Lords of Misrule (Roundheads & Cavaliers Book 4)

by Stella Riley

  ‘Not me,’ he objected. ‘And of course, you never argue.’

  ‘No. I don’t.’

  ‘So what was all that about with Bryony yesterday?’ It had been the third time he’d escorted her to Botolph Lane and she and Bryony had spent at least twenty minutes wrangling amicably over baby names.

  ‘That was different.’

  ‘If you say so.’

  She eyed him sternly. ‘I do.’

  ‘Right.’ Nicholas took his last bite of pie and laid down his knife. Then, shaking his head, ‘Archibald? Really? Poor, poor child.’

  Phoebe giggled. ‘It could be a girl.’

  ‘One can but hope.’ He took a sip of wine and then said, ‘Do you still want to visit the lorinery?’

  ‘Yes!’ She’d been trying to persuade him for days. ‘Can I?’

  ‘Tomorrow. I’ll come for you around noon. But don’t wear your best gown.’

  ‘As if I would.’ Phoebe beamed at him and got an answering smile in return. ‘Thank you.’

  At the other end of the table, Verity came abruptly to her feet.

  ‘I’ll start clearing for the puddings, Annis.’

  ‘You don’t need to. Polly will do it.’

  ‘No – I’d rather.’ And she began gathering platters and dishes.

  Aubrey also rose. ‘Let me help.’

  ‘No! That is – thank you but I can manage.’

  ‘Verity,’ said Annis gently. ‘Let him.’

  Aubrey picked up the massive meat platter and followed the girl into the kitchen.

  Annis and Venetia exchanged glances.

  ‘He should kiss her,’ murmured Venetia. ‘Then they might both stop being miserable.’

  ‘And what a mercy that would be,’ sighed Annis.

  Later, when the meal was over and everyone had risen from the table, Colonel Maxwell bore Nicholas off into the hall for a few very direct words. Then, pouring two glasses of wine, he carried one to Lydia and said, ‘I’ve told Nick to resolve the situation with Verity at the first opportunity. Letting it drag on isn’t fair to either her or Phoebe – if that’s where his interest truly lies. Or your brother either, come to that. Though to be honest, I can only admire Aubrey’s fortitude. Faced with a girl who mopes with such dedication, most men – myself included – would have abandoned the chase weeks ago.’

  An elusive smile crept into Lydia’s eyes.

  ‘Did you talk to Nicholas by way of a peace offering?’

  ‘I won’t deny that the idea had occurred to me. Did it work?’

  ‘It didn’t need to. I wasn’t still angry.’

  The hazel gaze grew suddenly serious.

  ‘Yes,’ said Eden. ‘You were. And rightly so.’

  ~ * * ~ * * ~

  TWO

  Nicholas didn’t sleep very well and got up with a lead weight in his chest at the thought of what had to be done.

  ‘Everybody’s sick of watching Verity eat her heart out over you – so do the girl a favour and tell her what you told me,’ Eden had said bluntly. ‘This has gone on long enough.’

  Hell, thought Nicholas dismally. He’s right … but it’s going to be awful.

  Suspecting that if he ate anything it wasn’t likely to stay down, he set off for Shoreditch as soon as he was dressed and, walking in through the back door, found Annis in the kitchen conferring with her cook. Although she smiled at him, her brows rose a little and she said, ‘If you were looking for Jack, you’ve just missed him.’

  He shook his head.

  ‘I came to see Verity. I – I need to speak with her privately.’

  ‘Ah.’ Annis’s gaze sharpened but she merely nodded and said, ‘Wait in the front parlour and I’ll find her for you. And Nick … I’ll be here afterwards, if you need me.’

  He swallowed. ‘That would be kind. Thank you.’

  While he waited, he stared sightlessly through the window and tried to find the words he needed. They wouldn’t come. Then hearing the rustle of Verity’s skirts as she entered the room, he turned and tried to smile. Judging by the uncertain look in her eyes, he was making a poor job of it.

  She said, ‘Nicholas? Is something wrong?’

  ‘No. That is – not exactly.’ He hesitated and then, gesturing to the settle by the hearth, ‘Will you sit down? There’s something we need to talk about.’

  Verity sat down leaving space for him to sit beside her.

  He didn’t. Instead, frowning down at his boots, he said, ‘I’m not sure how to begin – except by saying that we should have had this conversation some time ago. Not that it’s your fault we didn’t,’ he added quickly. ‘It was up to me to raise the subject, not you. And I ought to have done so as soon as I realised how I … how matters stood.’ Only I hoped I wouldn’t need to. I hoped it would resolve itself on its own. ‘I delayed because I thought I might be mistaken in – in your feelings.’

  A hint of colour crept up under her skin and the uncertain expression changed to one of confusion mingled with a tiny glimmer of hope.

  She said softly, ‘Oh. Do you think you were?’

  No, more’s the pity. And please don’t look at me like that.

  ‘No. It seems not.’ Nicholas drew a bracing breath, loosed it and then said rapidly, ‘You know how grateful I am for what you did for me at Worcester. And you also know that I’m very fond of you. But if you thought … if I’ve given the impression that one day fondness might become something more, then I – I was at fault and I’m more sorry than I can say.’

  Verity stared at him as if he’d spoken in a foreign language. Then she whispered, ‘I don’t think I – I quite understand.’

  Christ. Do I really have to spell it out?

  ‘I’m saying that I care for you but – but not in the way I would hope to care for my wife. I’m sorry.’

  The colour drained slowly from her cheeks and the brown eyes were suddenly luminous with tears. She said, ‘I can wait. I don’t mind waiting.’

  ‘Then you should,’ he said bitterly. ‘I certainly mind for you.’

  ‘You needn’t. I understand that you’re not ready to marry yet. But in time that will change and then --’

  ‘It may change – or it may not.’ He clenched his hand at his side and added, ‘The thing that won’t change is the fact that you’re like my sister. I know that isn’t --’

  ‘Your sister?’ She stood up and took a step towards him. ‘No. You don’t mean it.’

  ‘Yes, Verity. I do.’

  ‘You don’t. You can’t.’ She hurled herself at him and grabbed the front of his coat. Then, when he merely stood very still, saying nothing, ‘But I love you. I’ve always loved you! Right from the very first. I – I thought you knew that.’

  I did. God damn it – I did know it. I just tried not to believe it.

  He put a comforting arm about her waist and guided her back to the settle. The tears were coming in earnest now and he didn’t know how to stop them. His own throat felt raw and his stomach was in knots. When she subsided on to his shoulder, he said desperately, ‘It’s not the end of the world, you know. And you can do better than me … such as a fellow with two arms to put round you.’

  ‘I don’t care about that,’ she sobbed. ‘I don’t care!’

  ‘One day you will. When you meet --’

  She sat up and pushed away from him. ‘It’s Ph-Phoebe Clifford. Isn’t it?’

  Since his arm was now free, he took the opportunity to pull out a handkerchief and put it into her hand whilst simultaneously taking a second to think. Then, because he wasn’t sure of the truthful answer, he said carefully, ‘No … and that’s not what this is about. I don’t want you to go on hoping for something that isn’t going to happen. I want you to be happy. And you won’t be as long as you sit around waiting for me.’

  Verity mopped her face. Falling silent for a time, she stared down at the damp linen between her fingers. And finally she said dully, ‘You never promised me anything. I know that. But I truly thought that one d
ay …’

  ‘I know. And I’m very sorry.’

  ‘Yes. You said.’ She stood up and turned away from him. ‘That doesn’t stop it hurting.’

  ‘No. I know that too.’ Nicholas also rose, unsure what to do. ‘Perhaps I should go?’

  ‘Yes.’ Her voice was thick with tears and hopelessness. ‘Go. You might as well.’

  * * *

  Although he was grateful that the ordeal was behind him, Nicholas arrived at Duck Lane still feeling less than cheerful and wishing he hadn’t promised to go and fetch Phoebe. But, since he had, he exchanged a few words with Mr Potter and then walked down to Paul’s Wharf to take a boat as far as Suffolk House.

  It was perhaps fortunate that after being admitted to the house near the Tiltyard, the first person he saw was Rosie. Instantly, her small face lit up and she cried, ‘Uncle Nick!’

  It was impossible not to smile back and, as he always did, drop down for her to climb on to his knee, so he could scoop her up into his arm.

  ‘And how is my best girl today?’

  ‘Upstairs getting her cloak.’

  The child’s assumption gave him a jolt but he managed a weak laugh and said, ‘I thought you were my best girl.’

  She snuggled against his neck. ‘Where are you and Aunt Phoebe going?’

  ‘We’re going,’ announced Phoebe, pulling on her gloves as she descended the stairs, ‘to see some men who used to be soldiers. And no – you can’t come.’

  ‘Why can’t I? I’ll be good.’

  ‘I know that, darling. But it’s not really a place for little girls.’

  ‘Also,’ remarked Venetia, from the parlour door, ‘you promised to help Betty make fruit tarts this morning.’

  ‘Oh. I forgot.’ The child turned back to Nicholas and said, ‘Can I come another day?’

  ‘Perhaps,’ he replied, dropping a quick kiss on the silver-fair curls before setting her back on her feet. ‘If your father says it’s all right.’

  ‘Good.’ Rosie nodded and ran happily away to the kitchen.

  His smile instantly becoming more forced, Nicholas turned to Phoebe and said, ‘Shall we go? The tide’s about to turn and the boat-man won’t want to miss it.’

  Once they were settled in the boat and on their way downstream, Phoebe said bluntly, ‘What’s the matter?’

  His nerves snarled.

  ‘With me? Nothing. What makes you think there is?’

  ‘I’ve got eyes,’ she replied. ‘But you don’t have to say if you don’t want to.’

  Suddenly, contrarily, Nicholas realised that he did want to tell her at least part of it.

  ‘I had to hurt someone’s feelings this morning and it was … difficult.’

  ‘Oh.’ Phoebe picked at the cuff of her glove. ‘Like saying no when the person wants you to say yes?’

  Nicholas’s gaze sharpened ‘Yes. Rather like that.’

  ‘Horrible, isn’t it? If you’re kind and tactful, they don’t think you mean it. So you have to be blunt and it leaves you all churned up inside.’

  ‘Yes. That’s exactly it. I didn’t do it well because I hated doing it at all.’

  For a moment or two, silence punctuated only by the usual sounds of the river, fell between them. Then Phoebe said abruptly, ‘Five men have asked me to marry them so far. All perfectly nice men in their way except that I don’t think any of them cared a fig for me.’

  Her matter-of-fact tone stirred something inside Nicholas’s chest. He said, ‘Their loss, then. And you can’t marry a fellow who doesn’t look beyond the end of his nose, can you?’

  ‘That’s a very kind way of putting it,’ said Phoebe with the merest suggestion of a sigh. ‘However, the truth is that they looked but didn’t find the view all that inspiring.’ And then, as if deciding she’d said too much, ‘Ah. We’re nearly there. Are you sure the men at the lorinery won’t mind me visiting?’

  ‘They’ll enjoy it.’ Nicholas grinned at her. ‘The truth is that they’d have enjoyed Rosie, too. But it might be best not to tell her that.’

  Two hours later, he stood at the side of the work-room with Mr Potter and watched Phoebe sitting at a bench and chattering happily with Will Collis as she tried to fit a bridle together. During the time she’d been there, she’d made a complete circuit of the room and talked to every man in it. She’d bubbled over with questions about their work and their families; and she’d listened and smiled that wide, genuinely friendly smile and cared.

  ‘You know … I wasn’t sure about bringing her.’

  ‘Glad you did, sir,’ said Mr Potter. ‘Breath of fresh air, she is.’

  ‘Yes. Isn’t she?’

  Nicholas pushed the thought and what it suggested aside and instead listened to Phoebe telling Mr Collis that her niece had wanted to come with her.

  ‘Colonel Brandon’s daughter, you know. I wish now that I’d let her.’

  ‘Best not, Miss. This is no place for a little ’un – and us with all our injuries. Give her nightmares, it would.’

  She shook her head. ‘Rosie’s an odd little thing. She wants to make everyone better. And even when she knows it isn’t possible, she still tries.’

  Rather like her aunt, thought Nicholas. And put that thought aside as well.

  It was when he was escorting her home again that she said, ‘Thank you for today.’

  ‘I’m glad you enjoyed it.’

  ‘I did. Very much.’ Almost as much as I liked watching you laughing with the men and joining in their work … or sitting with Sam over a tankard of ale … or being so heart-wrenchingly sweet with Rosie. In fact, I like you altogether too much. And suspect I’m going to miss you. The last thought bred another and, on a slight sigh, she said, ‘Venetia and I ought to think about going home.’

  ‘Oh.’ A hollow feeling settled in his chest. ‘Soon?’

  She nodded. ‘We’ve been away nearly two months and, though we both have excellent land stewards, there’ll be decisions to be made. Obviously, Gabriel will be here as long as Parliament sits … but he’ll feel better about that if Venetia is at Brandon Lacey dealing with day-to-day matters.’

  ‘Of course.’ In order to avoid saying something he thought he shouldn’t, he said, ‘Tell me about your home and how your time is spent there. It sounds interesting.’

  ‘That’s one way of describing it,’ laughed Phoebe. And launched into an animated account of life at Ford Edge which lasted them all the way back to the Tiltyard.

  * * *

  While her sister was in Duck Lane with Sir Nicholas, Venetia sent a note to Annis Morrell suggesting an hour in the Exchange and received a regretful refusal. Verity, wrote Annis despairingly, is still in floods of tears.

  Venetia eyed the note thoughtfully and decided it would serve as an excuse to call on Lydia Neville. Smiling to herself, she summoned a chair.

  Lydia, wearing her oldest gown while she toiled over the lorinery ledgers, entertained a fleeting wish she’d had some warning and then forgot about it when, almost before the parlour door had closed behind her, Venetia said, ‘Annis says that Nicholas has finally put an end to Verity’s expectations.’

  ‘Already?’

  ‘You knew he was going to?’

  ‘No. Not exactly. But Colonel Maxwell had a word with him about it last night.’

  ‘Successfully, it would seem.’ Venetia set aside her gloves and considered asking Lydia why she persisted in referring to Eden formally when it was clear that the two of them knew each other better than might have been supposed. Then, deciding to work round to that, she said instead, ‘Nicholas has taken Phoebe to your lorinery this morning. And I’d hope that, by the time he brings her home again, he’ll be looking a little less bleak.’

  A tap at the door heralded Nancy with a tray of wine and small cakes. When she had gone, Lydia said carefully, ‘Would you mind if I asked you something?’

  ‘Not at all – so long as it’s reciprocal.’

  ‘How well do you know Colonel Maxwell’s fam
ily? He rarely mentions them.’

  Refraining from asking why Lydia wanted to know, Venetia shrugged.

  ‘I’ve met them all but Kate’s the one I know best. She was betrothed to my brother for a time until the man she eventually married took a hand and the arrangement was terminated. Then Kit died and I … well, truthfully, I found it hard to forgive her for sending him back to the war, hurt and angry. But these things pass and now we correspond on a regular basis.’

  ‘She’s married to an Italian gentleman?’

  ‘Luciano del Santi. Yes. Now there’s the kind of man you don’t meet every day. Clever, skilled, ruthless – and sinfully good-looking. Not to mention being disgustingly rich and, I suspect, rather powerful.’

  ‘He sounds … formidable.’

  ‘He is. But he and Kate don’t travel to England very often. The last time I saw them was six years ago at Toby’s twin sister’s wedding.’ She smiled and appeared to concentrate on choosing a cake. ‘So I imagine the next time will likely be at Eden’s.’

  ‘He says he won’t re-marry,’ blurted out Lydia. And immediately regretted it.

  Venetia licked some sugar from her fingers.

  ‘He’s been saying that for years. If you ask me, it’s become a habit he doesn’t know how to break. But if a woman wanted to take a little trouble … well, I don’t imagine it would be too difficult to rid him of it.’

  There was a long silence broken only by the crackling of the fire and a knife-grinder crying his trade in the street outside. Finally and with a good deal of trepidation, Lydia said baldly, ‘You mean me, don’t you?’

  ‘Yes.’ The lovely eyes were suddenly alarmingly direct. ‘You like him, don’t you?’

  ‘Yes. But --’

  ‘More than like him, unless I’m much mistaken.’

  ‘Perhaps. But that --’

  ‘Good. And it must be mutual – or he wouldn’t be telling you things he’s avoided talking about to anyone else. So why on earth don’t you stop calling him Colonel Maxwell and start making him sit up and take notice? You’re a widow. You’re free to re-marry … or follow any other inclination you may have.’