Nicholas

by Cheryl Holt

  “You’re correct,” she submissively concurred. “I couldn’t speak to Oscar about it.”

  “Precisely.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “I’m not. My daughter has been hiding in the shadows all her life. She’s never belonged anywhere—just as I have never belonged. I’m bringing her to Stafford, and when I do, I intend to find her a mother.”

  “You’re going to wed?”

  “Yes, and it will be someone with a spine, someone who will be proud to be Annie’s parent. I need a woman who’s tough, who isn’t afraid of a few small-town snobs who see scandal behind every bush. My daughter deserves nothing less.”

  “Too true.”

  She gazed at the floor again, feeling petty and small.

  Apparently, during their brief, torrid affair, he’d been judging her, but she’d failed miserably. It was humbling to realize that he might have wed her—if she’d been a different kind of person. Had she evinced the slightest hint of staunch character, he’d have proposed in an instant.

  He was studying her, as if waiting for her to defend her cowardice, but she had no comment. His derogatory opinion was valid, and it was silly to argue about it.

  “Will there be anything else?” he finally asked.

  “No.”

  “Goodbye then. I hope you’ll wish me well in my travels.”

  She frowned. “Are you leaving?”

  “With my brother in the morning.”

  “I thought you were staying for the next month, until your furlough was ended.”

  “I’ve decided there’s no reason to stay.” He paused, watching her. “Is there?”

  “No, I don’t suppose there is.”

  He sighed, as if she’d supplied the wrong answer. What did the blasted man want? What did he expect from her? He’d been very clear: He was looking for an Amazon warrior and she was a timid mouse.

  “Goodbye,” he said again.

  “Goodbye.”

  She started up the stairs so he wouldn’t see the tears dripping down her cheeks. She refused to give him further cause to bark and chastise.

  “Would you like me to have a carriage prepared?” he called. “I could drive you home.”

  “There’s no need. I can find my own way.”

  She hurried out and ran to the lane. She was so distraught that she’d lost the impulse for stealth. She didn’t care if she was observed, didn’t care if she had to explain where she’d been.

  Her heart broken, her humiliation vast, she kept going as fast as she was able. She didn’t stop until she was locked in her empty bedroom in Oscar’s quiet house. Her lonely future stretched before her like the road to Hades.

  Chapter Eighteen

  “Have you seen your sister?”

  The twins were sitting on the stairs, looking as glum as Nicholas felt.

  “I think she’s up in her bedchamber,” Nan said.

  Nicholas had just been there but hadn’t stumbled on her. He’d been searching for her since the previous day, since she’d witnessed Veronica kissing him. He hadn’t located her, and no one else had, either. Veronica had continued on to her house party, but Emeline remained in hiding.

  She hadn’t come down for tea or supper. She hadn’t slept in her bed. Breakfast was over, but she hadn’t eaten.

  In a few minutes, he and his brother were heading for London, but he couldn’t go until he’d spoken to her.

  Over the weeks that he’d dallied with Emeline, it had been easy to pretend that Veronica and his betrothal weren’t real. But in a fleet moment, her arrival had shattered the fantasy.

  He’d tried to warn Emeline that she shouldn’t grow fond of him, but he hadn’t tried very hard. He’d relished her affection, and he’d encouraged her when he shouldn’t have.

  At being confronted with how he’d deceived her, he was mortified by his contemptible conduct. He had to fix what he’d done, but he wasn’t sure how.

  He wasn’t an erudite man. What words could possibly smooth over his horrid betrayal? And it was a betrayal; he couldn’t persuade himself that it wasn’t.

  “Would you girls check her room for me?” he asked. “I stopped by a bit ago, but she wasn’t there. Maybe she’s returned by now.”

  They stared at him but didn’t move.

  “Are you two fighting?” Nell inquired.

  “No,” he scoffed. “Why would you think that?”

  “Emeline is very sad, and we don’t know why.”

  “You’ve talked to her this morning?”

  “Yes.”

  He was so relieved! He’d been afraid that something might have happened to her. Yet he couldn’t run around, demanding information as to her whereabouts. He was supposed to simply be her boss, with no deeper connection.

  “I’m glad you’ve seen her,” he said. “I was getting worried.”

  “She told us that we’re leaving Stafford, but we don’t want to go.”

  “You’re not leaving,” he insisted. “You’re staying right here. She’s being silly.”

  They kept staring at him, and their big green eyes—Em’s green eyes—made him fidget with guilt. He nodded toward the upper floors. “Find her for me. I haven’t had any luck. Tell her I’ll be in the library.”

  They trudged off, and he watched them climb the stairs, then he spun and went to the library to wait for her.

  It was only nine o’clock but, needing to quell the shaking of his hands, he poured himself a brandy and downed it in a quick gulp.

  He never examined his behavior or fretted over his motives. He barged through the world, positive of his goals and confident of his place in it, but now, he was questioning everything.

  Why had he forged ahead with her? Why had he proceeded when he’d known that there would be a bad end? Why had he hurt her?

  He was so fond of Emeline, and he felt so close to her. He liked that they were friends, that they had bonded in a fashion he never had with another. For once, he was ashamed of himself, and remorse was eating him alive.

  Boot steps sounded in the hall, and his brother peeked in.

  Stephen had abruptly decided to return to London, and Nicholas had no idea why. In light of Nicholas’s maudlin mood, he was eager for the company.

  “The horses are ready,” Stephen said. “Let’s go.”

  “I still have to talk to Miss Wilson.”

  “You haven’t yet?”

  “No.”

  “Oh, for pity’s sake,” Stephen grumbled. “Make it fast. Make it blunt. I don’t want her languishing, assuming you’ll change your mind. She’s a romantic at heart. She has to understand that you’re a complete ass and will never renege on your engagement.”

  “Don’t tell me how to handle this.”

  “Someone should.”

  “And that would be you?” Nicholas snidely retorted.

  “Yes. So far, you’ve done nothing but spread chaos and confusion. Clean up after yourself. Have mercy on her. Cut your ties. Be brutal if you have to, but finish it.”

  “I will, I will.”

  Stephen scowled, convinced that Nicholas wasn’t wise enough to say what needed to be said, and Nicholas himself wasn’t certain if he was up to the task. He’d harmed Emeline in so many ways, and there was no recompense that could repair the damage he’d inflicted.

  Ultimately, Stephen shrugged. “I’ll check the horses. Don’t dawdle. I want to get out of here.”

  He stomped off, and Nicholas sat, brooding and alone. He gazed out the window, at the manicured park stretching to infinity, the woods and rolling hills off in the distance.

  There was a peaceful ambiance to the estate that he enjoyed, and he had to admit that—when he was mired in the hectic city, then his hectic army camp—he would miss the slow serenity.

  Out in the hall, strides echoed again. They were a female’s softer tread, and he would recognize them anywhere.

  Suddenly panicked, he rushed to the sideboard for a second shot of liquid courage. Then he seated himself
behind the large desk.

  She entered, looking beleaguered, as if she’d fought a battle and lost. She was very pale, and she appeared smaller, as if his duplicity had shrunk her. Or perhaps—on learning of what a treacherous bastard he was—some of her vitality had drifted away.

  They stared and stared, and obviously, she expected him to begin. He’d planned out exactly what he’d tell her, but with her arrival, his speech seemed frivolous and wrong. He couldn’t start.

  “You asked to speak with me, Lord Stafford?” she finally inquired.

  “Please come in.”

  He pointed to the chair across, and she walked over and sat.

  As he studied her, it occurred to him that this might be the last time he ever saw her. There was a sharp pain in the center of his chest, but he ignored it.

  “We don’t have to be so formal, do we?” he said. “Call me Nicholas.”

  “What did you want?” she coldly replied, and he sighed with regret.

  The distance she was determined to impose was probably for the best, but it didn’t mean he had to like it.

  “Are you all right?” he queried.

  “Of course. Why wouldn’t I be?”

  “I just want you to know how sorry I am that I—”

  She cut him off. “I’m very busy today. Was there something you needed?”

  “Let me apologize.”

  “I’d rather you didn’t.”

  He fumbled with the ink jar, tapped his fingers on the desktop, then pathetically mumbled, “I should have told you about her, but I couldn’t figure out how.”

  “I can’t imagine to whom you’re referring.”

  “I hurt you when I was—”

  “Are we finished?”

  She stood, too incensed to listen, but he was desperate for her to understand the fiasco from his perspective.

  He was perplexed over Veronica, why she’d grabbed him, why she’d kissed him. They were scarcely acquainted, and he’d been stunned by her bold conduct.

  Where once he might have welcomed what she was offering and taken more than he should, he hadn’t been interested. Stupid though it was, he’d felt as if he was…cheating on Emeline.

  The entire morning as he and Veronica had strolled through the house, she’d chattered away, but Nicholas hadn’t a clue as to her topics of conversation. He’d been too preoccupied over what Stephen might be saying to Emeline.

  Stephen had hustled her away to explain the situation, and he hadn’t sugarcoated it. Any affection she’d possessed had been drummed out of her by a harsh application of the truth.

  But what had Nicholas expected?

  Emeline was an idealist and optimist, who saw the best in everyone and who worked to make the world a better place. She asked him for boons—but for the benefit of others. She presumed on his generosity—but for the sake of those less fortunate than her.

  She was decent and honorable, and he’d been redeemed by their relationship. How typical that he would wreck it.

  He gestured to her chair again. “Sit down.”

  “I must be going.”

  “Emeline—”

  “I would appreciate it if you’d call me Miss Wilson.”

  She was prepared to storm out, but he couldn’t let her before he imparted the news he was so eager to share.

  There was one thing she wanted more than anything, one gift he could bestow that would solve all her problems. By his doing so, perhaps—just perhaps—she would eventually realize that he’d cared about her, despite how badly he’d behaved.

  He tried to smile, hoping to alleviate some of the tension between them, but cordiality was impossible, and he gave up.

  “I’ve made some arrangements for you,” he said.

  She eased herself down. “Your brother already informed me. We’re to be hidden away in a room over the blacksmith’s barn.” She flashed a glare so full of loathing that she could have stabbed him with it.

  “He told you that?”

  “Yes.”

  “It’s not what I requested.”

  “Shortly after, we’re to leave Stafford—as soon as he can find us somewhere else to live. Heaven forbid that we remain here where our presence might upset the earl’s bride.”

  His temper flared. “Those were never my instructions.”

  “Weren’t they? What did you expect then? Were we to continue on at the manor until you came back a married man?”

  “I hadn’t planned that far ahead.”

  “Maybe your wife and I could become friends, although we don’t have much in common. I’d have to develop an interest in baubles and frippery before we could communicate.”

  His cheeks flamed with chagrin. “I guess I deserved that.”

  “Do you imagine you’ll be happy with her?”

  “Happy enough, I suppose. I hadn’t actually thought about it.”

  “You’ve probably been too busy, learning about the estate and all.”

  “Em, I wish you would—”

  She held up a hand, as if fending him off. “I’m sorry, but I don’t know how to have this discussion, and I refuse to bicker. Is there a point you’re trying to make?”

  “Yes, there is. You’ve been anxious to restart your father’s school, and I’ve decided to let you.”

  He’d been on pins and needles, assuming the announcement would please her, that she might even thank him, but she evinced no reaction, at all. He stumbled to regroup.

  “I own a house in the village,” he said, “and the tenants will be out on the fifteenth.” When she didn’t comment, he added, “That’s in two weeks.”

  “So it is.”

  “It’s a fine residence, in solid condition. It’s furnished, too. You and the twins will live in the main section, and you’ll use the extra parlor for your schoolroom.” He paused. Still no reaction. “I’ve spoken to Mr. Mason about it. He’ll order any supplies, and you’re to have an unlimited budget. Whatever you need, I intend for you to have it.”

  She assessed him as if he was babbling in a foreign language. “You mentioned,” she said, “that we’d move in two weeks. Where would we stay in the meantime?”

  “Here at the manor.”

  A fleeting smile crossed her lips, then vanished. He frowned, struggling to deduce what it indicated.

  Was she glad? Was she excited? Why wasn’t she oozing with enthusiasm?

  Why didn’t she say something?

  “You won’t pay any rent,” he advised, “in case you were wondering.”

  “I wasn’t wondering.”

  “Part of your salary will be your lodgings—that being the house. I’ll grant you a monthly stipend, too, enough to hire a cook and a servant. Mr. Mason will deliver your wages on the first of each month.”

  “Mr. Mason will?”

  “Yes.”

  That mysterious smile flitted by again.

  “He’ll do it, Em,” he insisted. “I realize you’ve had some issues with him in the past, but he understands that this project is important to me. You’ll have his full cooperation.”

  “Then I’m certain it will be a huge success.”

  “I’m certain it will be, too.” He scowled. “So…are you happy about this? I thought you would be.”

  “I’m absolutely ecstatic.” She was so indifferent that she might have been a marble statue.

  “Well…I’m…ah…relieved to hear it.”

  Their discussion was concluded, and he knew he should get up leave, but he couldn’t. Something was wrong. He had the distinct impression that he hadn’t communicated his objectives very clearly, and he was baffled by her apathy.

  He was making amends. She comprehended that fact, didn’t she? This was his penance, his atonement. She wasn’t being cast out on the road, and he wasn’t abandoning her. He was providing for her financially so she would never again have to fret over money or shelter. She’d be able to support her sisters. She’d be employed at a job she loved.

  Yet she gave no sign that she viewe
d any of it as a benefit.

  Blasted woman!

  “I have to go,” he said.

  “Yes, you do.” She rose. “Thank you for conferring with me.”

  “I’ll miss you,” he poignantly told her.

  “I doubt it.”

  “I will. I’m glad we met.”

  “Your brother is waiting.”

  He nodded, his pulse pounding with distress. “Goodbye.”

  “Goodbye to you, and good luck with your marriage. I hope matrimony brings you exactly what you deserve.”

  At the sly insult, he snorted. “I’m sure it will.”

  She started out, and he suffered the worst moment of panic.

  When she filled him with such joy and contentment, why would he split with her? Why would he choose London and a life that offered no satisfaction at all?

  The questions roiled through him, but he shook them off. He knew why he was headed for London. He was off to wed Veronica, and he had no desire to change his path. Not for anyone.

  Still, as she stepped into the hall, he frantically called, “Em?”

  She whipped around and retorted, “It’s Miss Wilson to you.”

  Then she was gone, and it was over.

  Emeline hovered in the window seat in her bedchamber. If she wedged herself into the corner, she could see the stable. Two horses were saddled, ready for a journey. Mr. Price was mounted on one of them, which meant the earl was about to appear.

  She was determined to watch him leave. It seemed necessary, like lancing a boil or cauterizing a wound.

  She supposed she should be weeping, but she was too numb for sentiment. Her heart was broken, and she couldn’t catch her breath. Her bones ached, and she was terribly feverish, as if coming down with a fatal ague.

  How much misery could a human being endure? How much despair could be heaped on a person before she simply collapsed under the weight?

  A vision flashed, of him sitting at his fancy desk, tossing her a few crumbs of remuneration, and her blood boiled with fury.

  It had been pointless to meet with him, but curiosity had goaded her into it. She hadn’t felt strong enough to face him, but she’d convinced herself there was no way he could injure her further.