Niclas’s brow furrowed at this unexpected news. Two of his cousins were coming to London for their come-outs? Malachi hadn’t said anything of that. Or had he? Niclas had a vague memory of Earl Graymar mentioning a couple of their female cousins the night before. And it made sense, of course, that some relative or other would be coming, for Seymours, though generally kept safe in Wales, often traveled to London to feed social desires that couldn’t be met in their more rural communities.
When he’d been himself, and not affected by the curse, in years past, Niclas had been recruited to introduce his younger relatives into London society. Female cousins had been accompanied to every important event, from Almack’s to balls to a presentation at court, while the males had been given a bit of town bronze at certain establishments where women and gaming were readily found, or at sporting events where their appreciation of such Corinthian skills as boxing, fencing, or racing could be more fully developed. Now, of course, he could no longer be trusted with the care and guidance of younger, wilder relatives, for he was increasingly proving to be even less restrained than they were.
“You’re perfectly in the right, my lady,” Niclas said, slowly at first, then with growing confidence as he plotted his unknown course. “And that is precisely why I propose being the one to accompany Miss Linley to Wales in Lord Graymar’s place. My cousin will not have mentioned it to you, for he is a gentleman by all accounts and wouldn’t wish you to consider the grave difficulties that his absence in London, at this time, would cause. Even a brief absence,” he added, considering how quickly Malachi would actually be able to deal with their uncle. “I’m sure you will agree, Lady Eunice, that it would be far better, and kinder to my young relatives, if the earl remained in town to oversee their come-outs while I take his place in dealing with our scurrilous uncle.”
Lady Eunice and Miss Linley exchanged glances once more, as they had repeatedly done since they’d entered the room. Lady Eunice, he felt, was beginning to waver, and he could only assume by her expression that Julia Linley was, too.
Encouraged, Niclas pressed on.
“I realize, of course, that I make a poor substitute for someone of Lord Graymar’s consequence . . .”
“Oh, no, sir, not at all,” Miss Linley assured him. “But we did think that, perhaps, as the earl is the head of the Seymour family, he might assert a greater level of persuasion over Baron Tylluan.”
“That is very likely,” Niclas conceded readily, beginning to feel quite like his old self. Even his constant weariness seemed less pervasive as he took on the challenge of bringing the two women around to his perspective. “But I’ve had a great deal more experience than Lord Graymar in dealing with my uncle and his sons. They have always been my responsibility whenever they visit London, even since the—” He very nearly said “curse,” but stopped just in time. “Even though I am no longer given to going out much in society.”
Keeping an eye on his uncle and twin cousins, Kian and Dyfed, had been one of the few remaining tasks that Malachi had left with Niclas following the curse, and for two very good reasons. First, no matter how mad sleeplessness drove Niclas, he could not possibly become more crazed than Ffinian and his offspring, and second, Malachi possessed neither the patience nor the desire to deal with their relatives from Castle Tylluan. But these things, Niclas could not tell the ladies.
A scratch at the door announced the arrival of tea, and he felt just how relieved Lady Eunice was at having a brief break in their conversation, and saw the same on Miss Linley’s face. For his part, Niclas declined refreshment and, as the women filled their plates and cups, took up pacing again.
He was pacing again, Julia saw over the brim of her delicate cup as she took a sip of hot tea. She wondered if he was going to survive the remainder of his visit, and what his reaction would be when her aunt kindly, but firmly, rejected his proposal.
Whatever he felt, he could certainly not lay the blame too heavily at his own feet. Seldom had Julia seen a man strive harder, or better, to achieve his goals.
Niclas Seymour had been almost himself again for a few moments. The confidence of his tone, the fineness of his intellect, and the careful phrasing of his arguments had made him seem once more the famously educated and quick-witted gentleman she had known. Or, rather, known of.
He had never been the kind of wellborn man who was given to foppishness or feigned foolishness, but had spent as much time in debate and discussion at various balls and parties as he had dancing. It had been considered shocking and even impolite, and yet his determination to continue with such dialogues only increased his desirability as a guest among London’s hostesses. Even Lady Eunice had been well pleased to receive an affirmation of attendance from Mister Niclas Seymour when she was planning one of her dinners or musical evenings. She had even bragged a little, as other hostesses were also given to do, when he was to be present at one of her gatherings.
Now, she was horrified to receive a simple afternoon call from the man. But Julia could scarce fault her aunt for that, for he was truly changed, proof of which was his behavior in the past few minutes, swinging from odd to almost normal and back to odd like a clock’s pendulum.
What had happened to alter him so greatly? she wondered. Still pacing, he absently ran a hand through his hair, loosening the neat arrangement that his valet had so carefully created, so that several long strands fell loose to his shoulders.
With a sigh, Julia lowered her teacup and tried not to think of what was going through her aunt’s mind at this very moment. He would be fortunate to leave the house unmolested; Lady Eunice would rather attack him with a comb and brush herself than let anyone she knew see him leaving Linley House with his hair looking like a pirate’s.
Julia had thought of him so often in the past three years and hoped that he was well, though the rumors she’d heard had dimmed those hopes somewhat. It was whispered that the death of his dear friend Andrew Payne had been the starting point of Niclas Seymour’s decline, but Julia had always thought that dubious reasoning. The death of a close friend would surely be a painful thing, especially when that death had been self-inflicted, but Niclas Seymour had been far too strong and intelligent a man to let even a very sad event like that so completely change him.
Julia took another sip of tea and continued to watch. He was still the handsomest man she had ever set sight upon, without exception; she supposed nothing would ever be able to alter that. And he could still speak well and logically. His manners had been almost perfect throughout the visit, following his initial minor missteps. If his clothing and grooming weren’t entirely what they should be, that was understandable in a man who had been out of society for so long. Such trifling details could not diminish a man who had stood out as a powerful and arresting figure even among his most distinguished peers.
What would it be like to take that journey with him? Julia’s heart began to beat a little more quickly. She would be in his company for several days, be able to speak to him and be close to him. And she wasn’t so plain and horrible now, she thought, straightening in her chair, nor was she as painfully shy. She would be able to smile at him at last, as she had wanted to do so many times before when they had crossed paths in parties and balls. She . . . she might even flirt, as all the finer and more beautiful ladies had done. And he would smile back, and . . . perhaps . . .
No. She was being foolish, she told herself firmly, setting her teacup aside. It was impossible. Her aunt would never agree to let an unstable man accompany her on a journey of such length; he would probably find it difficult convincing her to trust Julia in his company merely for a drive about the park on a sunny afternoon. Not that Julia needed her aunt’s permission for such minor outings any longer, for she was five and twenty and so far on the shelf that her reputation no longer required safekeeping. It was even acceptable for her to be accompanied by a man like Lord Graymar, who wasn’t a relative, on a journey hundreds of miles in distance, to Northern Wales.
Abruptly, Ni
clas Seymour stopped pacing and turned to face them once more. With an effort he schooled his features into the polite expression that he’d maintained earlier, and spoke in the same calm, logical tone.
“I understand, Lady Eunice, why you should feel some reluctance in allowing me the honor of escorting Miss Linley to Castle Tylluan, but I would ask you to consider the benefits. As I have already stated, Lord Graymar is greatly needed in London as the head of the Seymour family, and I have had far greater experience in successfully dealing with my uncle, the baron. But there is yet another reason, with even greater import, that you should consider.”
“And what is that, Mister Seymour?” Lady Eunice asked primly.
“Merely that I am no danger to Miss Linley’s reputation, as I fear my cousin, the earl, will be. The gossips will have a fine time spreading every possible rumor if Miss Linley and the earl of Graymar should journey together. But it’s entirely likely that they’ll see nothing exceptional should I be her escort.”
“Why should that be, sir?” Julia asked with interest.
Turning his intense blue gaze upon her, he replied, “Because the earl is counted as one of the most marriageable men in England, while I am not. It would be impossible for so beautiful a young lady as you are to have an interest in a man like myself. You’re far too lovely to waste a chance at marriage with a respectable man by having anything but business to attend to with me.”
Her aunt actually chuckled with amusement.
“Nonsense, sir. Julia doesn’t consider the issue in any of her dealings now. She is well beyond the age to marry. The suitability of her being escorted through the country by a wellborn gentleman—especially with a coachman and footman and maid in attendance—is not in question. It will be perfectly proper.”
Niclas Seymour looked rather astonished. He turned his gaze upon Julia and surveyed her for a long, silent moment.
“That’s ridiculous. She looks perfectly marriageable to me.”
“She is five and twenty,” Lady Eunice informed him. “Seven useless seasons have only proven how hopeless her case is. All of her younger sisters have taken husbands, but Julia has refused every offer put before her, though several were most flattering. She might have had an earl, you know, but he wasn’t good enough for her. No, indeed. Not good enough for Miss Julia Linley.”
“Aunt!” Julia protested indignantly, her cheeks as hot as fire. How could she say such things? To him? Niclas Seymour was the last person in the world she wanted to be so humiliatingly exposed to.
“Do you deny it?” Lady Eunice asked, oblivious to Julia’s misery. “No, you can’t, because it’s true. And so you see, Mister Seymour, there’s no need to concern yourself with my niece’s reputation. It’s quite safe, regardless who her escort is.”
Julia expected his look of bewilderment to change to disdain or, worse, pity, but he only continued to gaze at her aunt as if Lady Eunice were quite mad. Then he turned and gazed thoughtfully at the fire. Julia watched him while her aunt sipped at her tea, and strove to find something more to say. But it wasn’t necessary, for after a moment he turned back to face them.
“Then,” he said quietly, “if that is how you truly feel, my lady, there is nothing left for me to do save throw myself on your kind mercies and ask that you consider allowing me the honor of escorting Miss Linley to Wales in place of my cousin.”
Lady Eunice regarded him steadily.
“Mister Seymour,” she said, “you have been out of society for several years, and this is the first time that I’ve spoken with you since a musical evening given long ago by Lord and Lady Bixby. Do you recall the night I speak of?”
A flash of unease crossed his handsome features, Julia saw, but he mastered himself quickly and replied, “Yes, my lady. Very well.”
“After so long an absence, and many rumors regarding your state of mind, you come to me now and request that we agree to accept you as escort for my niece in place of your cousin, a gentleman whom we both frequently see and speak with, whose temper and judgment we know and approve of, and who, without question, can be trusted to convey a gentle-born lady to her destination without harm or mischief. Do I summarize our circumstances correctly?”
“Yes,” he said solemnly, “you do, indeed.”
Lady Eunice slowly set her teacup aside.
“I believe, then, that you would not be in the least surprised if I were to decline your request.”
“I would not,” he said, his expression resigned.
“Aunt,” Julia said, “couldn’t we—”
Lady Eunice set a hand on her arm, silencing her.
“I may surprise you, yet, Mister Seymour,” she said. “Lord Graymar has much to recommend him as an ideal escort, but Julia’s purpose in undertaking this journey is not for simple pleasure. It is with the express goal of making my sister safe from your uncle, and this goal must be foremost in the decision we ultimately make. Considering your greater experience in dealing with Ffinian Seymour, I believe that you may, indeed, be a better choice. In addition, your behavior this morning has given proof that many of the rumors I have heard are false. However,” she added quickly when it appeared that he would speak, “I wish to have greater assurance of your . . . behavior,” she said delicately, “before making a final decision.”
“I shall be glad to supply whatever proof you desire, my lady.”
Lady Eunice stood, and Julia, unable to do anything less, stood as well.
“Lord and Lady Dubrow are having their annual ball this evening, which was an event that you used to attend with great regularity.”
He began to look suspicious, but nodded and said, “Everyone did.”
“Indeed,” said Lady Eunice. “It is one of the great gatherings given each Season. Julia and I will, of course, be there. If you were to be in attendance as well, Mister Seymour, and prove that you can be trusted in society, I believe I will be far more inclined to grant your request.”
If it was possible, his already pale complexion went further white. But he gathered himself with admirable speed.
“I regret to say, my lady, that I have not had the pleasure of an invitation to the Dubrow ball this Season.”
“That,” she said, “can hardly be wondered at, sir. Fortunately, Lady Dubrow is one of my dearest friends. Expect an invitation to arrive on your doorstep within the hour. Whether you accept or decline is up to you. If you decide to come, which I hope will be the case, then you may have my final decision before the evening is done. Does this suit you, Mister Seymour?”
“Very much, my lady.” He bowed, first to her aunt, then to Julia. When he straightened, she thought she could see more color in his cheeks. “I hope that Miss Linley will reserve a dance for me?”
“Thank you, sir,” Julia murmured, “but I no longer dance.”
“Tonight, however,” said her aunt, “you will. My niece will reserve the first waltz for you, Mister Seymour. I assume you know the steps?”
“I—”
“Good. We shall expect to see you then, sir. You will have my answer before the night is out.”
Three
This coat, sir?”
Niclas stopped fiddling with the buttons of his shirt and glanced at Abercraf, who was looking rather pained upon presenting the garment he held.
“Where in heaven’s name did you find that?” Niclas murmured with wry amusement. He hadn’t seen that old coat in years.
It had been elegant once, a marvelous creation of dark green velvet, paired with matching breeches and a vest of gold paisley silk. He had worn it often when attending special events. It had been his favorite, in those long-ago days when he’d found so much pleasure in going out and being with others.
“No, not that one,” he told his butler, who also served as his occasional valet. “It’s out of fashion now. Far out of fashion.”
Like himself, he thought, turning back to gaze at his reflection in the mirror. He’d once been a desirable guest, but his final attempts at attending t
on functions—all at Malachi’s insistence—had been disasters. The curse left him so continuously weary that controlling his ability to feel the emotions of others had become impossible, with the result that being in even small gatherings was night-marishly chaotic. Niclas hadn’t been able to tolerate more than a few hours in society, and then he had spent days afterward forcing the memories away. Finally, he’d stopped going altogether.
But tonight would be different. He would make certain of that. It must be different.
Tonight, he would have to be what he once was, or as close as possible, no matter how difficult or unpleasant. He had to settle matters with Miss Linley and Lady Eunice, and if he showed up looking like a man who’d been living in a cave for the past three years, that would be impossible.
“I suppose it must be the black that I wore last night. Is it terribly stained?”
“Yes,” Abercraf said, his voice absent the displeasure Niclas felt emanating from him. “Terribly.”
“We must find something else, then,” Niclas told him. “I shall both feel and look a fool in the green velvet, but if that’s all there is—”
A knock came at the bedroom door, and Abercraf left the dressing room to open it. He returned in less than half a minute, bearing a large package tied with a voluminous quantity of elegant ribbons. His mood, Niclas felt, had lightened considerably.
Susan Spencer Paul - [Enchanter 01] Page 4