by Brenda Joyce
“That would be wonderful. Hadrian, from what I understand, Nicole is not very welcome among the ton. And now that she is back in London, I think it is dreadfully unfair.”
The Duke paused. If he dared to continue dwelling upon this topic he would have to conclude that he himself thought it was unfair, too, and worse, he did not approve of Nicole Shelton being cut today for a scandal long since dead. Nevertheless he did not want to discuss the matter, not with his fiancée, for to become her defender would be terribly inappropriate. “Life is rarely fair.”
“That is not like you! I am going to invite her to join our poetry circle, and I will make sure she is accepted by all.”
The Duke grimaced. On the one hand, what Elizabeth wanted to do was noble and right, but on the other, he was appalled at the thought of her becoming friends with Nicole Shelton. “Elizabeth, perhaps you will feel differently tomorrow. From what I have seen of Lady Shelton, she is a strong woman, and a few nasty gossips will not bring her down.”
“I am determined, Hadrian,” Elizabeth said matter-of-factly. “She needs friends like me, it is glaringly obvious, and I shall be her friend.”
Very, very briefly, Hadrian closed his eyes. Could this coil possibly get worse? Nicole would not, could not, accept his fiancée’s offer of friendship, could she? And why was she still in London? Was it because of him? He should still be furious with her, but he wasn’t. His anger had died last night. In fact, if he dared be honest with himself, he was very nearly elated that she hadn’t left town.
The Duke had a terrible sense of impending doom.
Nicole was shocked the very next day when she received a prettily penned invitation from Elizabeth to join her poetry circle the following night at the Marquess of Stafford’s. Regina looked at her curiously; the sisters were relaxing with tea and pastries in the green morning room. “What is it?” she asked.
Nicole reread the invitation, still unable to believe it was for her. “It is from Elizabeth Martindale. She has invited me to join a poetry circle.”
Regina came to sit beside her sister. “You should go. How nice of Elizabeth.”
Nicole carefully laid the invitation aside, her heart beating heavily. “Why would she invite me?” she asked aloud. “She barely knows me.” But she couldn’t help thinking of how ironic it was; the one lady in London to offer her friendship was none other than the fiancée of the man she had harbored a tendresse for.
“Because she is very nice. Undoubtedly she knows you are new to town, and is trying to include you in her set.”
“You know her well?”
“We are friends. Go, Nicole,” Regina urged. “You need to make some friends here.”
Nicole bit back a reply. She could not possibly explain to her sister why she could not join Elizabeth’s poetry circle even if she wanted to, which she surely did not.
Regina suddenly looked at the wall clock with a gasp. “Oh, I must go and change! Lord Hortense is taking me for a drive this morning!” She flew from the room.
Nicole could not even be distracted by her sister’s ongoing infatuation with the miserable Hortense. Again she looked at the invitation. She knew there was no ulterior motive. Having met Elizabeth only once, she was certain of that. As Regina had said, Elizabeth was just being nice.
Abruptly, she crumpled the letter in her hand.
Why in blazes did she have to be so sweet? Why couldn’t she be a shrew like her cousin, Stacy? And why in blazes did she have to pick on her, Nicole? Not only didn’t she want her friendship, she didn’t need it!
Nicole bit her lip hard. The terrible truth was that deep inside her heart there was a fragile part of her that would have loved to respond to the other girl’s overtures. But of course that was impossible. They could never be friends. Not after what had happened between her and the Duke of Clayborough.
And because, in the darkest midnight hours, she still dreamed about him.
Quickly, before she could change her mind, Nicole penned a polite refusal and had it delivered that afternoon. She assumed that would be the end of it, for certainly Elizabeth would not continue to seek her out and befriend her. However, she was wrong.
Elizabeth came calling the following afternoon.
“Please sit,” Nicole said rather formally.
“Thank you,” Elizabeth smiled. She was rather breathless, a pale blonde vision in a tailored silver blue silk suit. “I am so sorry you cannot join us tonight, Lady Shelton.”
“I am afraid I am already engaged,” Nicole lied. She sat across from Elizabeth in a bergere, both of her hands clutching its smooth wooden arms.
“I hope you don’t think that Stacy will be there, for she is not a part of our group, having no interest in literature.” Elizabeth’s eyes held hers.
Nicole was appalled that Elizabeth might think she was afraid to join the group because of her cousin. “Stacy is not the reason why I cannot come.”
“Good.” Elizabeth smiled. “As Hadrian pointed out, she has a tendency to be somewhat inelegant at times, and it is not just with you.”
Nicole froze. “Ha—the Duke said that?”
“Oh, I was so terribly upset with her behavior that day, that when he came to take me to supper I could talk of nothing else. He approved of my having rebuked Stacy thoroughly.”
Nicole swallowed hard, her face flaming. Elizabeth had sat with the Duke of Clayborough discussing her! Oh, how amused he must have been! It was too much! Absolutely too much!
“I have come to invite you to another affair, this one Saturday afternoon. I am helping Hadrian’s mother, the Dowager Duchess, arrange it. Every year she holds an American-style picnic, an idea she apparently got from her Bostonian relatives. The young ladies bring a box lunch, which the gentlemen bid on. The winners, of course, sup with the ladies whose lunch they bought, and the proceeds go to a very needy charity—that of the poor orphans in this city.” Elizabeth smiled. “It is always a big success, and a lot of fun. Everyone turns out. Won’t you come?”
Nicole was aghast. If she put a lunch up for auction no one would buy it! She had not one doubt! “I am sor—”
Elizabeth was ahead of her, and she interrupted. “I didn’t mean that you should bring a lunch, I understand why you would not want to. I only meant for you to come and enjoy the afternoon. In fact, I would be very surprised if your parents were not planning to attend, and I know Regina will be there.”
“My parents,” Nicole said stiffly, “are returning to Dragmore for the weekend.”
“Oh.”
Nicole was flushed, angry. Elizabeth had not intended to insult her by casually assuming she would not dare to bring a box lunch, but she had. She understood the humiliation Nicole would reap if she brought a lunch and no one bought it. Nicole’s jaw clenched.
“I did not mean to upset you,” Elizabeth said softly, worriedly. “It really is a good time, and not everyone is bringing a lunch. Being as I am one of the organizers, I am not, and you may certainly picnic with me and Hadrian.”
“I am not upset,” Nicole said as proudly as possible. “And whatever makes you think I would not come? With a lunch?”
Elizabeth’s eyes widened briefly before she recovered. “Oh! I am so glad, then, that you shall participate!”
Nicole smiled grimly, knowing she had just foolishly committed herself to a course that could only result in disaster. But she was held in the throes of her own pride, and she could not back down, not in front of Elizabeth Martindale.
Saturday was a bright sunny day, an Indian summer day. The sky was cloudless, and the trees in Hyde Park all shimmered incandescently gold. Some two hundred noble ladies and lords had gathered for the occasion, all dressed in gay finery, their coaches and carriages lined up for miles behind them on the horse track that threaded through the park. Now everyone gathered around a platform that had been constructed for the festivity, one end of which was piled with picnic baskets all merrily painted and decorated in ribbons, bows, and lace.
; Elizabeth clung to the Duke’s arm, standing near the platform, facing the crowd, her eyes searching it. “I wonder if she decided not to come after all,” she murmured.
“Who?” The Duke asked, shifting impatiently, unable to help himself from being bored. He had a weighty legal matter on his mind, and in a few hours he had a meeting at his home with several lawyers. His question was distracted, and he did not care about Elizabeth’s answer, not, of course, until she responded.
“Nicole Shelton.”
He froze, staring down at her. He had been relieved when Elizabeth had told him that Nicole had declined her invitation to read poetry. He had already decided that if Nicole accepted, he would seek her out and demand to know her intentions. But she had not accepted, and he had not had to seek her out. “I do not imagine she would come here,” he said stiffly, although the thought of her actually being present made his pulse race.
“She said she would come, and she said she would bring a lunch.” Elizabeth left off scanning the crowd. “I did not mean for her to participate in the auction, only to come and dine with us.”
“You invited her to dine with us?” he asked incredulously.
“Of course. That was before she said she would bring a lunch. I assumed, so foolishly, that she would not, and how could I let her dine alone? But she knew I understood that should she bring a lunch, it would not be very popular, and it could be quite embarrassing, so she abruptly told me she would bring a lunch. She has so much pride—I admire her.”
Hadrian’s jaw clenched. “You need not admire her,” he said, although he suspected he might, secretly, admire her too, although he was presently unwilling to admit it. He could also imagine how any gentleman here would love to buy her box and spend the afternoon with her in the privacy of a copse of trees, regardless of the scandal in her past. After all, they had eyes in their heads. He found he was distinctly displeased with the thought of Nicole Shelton sharing a picnic with some unnamed peer.
“But I do,” Elizabeth continued. “I wish I was more like her.”
“You are perfect as you are.”
“Oh, Hadrian, you are being overly gallant. I must also confess that I have been worried that no one will buy her lunch.”
“I am sure she has her admirers.”
“Hadrian, you are a dear, but you are just not current, and how could you be when you are so rarely in town? I am not criticizing you,” she added quickly, “for you know how proud I am of your skill in matters of business. But our set just does not forget. Sometimes they can be so cruel.”
“I am sure you are exaggerating,” he said, certain that the males present would compete eagerly for Nicole Shelton’s company.
Elizabeth gazed up at him with a fond smile. “I hope you are right, but I have already taken care of the matter should it come to pass as I suspect it will. I asked our cousin Robert to bid on the lunch and he agreed, although he was not exactly charitable about it.”
“Robert,” the Duke echoed, thinking of Stacy’s handsome, rakehell brother. He scowled, certain that it would not be long before Robert would have her flat on her back. “He is not trustworthy!”
Elizabeth gave him a curious look, surprised at his fierce expression. “Robert will behave himself, but I do not see him anywhere. Oh! Hadrian, she’s here! She did come!”
Strangely breathless, the Duke turned slowly to follow Elizabeth’s delighted gaze. Nicole stood with her sister, somewhat apart from the crowd, her head held high. She was a striking vision in a peach-striped suit and a straw hat adorned with one vibrant coral-colored rose. Her gaze met his.
He had forgotten to breathe, and he took a long, drawn breath. This circumstance was intolerable. How could he be standing here with his fiancée, whom he was genuinely fond of while lusting after another woman—one he could not have? This infatuation—this obsession—had gone on long enough. But how in hell was he going to end it?
Nicole wished she were anywhere but there. Regina was chatting gaily with two young ladies and their beaux, leaving Nicole momentarily excluded. She had been trying very hard not to look at him, but it was impossible.
Her glance stole to him again, and again she was frozen, for his regard was on her, too.
Nicole quickly looked away. She was trembling. Why did he have to be so magnificent? Why did she have to notice? Why did he have to be here, today, to witness what would surely be her humiliation? And why, why did he have to be betrothed to Elizabeth?
The bidding had begun. Nicole did not pay attention as one lady’s basket, painted blue and white and tied with a pink ribbon, was sold to some young man for twenty-five pounds. Dread swamped her.
Even at the last moment, she should have backed out. It was the height of stupidity for her to have brought a basket lunch—no one would buy it. She silently damned her pride.
Several more lunches had been auctioned off, most of them for ten or twenty pounds. Nicole wondered if she could turn coward and leave now, before her box was put up on the block. She found herself staring at the Duke again.
For a scant moment, one that seemed to linger forever, their gazes locked. This time he was the one to look away, and when he did, it was to say something to Elizabeth. But Elizabeth had caught her eye and she waved gaily. Nicole did not know if she responded or not. She only knew that she could not turn tail and flee, not now. With a resolute sigh, Nicole turned to face the platform again.
“Have you seen Robert?” Elizabeth asked worriedly. “There are only a few lunches left, and I have not seen him.”
The Duke was tense. “He probably tied one on last night and has forgotten all about his merry promise to you.” It would not be unlike Robert, and in a way the Duke would be glad if the handsome bachelor never showed up to buy Nicole’s lunch.
“Stacy!” Elizabeth called, seeing her cousin passing through the throng with her suitor, who had just bought her brightly decorated basket lunch.
Stacy came over, greeting her cousins. “This is Lord Harrington,” she said, giving him a coy look. “He bought my lunch for thirty-five pounds!”
“How nice,” Elizabeth said, pausing to greet him properly despite her distress. Then she took her cousin’s hand and led her aside. “Stacy, where is your brother? Where is Robert?”
“Oh, I forgot to give you a message,” Stacy said, smiling. “It slipped his mind that he has another engagement today, in Brighton, that he absolutely could not miss. He is very sorry.”
Elizabeth paled.
Stacy laughed. “Don’t worry, he told me about your scheme, and he didn’t quite leave you in the lurch. He asked a friend of his to come to take his place.”
“Who?” Elizabeth asked.
Stacy pointed. “See that redhead in the white linen suit? Standing next to the one in the plaid? His name is Chester something, and he will buy Nicole’s lunch.” She chuckled again.
Elizabeth stared at the disheveled young gentleman and his friend. Both of them were clearly foxed. “I will kill Robert,” she said.
Stacy laughed. “I have to go, Elizabeth. Enjoy yourself!” She ran off with Lord Harrington so that they could watch the end of the auction.
Elizabeth returned to the Duke, stricken with anxiety, and told him what had happened.
Her lunch basket was put up for sale. Nicole’s heart was in her throat and she wanted to die as the auctioneer held up the straw basket that was hers. She had known she should decorate it as Regina had done with hers, but she had tried, and the attempts had been dismal failures. Bows and ribbons had looked silly, as had lace and doilies. Flowers had seemed even worse, and finally, in disgust, Nicole had painted the basket a bright red. Everyone else had chosen to paint their baskets white or pastel colors, trimming them with ribbons and bows and other feminine fripperies. Nicole knew her basket was a terrible eyesore.
When the auctioneer held it up, his eyes widening, a chuckle escaped from the crowd. “Now what do we have here? Hmmm?” he murmured. “Whatever is in this unusual basket, it smell
s terribly good! Who’s to open the bidding?”
Silence greeted him and Nicole’s face burned. She tried not to look anywhere but straight ahead and at the plump auctioneer holding up her awfully colored basket.
“Come on, gents, let’s start the bidding!” he called. “Who will start? Do I hear five pounds? Five pounds, gents…”
“Whose is it?” a man called out.
The identity of the girls who had made the baskets was no secret, but usually there was no need to ask which basket was whose, for the suitors made certain to find out beforehand. A few snickers rose at this question, the first of its kind that day. When the auctioneer looked at the small tag on the table and read her name out, Nicole truly wanted to die.
Silence greeted this announcement, and hundreds of eyes turned to focus upon her. Then someone said, “Ten pence!”
Laughter greeted the outrageously low bid.
Nicole was frozen. This could not be happening. They would make a joke out of her now!
“Ten pence,” the auctioneer said, relieved to finally get a bid. “Do I have a pound? Do I hear a pound?”
“One pound,” someone said, quite thickly.
Nicole’s eyes, beginning to swim with tears, sought out this new bidder. He wore a white linen sack jacket and straw boater, and he was terribly drunk. Without realizing what she was doing, she cast an agonized glance at the Duke and saw that he was furious, regarding the man in white as if he would dearly love to kill him. Then he turned to look at her.
The compassion she saw softening his face was too much to bear. It was the last thing she would have expected from him, and it threatened to be her undoing. Nicole took a deep breath, staring at the ground, using all of her willpower not to give in to tears. Suddenly someone took her hand. It was Regina. The bidding appeared to be stopping at a pound, which was as humiliating as if no one had bid at all.