she wished she were more confident about what lay ahead.
The coach pulled up before one of a row of grand townhouses, and liveried footmen hurried out to assist them from the coach.
A haughty, rail-thin butler of some fifty-odd years offered a stiff bow. His murmured welcome sounded as if he had a mouth full of plums. Carrie wasn’t sure what he said.
“Here at last!” Gwen hurried down the sweep of marble stairs to kiss them both. “My butler, Fellows, will answer any questions you might have, Carrie.”
With a slight motion of the butler’s hand, a maid took their hats and coats.
“We’ve received word from your valet, my lord,” Fellows said. “Mr. Peterson awaits you at Pennington Court.”
“I’ll go there now. Thank you, Fellows.”
Gwen stared at him. “Have you opened Pennington Court for such a short stay, Nicholas? I expected you to put up here.”
“A small staff will serve me well enough until I return to the country.”
Gwen eyed him speculatively, then turned to Carrie. “You must be fatigued, dear girl. After you’ve bathed and changed, we’ll take a glass of wine in the salon. I have so much to tell you. A quiet evening awaits us before the rush begins! You will attend your first ball in three days. The Fitzgibbons are most eager to meet you.”
Carrie’s eyes grew wide. It was all so rushed. She had expected to have time to settle in, to familiarize herself with London. “But my ballgown...”
“We have no time to waste.” Gwen smiled. “My clever modiste has it almost competed. A final fitting in the morning. Then we’ll shop in Regent Street for accessories.”
Carrie laughed. “What color is it?”
“White, of course, my dear. Most debs wear white or pastels. So demure.” Gwen turned to look at Nicholas. “And yet so clever. The low-cut style of those dainty gowns enslave men at a glance. And you shall have many at your feet.”
Carrie glanced at Nicholas, who didn’t seem amused. Her heart sank. She had hoped he might change his mind and stay longer.
“I trust the journey wasn’t too fatiguing,” he said, his eyes roaming her face as if for signs of tiredness.
Her hand went to a stray wisp that had loosened from her topknot when she removed her hat. She did not feel at her best. “Not at all.”
“Shall I advise Cook to set another place, Nicholas?” Gwen asked.
“I’m afraid not. You must excuse me. I have a dinner engagement this evening.” He crossed the marble floor to the door.
“But we shall see you tomorrow?” Gwen called after him.
He paused as Fellows opened the front door. “I’ll call on my return from Hyde Park at breakfast if you’ll permit my mode of dress.”
“Of course we will,” Gwen replied.
He bowed his head and walked down the steps into the rain.
How odd to feel so…abandoned. Carrie watched the coach pull away as Gwen, an arm around her, drew her to the stairs.
Chapter Thirteen
Nicholas left his valet fussing over his clothes, while his staff set about the task of getting his London house in order. Mounting a horse from the stables, he rode through the streets to the park gates at Hyde Park corner. The rain clouds had drifted away, the sky a watery pale blue. Despite the early hour, riders intent on a canter down Rotten Row and those wishing to promenade filed inside. A carriage entered to tool along the south Carriage Drive in search of acquaintances. As it neared him, a lady’s head appeared at the window. “My lord. Are you enjoying your stay in London?”
“Indeed.” Nicholas removed his hat and bowed in the saddle. “All the more pleasant for having met you, Mrs. Burrell.”
Lillian laughed. “Charmer. Shall we see you at the Fitzgibbons’ ball?”
“You shall. Will you save me a dance?”
“Certainly.” Her carriage, which had been held up by a green barouche, jolted forward.
The widow and he had enjoyed a brief affair last Season. She looked most attractive in a wide-brimmed hat lavishly adorned with feathers. He wondered briefly if he might… No, he could hardly treat her so casually by leaving again within a few days. It had not pleased her to end their arrangement, but she appeared to have forgiven him. He wondered why he had ended it when they suited each other so well. Then he recalled it was Max’s funeral which took him from London, and since then, he had rarely returned, only for a brief dinner with friends or a stint in the House of Lords.
Nicholas rode on, breathing in the scents of trees, grass, and the tang of horse manure on the breeze. The polluted city streets seemed far away. Ahead of him, Charles waited on his chestnut, its flanks gleaming gold in the sun, and beside him, Dominic Thorne, the Earl of Redcliffe, on a spirited black stallion, which tossed its head, taking a dislike to Charles’s horse.
Nicholas hailed them. He’d hoped for a private word with Charles. He’d had little chance when he’d dined with him and his duchess, Nellie, the previous evening. Instead, he had suffered Nellie’s probing about his love life. Why did his friends’ wives always want to see him leg-shackled? It left him bemused.
He admitted the journey to London enclosed in the coach for hours with Carrie had been pleasurable once she’d recovered her good humor. In such close quarters, despite his efforts to remain in his role as advisor, he found her entrancing. What man wouldn’t be charmed by such a delightful, beautiful, and quixotic young lady? Carrie could amuse one minute and challenge the next. It surprised him when she made him aware of her reservations about making her debut. Most young women would be thrilled. It might be a supreme test of his patience to find a gentleman who pleased her enough to marry, as Max had wished. But get her there, he would. And then wish her happy.
“Is that a thundercloud over your head, Nicholas?” Charles called.
“Looks about to burst,” Dominic observed with an appreciative grin. Nicholas eyed his friends. Charles was the epitome of a steady, married man, whilst Dominic looked like the fashionable, rakish fellow Nicholas knew him to be.
“No lady companion, Dominic?” Nicholas raised his brows and made a point of glancing at a group of ladies riding past them. Dominic rarely lacked female companionship.
“The lady awaits me at breakfast,” Dominic said with his ready smile. “She has instructed me to hurry.”
A widow or an opera dancer? If he’d had a torrid night, it hadn’t marked him. Dominic looked full of juice. Nicholas found himself more than a little envious. His love life had stalled alarmingly since he’d become a surrogate parent.
“You two fellows should get married,” Charles observed. “It is the supreme state for a man.”
Nicholas grinned. “If I were lucky enough to find a lady like Nellie, I would brave the parson’s mousetrap in a minute.”
Charles rode beside him toward Serpentine Road. “Nellie believes you have met someone.”
“Then her usual perspicacity has failed her,” Nicholas said.
“Out with it.” Dominic rode up to them. “Who is she? A diamond? Want to keep her to yourself?”
“I haven’t had time to seek women’s company,” Nicholas said shortly.
“No time for ladies?” Dominic’s green eyes widened. “Are you feeling well? Should we be concerned for you? Send for a physician?”
Nicholas chuckled. It wa
s good to be with friends. And they could always rely on Dominic to entertain them.
Dominic edged closer and peered at him. “Yes, decidedly pasty-faced, a definite need there. My lady might have a friend.”
With a laugh, Nicholas swung a sideways punch at him, which went wide of the mark when Dominic dodged it. “I’ll survive,” he yelled at him. “But will you?”
“You know what the cure is,” Dominic called from a safe distance while cocking an eyebrow. “Find yourself an amiable lady. It will work wonders for your sour demeanor.”
Charles had lagged but rode to join them. “Nicholas has two wards to raise, Dominic. That might have reduced his urges somewhat.”
“Leave my urges out of it, Charles,” Nicholas said with mock annoyance. It was not his intention to live like a monk. Perhaps he should delay his stay in London a day or more. Do as Dominic suggested? Seek some pleasant feminine company?
Dominic’s eyes widened. “I say. That would be sobering. What ages are these wards, Nicholas?”
Nicholas told him. “And I have the care of a young lady about to make her debut.”
“A debutante? I don’t envy you that.”
“Neither do I,” Charles said. “Nellie and I face that soon with Alice, Nellie’s younger sister.”
“Miss Leeming is sure to take,” Nicholas said. “She is a beautiful girl with a good deal of charm.”
Dominic emitted a low whistle. “Fetching, is she?”
Nicholas scowled at him. “Please raise your mind a little higher than where it ordinarily dwells.”
“He meant no harm, Nicholas,” Charles said mildly. “Dominic gives debutantes a wide berth.”
“I know. Forgive me, Dom.” Nicholas grew annoyed with himself. What was wrong with him of late? Had he lost that joy of life Dominic had in spades?
“It’s those match-minded mothers! Terrifying!” With a laugh, Dominic gave full rein to his horse, who had been champing at the bit. He rode down the Row, joined a group of ladies riding together, and soon had them giggling. He continued on, leaving them to gaze longingly after him.
“Don’t mind him. He’s full of high jinks today,” Charles said. “He leaves a host of broken hearts among the ton ladies by the end of each Season. But his appeal is such that they always forgive him.”
Nicholas agreed. “Has a good heart, Dom. Did you hear he gave Mrs. Gould three hundred pounds after her husband died and left her and her children in Dun territory? Found her somewhere to live, too.”
“She was his lover before she married Gould.”
“But a handsome gesture, nevertheless,” Nicholas said.
“Agreed. Few men would have bothered.”
They followed in a more sedate fashion so as not to cause the ire of a group of men of the cloth strolling along the path. One did not gallop in the Row. Unless one was Dominic—he could get away with almost anything. “He’ll meet his match one day,” Nicholas said hopefully.
“They all fawn on him, from widows to dowagers. But as he says, he gives a wide berth to the young women whose mothers have marriage on their minds because they consider him a catch. I agree, a woman will get through his defenses one day, and when that happens, I suspect he will fall hard. And you will, too, I might add.”
“I believe it would give you a great deal of pleasure.”
Charles chuckled. “Couldn’t happen to a nicer couple of fellows.”
Nicholas steadied his mount, which had become distracted by a wasp. “While we have a minute before that rambunctious fellow returns, I am hopeful you might advise me about Miss Leeming.”
“What about her?”
“I must find Caroline, Miss Leeming, a decent suitor, but the sticking point is she doesn’t seem to want one.”
Charles turned to him in surprise. “Miss Leeming doesn’t wish to marry?”
“She has been caring for her brother and sister since their father died. Her mother died some years before him. She does not wish to relinquish control of them to a husband.”
“Mm. So you’re looking for the right fellow? One to tempt her into marriage?”
“Yes.”
“You should have asked Nellie last evening. Women understand these things. Although we can judge if a fellow is honorable and if he is plump in the pocket, in matters of the heart, we are fairly clueless.”
“Well, I would have raised it with Nellie, but she ruthlessly focused on my single state.” He shrugged. “It was all I could do to distract her.”
Charles burst out laughing. “Well, she’ll never believe you wish to remain single in perpetuity. You managed rather well when you inquired about the children. Never fear, I shall ask her to find a suitor for Miss Leeming. She can confer with your sister at the Fitzgibbon ball.”
Nicholas nodded. “Perfect.” It lifted a weight from his shoulders, but he didn’t feel as relieved as he’d expected. He would not want the matter taken out of his hands.
An hour later, Nicholas left the horse with his groom and entered his sister’s townhouse. He found her and Carrie at breakfast but remained at the door, aware he smelled of horse.
Gwen put down the pear she was peeling. “Good morning. Have you had breakfast?” Beside her, Carrie smiled a welcome.
Pink suited redheads. Carrie should wear the color more often. “Good morning. I’m reluctant to join you in riding clothes.”
“Nonsense. You know we were practically brought up on horseback.” Gwen waved him to a chair. “Bring his lordship coffee, Gilbert.” Gwen chatted of her plans as the footman hurried to obey. “We are about to go to the modiste. A fitting for Carrie’s ballgown. The design is of the first stare.”
“I’m sure it will be beautiful,” he murmured, having little to contribute to conversations about a woman’s apparel. Carrie would look good in a potato sack, he thought, thanking the footman who placed a cup of coffee before him. One of his shirts perhaps, and nothing else. Where did that come from? He gulped the scalding coffee too fast and, swallowing hastily, pushed back his chair.
“What, no breakfast?” Gwen asked, surprised.
He selected a muffin from a plate piled with pastries on the sideboard. “Not very hungry. But thank you. I shall see you at the ball.”
Gwen frowned. “Won’t you come to dinner tonight? We should like your company. Wouldn’t we, Carrie?”
“Yes, please come.” Carrie had said little since he arrived. He found speculation in her eyes and wondered at it.
“Of course, delighted.”
Gwen rose. “I’ll see you to the door. There’s something I must tell you.”
“What is it?” Nicholas asked warily as the butler furnished him with his gloves, hat, and crop.
“You must lead Carrie out in the waltz. It matters not that she is almost twenty-one and older than most debutantes, for this is her first ball.”
“Her age won’t affect her chances of a good match. I’m sure her beauty will eclipse most of this year’s crop of debutantes. Unless there is a diamond among them I haven’t heard about. And Dominic would surely have mentioned her. Dear heaven, Gwen. What does it matter if she waltzes or not?”
“Hundreds of guests will attend the ball. It’s one of the most important of the Season. The waltz gives everyone a chance to see her, to admire her beauty and her grace.” Gwen took hold of his arm as he edged toward the door. “Surely you won’t let her down? It is important, Nick.”
Gwen used his nickname to great effect. Nicholas could only accept. He did so politely and went to retrieve his horse from the stable mews. He wanted to do his best for Carrie. But he expected waltzing with her would rouse some interest. He did not want his presence to dissuade men from pursuing her. Charles had mentioned word had already spread about Nicholas becoming guardian to Carrie’s sister and brother, so perhaps it would dampen any speculation. And after all, it was only a dance.
***
Gwen returned to the table and called for a fresh pot. “My brother is being difficult. I’m s
urprised. He is usually most obliging.”
Carrie buttered her toast. Did he not want to spend time with them? She had become too used to his attention, she supposed. After all, she had no claim on him. “Has he met no one he wished to marry?”
“Yes. A long time ago. She drowned.”
She dragged in a breath. “Oh, how sad!”
“Sylvia was very young. Her tragic death devastated him. Even now, I’m not sure he has gotten over it. After he’d finished his studies at Oxford, he joined the army. At the time, I feared he might not care if he lived or died, but when he returned, he was a different man. Calmer and more purposeful. He’d inherited the marquessate, and while grief-stricken at the further loss of his father and brother, he embraced it.”
“Like my father, Nicholas has a great knowledge of history. His research and writings take up a lot of his time. When I first met him, I sensed a deep sadness in him. But I wonder if writing books is enough to fill one’s life.”
Gwen patted her hand. “Nicholas believes it is. He has expressed his intention never to marry. But it’s my hope he might meet someone in London.”
Gwen was perceptive, Carrie thought. Had she given her feelings for him away?
“But I believe he is more content since the Leeming family came into his life,” Gwen said.
“I think that, too,” Carrie said. But was it just because of Bella and Jeremy? Or might Nicholas have a lady in mind? Her spirits sank. What if he married someone who demanded all his time? She suffered a bout of possessiveness as if Nicholas belonged to her and her siblings and no one else. While she admitted how unreasonable that was, she still worried. Would his wife become fond of Bella and Jeremy and treat them well? Or would she make their lives miserable?
***
The modiste’s elegant rooms, furnished with huge gilt-framed mirrors and swathes of royal blue velvet in the doorways, was a wonderful distraction from her thoughts. Her exquisite ballgown fitted her well, with only minor alterations required. She turned before the mirror. The embroidered muslin shimmered with silver thread, with a bow in front beneath the short bodice and dainty silk flowers around the hem. After fittings for a white and gold braided evening gown, a smart gray walking gown, and a sage brown pelisse, they left with the precious ballgown in its box, and purchased dancing slippers and accessories, a beaded reticule, evening wrap, and chicken-skin fan from the elegant shops in Regent Street.
Never Dance with a Marquess (The Never Series Book 2) Page 12