Nick
Ten minutes and a large whisky later, he added a postscript.
P.S. Not that I will, because I won't.
That night, Sarah gave him his answer in a most unexpected manner. When Nick adjourned to his bedchamber, he found his wife seated in one of two wing chairs pulled up in front of the fireplace. On the table between the chairs sat two glasses of milk and a plate of sweets.
"Hello, Nick," she said. "I think it's time we had a talk."
A bride should carry love letters from her groom to their wedding to ensure good luck.
Chapter 16
Sarah held herself totally still as Nick approached the fireplace. Inside, she trembled like a willow in a gale.
"Good evening, Sarah." Nick loosened his necktie as he stepped toward the wardrobe against the far wall. His gaze landed somewhere over her shoulder as he added, "I appreciate the thought of refreshments, but I'm tired tonight. Maybe we could chat in the morning?"
"This isn't a chat, it's a talk," she insisted. "I want to have it now."
Grimacing, he muttered something that sounded like, "Wish someone had broken my fingers."
"Sit down and have a glass of milk."
Sulking like a boy, he stripped off his jacket, tugged off his tie, yanked out his cuff links, then sprawled in the chair. If he'd shouted his lack of desire to speak with her this evening, he couldn't have been more clear.
Silently, Sarah handed him his glass of milk. He slugged it back as if it were Rowanclere Malt, then stared glumly into the fire.
Sarah chose a shortbread cookie from the tray, took a dainty bite, then said, "I want to talk about the Pillow Book."
"I don't."
"You asked me questions, and I think it's time we answered them."
"No, Sarah, don't pay any attention to the last entry. I don't know what I was thinking. I was in a strange frame of mind."
She finished her cookie, sipped her milk, then said, "For weeks now, you have used those letters as tools of seduction, very effective tools, I might add. But tonight's letter is different, Nick. This one breaks my heart."
Though he remained slouched, she sensed a sudden tension in him. He didn't say anything, but still the question hovered in the air between them: Why?
"Because I honestly don't know the answers to the questions you asked me, Nick. I've never been so confused in my life."
Leaning forward, he propped his elbows on his knees and stared into the flickering flames. A weary sadness settled onto his face.
Sarah wanted to reach out, to brush the errant lock of hair off his brow. To comfort him because in doing so, she would find comfort herself. Instead, she sipped her milk and said, "You asked if my life would have been better had we never married. Who is to know the answer to that? I do know I'm happy with my life in Fort Worth. I love my work and I have wonderful friends."
After a moment of silence, Nick cleared his throat. "You're by yourself. You have no family."
A lump formed in Sarah's throat. She had to swallow it before she spoke. "Since Mother remarried, she lives elsewhere, so yes, I am alone quite often. I do regret not having a family of my own. I am envious of my friends who have a husband and children to fill their lives."
Nick kept his gaze on the fire. In a rough, soft voice, he asked, "So what stopped you from finding that for yourself? What stopped you from securing the annulment years ago? You could have had your husband and babies by now." He paused and shifted his feet "I met Chambers today. He made it perfectly clear that he was a volunteer for the job."
Sarah took a long time to answer. "I didn't want Trevor, Nick. For a long time, I wanted you."
He closed his eyes as if absorbing a blow. "And now?"
Now, she wanted to avoid the answer. She gave a little laugh. "For the first five or six years, you were the perfect husband, Nick. You were absent. I was able to bill myself as Lady Innsbruck and build my business. Some potential clients didn't believe that an unhappily married woman could possibly arrange a brilliant wedding, so I created a fantasy life that you and I shared. You were a secret agent and I—"
"What?"
Now she laughed with true amusement. "At least twice a year I took a holiday and traveled to New Orleans. I shopped and dined and had an altogether lovely time. Then I returned home with stories of my romantic interlude with Lord Innsbruck who was on leave from his most recent mission."
"Why, you little liar," Nick said, one corner of his mouth lifting slightly in a faint grin.
"Yes, I'm quite good. I might publish a book of such stories some day."
The mood turned serious once more. "So is that what you want, Sarah? A fantasy husband?"
"No." She could say that with certainty. "I do want children."
Now, for the first time, he looked at her. "I would give you children."
"I know you would, Nick. And, to be honest, you're the only man in my life right now who I would want to give me babies. But that doesn't answer the question of whether you should be the father of my babies."
A hint of defense entered his tone. "I love children."
"I know you do. You're a wonderful family man." Troubled, Sarah searched for words to convey the feelings running through her. Her own confusion didn't make the task easier. "But Nick, your oldest son will be born an earl. Your children will be Englishmen. I am not at all certain that's what I want for my babies. I don't know that I'm ready to live in a place where a woman's main concern is whether to wear butterflies or a bird's nest on her hat."
He scowled and turned his attention back to the fire. "And women don't worry about such details in Texas?"
"Of course they do. But it's different here. I'm different here. I like the woman I am when I'm in Texas. I'm strong and confident and sure of myself Here I'm... not. With you, I'm not. I don't know who I am when I'm with you, Nick."
Silence stretched between them. He held himself so still she could barely see him breathe. She tried again. "You identified the problem perfectly in this morning's letter. I am afraid. I know that. I don't know if that will ever change."
She inhaled a deep breath, then exhaled on a sigh. "What I don't know is whether or not I can make that cut you mentioned. I love the pretty pink stones. Do I really need a brilliant ruby?"
Then he moved, twisting his head sharply to shoot her a hard, glittering look. "Aye, you do. You shouldn't settle, Sarah. Whether it's with me or someone else, you damned well should reach for the jewel."
"Maybe so, but it needs to be the right jewel this time. I need to know it's right."
He held her gaze, his mouth set grimly. "Are you trying to say I'm not the right one? Shall I arrange passage home for you? Damnation, do you want me to book a spot for Lord Lovesick while I'm at it?"
Her chest hurt. "No, Nick. I'm asking for time."
"Time?" His brows rose, then he shut his eyes and let his head fall back against the chair as he gave a rueful groan. "Lass, I shared a bed with you last night and didn't touch you. If that's not giving you time, I don't know what is. What do you think I've been doing?"
"Seducing me."
Now he looked at her. Sarah continued, "Nick, when I read your letter tonight, I was ready to say forget the annulment, forget all my doubts, forget the life I have back home. It's lucky you stayed downstairs so long and gave me time to collect myself and figure out how to respond."
"Lucky isn't the word I'd use," he grumbled.
He was sounding sulky again, and she took that as a good sign. "Nick, I can't answer your questions now because I don't have the answers myself. After tonight's letter, well... I'm asking you to allow me the time to decide what is right for me. In the meantime, you need to be certain about what's right for you. If we make a commitment to this marriage, I won't abide certain behaviors. For example, there will be no Lady Steeles."
He shot her a glare and opened his mouth, but she rushed on. "Please, Nick. This time, we've got to get it right."
With that, she stood and walked t
oward the bedroom door. Just before she exited the room, he stopped her with a question. "Why tonight's letter?"
"What do you mean?"
"The other letters have been much more... provocative. Why did this one compel you to confront me?"
Sarah took a deep breath, then said, "The others were letters about seduction. Whether you intended it this way or not, this letter, tonight's letter, spoke to me of love."
* * *
Nick departed Weston House the following morning, bound for the country and a meeting with a man about a horse. He drove a coach and four, grateful for the chance to expend some energy controlling the spirited beasts. Nick hadn't been this frustrated since the winter he spent in Siberia with only bearded, bad-tempered Cossacks for company.
Sarah had tossed that little word, the one with four letters and huge repercussions, between them like a bomb, then promptly retreated. He'd let her go, but it hadn't been easy. But then, it was so much easier for a man to concentrate on his physical desires for a woman than on the emotional ones. Trying to understand his own feelings was like tiptoeing across a frozen loch in stocking feet. It made him cold, off balance, and afraid he'd misstep and drown.
As the sounds of the city gave way to the bucolic music of the countryside, the questions that had plagued him throughout the night returned to torture him once more. Did he love her? The true, bone-deep, man-woman forever kind of love that she apparently wanted? Was he ready to answer the question with a yes, he did, beyond a shadow of a doubt?
One moment he thought he was. The next, he couldn't help but wonder.
He knew he cared for her more than any other woman who'd ever entered his life. She was his friend, his best friend, and he couldn't imagine his life without her in it. The very thought of it left him feeling queasy.
Then there was the question of other women. Since the moment he'd decided to send for Sarah last year, he had not taken another woman to his bed. He hadn't wanted any other woman. He wanted only his wife.
Sure, he'd gone through the public motions of courtship with Helen, but he suspected the reason for that lay with the unattainable Lady Steele's willingness to take him as a lover while denying every other man in town. Shallow fellow that he was, Nick liked the feeling of having come out on top. In a manner of speaking.
In that respect, escorting Helen about London had more to do with winning than anything else. It's what the lady herself had charged, anyway, when they met upon his return from Scotland and he told her he wouldn't be seeing her anymore.
So, what did all these truths tell him? Anything? Everything? Did he truly want to know?
Perhaps not. Perhaps in some ways, Nick was just as fearful as Sarah. Love had a way of knocking a bloke in the chops now and again, and from the moment he found out his parents weren't really his parents, Nick had begun building walls around his heart. Ten years ago Sarah breached the first line of his defenses, and in the years since then his sisters had certainly built a village there. But was he ready to admit anyone, even Sarah, to the innermost fortress?
Or was it a fait accompli? Was she there already in the deepest recesses of his heart? Was he in love with his wife?
Perhaps he didn't want to know. Perhaps he didn't want to risk that deep a look until she decided what she wanted.
Perhaps his walls were higher than he'd thought.
At that point, Nick decided he'd had enough of trying to peer into his own head or heart or whatever the proper body part was. At least he always knew what his loins were thinking. Around Sarah, he was always on point.
At that, his thoughts took a gratifying turn from the emotional toward the physical. On more familiar ground now, he spent the rest of his trip engaged in a fantasy involving him and his wife and veils made of silk he'd brought home with him from the Orient.
Silk he'd promised to give her. He'd forgotten all about it. "I should go ahead and give it to her now," he murmured as he made the turn onto Lord Cherryholm's estate. She'd like that, he knew. He had a whole stack of lovely gifts he intended to give her along with the Pillow Book entries, but those she'd view as blatant attempts at seduction. Which they were. The silk, however, she'd view as a promise upheld. It would be a subtle reminder of the man Nick was rather than another attempt at seduction.
Damnation. Seduction was the part of this relationship he especially liked, the part at which he excelled. But when she said she wanted time, he realized that meant she wanted his seduction efforts to cease.
Though it went against his inclinations, it made sense. She wanted to make her choice without undue influence or pressure. She didn't want to be seduced into staying. She wanted to make this decision with her mind, not her heart, which in abstract sounded smart.
In reality, the Sarah he had come to know would make her choice instinctively. Fear wouldn't cause her to leave him, nor would womanly desires compel her to stay. Sarah would stay with him if she trusted him. It was as simple and as complex as that.
So if Nick wanted to keep her, which he did, he needed to alter the course of his campaign. The goal was no longer to win her delicious little body, but instead to gain her trust.
All in all, he liked the first plan better. Lust was so much easier to achieve than trust
He drove the coach and four to the apex of the circular drive in front of Cherryholm's manor house, and as he reined the horses to a halt, he settled on his new plan. He would give her the silk, but hold back the rest of the gifts until a more appropriate time. He'd quit flirting with her, teasing her, and sending her those silent, steamy, I-want-you-in-my-bed-right-now looks.
He would back away, prove he deserved her trust, and allow her to make her choice. Then, when she chose to stay with him, the victory would prove all the sweeter.
Besides, if she did something silly and made the wrong choice, he could always go back to writing letters about her breasts.
"Weston!" called Lord Cherryholm as he and another man exited the country house through the front door and made their way down sweeping stone steps. "Excellent timing. We're on our way to the stables now."
"Good morning, Cherryholm," Nick said, shaking the gentleman's hand, then turning his attention to the second man as his host added, "Do you know Endicott?"
"No," Nick responded with a social smile. "I haven't had the pleasure."
Endicott bowed. "Robert Endicott, Lord Weston. I believe you and I share a common interest."
"Horses?"
"Actually, I was referring to your wife."
* * *
Sarah and the girls left Weston House as women on a mission. Lady Pratt had sent word that one of her acquaintances had mentioned seeing a magnificent silver epergne that fit Charlotte's engagement ball theme to a tee. The silver centerpiece stood at least thirty inches tall, with four-leaf-clover filigree and hand-painted porcelain bowls, vases, and candle-holders that repeated the lucky pattern, and it was available for purchase at a shop in Dover Street.
At least, Lady Pratt's friend thought the shop was in Dover Street. She wasn't entirely certain. The stores all ran together after a long day spent shopping, and it was possible she'd seen the epergne in Wigmore Street or Vere Street or maybe even Regent Street.
Despite the challenge of locating such a prize, Sarah and the girls agreed that a concerted effort be made to locate the item. Little touches such as this would set the tone for all the festivities surrounding what Sarah had promised to be the wedding of the Season.
As she gave their driver the address of their first planned destination, Sarah admitted she could have sent servants to track down the prize. Indeed, that's exactly what most women of her class would have done. But one never knew what treasures one might find among the bric-a-brac, so Sarah liked to do her shopping herself.
Besides, shopping in London was nothing like shopping in Fort Worth or New Orleans. If she ended up leaving Nick, shopping would be one of the many things she'd miss.
As the girls settled into their seats, Charlotte mentioned
she'd decided on the design of the party favors for the wedding. Each guest who attended the wedding would be given a beautiful calling card case, and though she'd settled on the item itself while making their plans when still in Scotland, she had dithered over which good luck symbol to have engraved upon the silver case. Melanie had proposed horseshoes. Aurora wanted orange blossoms.
"I think the four-leaf clover is best because Rodney's title is Irish and it seems appropriate. If we find this epergne and it's as glorious as Lady Pratt claims, it will tie together nicely. Sarah, will we use the centerpiece at both the ball and the wedding breakfast?"
"That depends," Sarah answered, pondering the question. "I can't really say until I've seen it. We want to make a bold statement of our Good Luck Wedding theme at the engagement ball, keep it subtle and understated at the wedding, then display it in joyful abundance at the wedding breakfast. It's possible the epergne could form the centerpiece of the altar floral arrangements."
"Wait a moment," Aurora cautioned. "I thought you said green was considered an unlucky color for weddings."
"For the wedding gown, yes," said Melanie. "Not the decorations, correct?"
Sarah nodded. "Yes. In fact, green is a lucky color for the bride's headdress, although it's not at all in fashion."
They chatted about symbols of luck until they reached their first destination, Donegal House. Sarah hoped to find the epergne in this shop because Mrs. Earnest Hart carried a wonderful selection of Irish goods, and the porcelain on the centerpiece was apparently Belleek. However, Mrs. Hart wasn't aware of the piece, so they were forced to continue their search—after picking up some adorable hairpins decorated with four-leaf clovers for each of them to wear to Charlotte's ball.
Sarah and the girls then embarked on a shopping flaneuse through Piccadilly, Regent Street, and into Vere Street, when the girls took a peek at one of Marshall and Snelgroves's side windows, and paused for a moment at the mass of lovely silks on display. Then they walked north to Mmes Edmonds and Orr at 47 Wigmore Street because Aurora needed to get some of the special combination garments.
The Bad Luck Wedding Night, Bad Luck Wedding series #5 (Bad Luck Abroad trilogy) Page 21