Steam-powered ships crossed the Atlantic from England to America in a mere eleven days rather than the thirty-five or more required for a crossing by sail. The combination of speed and novelty had proved irresistible to a public eager for a faster, more convenient, and, ultimately, economical means of travel and transport from one continent to another.
“I had rather thought you might return for good three years ago,” Fredrick said casually. “When Lord Langley died.”
Nick raised a brow. “Now, why would I do that, Uncle?”
Frederick shrugged. “As I said, it was just a thought.”
Charles’s unexpected demise in a carriage accident had been both a shock and a tragedy. He’d left not only a wife but two young sons. Nick had mourned the loss of his old friend and regretted the years apart. In spite of his words to the contrary, he had indeed considered returning to London, but to what end? To console Charles’s widow? Charles’s friendship alone deserved more than that. Nick’s loyalty to his childhood companion did not end with his death. Besides, Elizabeth was surrounded by family and friends, and he would have been nothing more than an unwelcome interloper. Nick had avoided both Charles and Elizabeth on his brief visit home, and given their parting, he could not imagine Elizabeth greeting him upon the death of her beloved husband with anything less than disdain. Indeed, he might not have returned now had it not been for a letter from her brother.
“I wasn’t certain you even knew of his death.”
“As his solicitor located me in America through your solicitor and as you mentioned Charles’s death in your letters, I could hardly avoid knowing,” Nick said wryly.
“Still, correspondence goes astray.”
“Jonathon wrote me as well when it happened.” Nick blew a long breath. “I could scarce believe it then and even now find it difficult to accept. I had not seen Charles in years, yet I do miss him. I had always assumed he, Jonathon, and I would be friends in our dotage just as we had been in our youth. I shall miss that as well.” Nick’s thoughts drifted back to his younger days and the golden-haired boy with the generous nature who had befriended him. “Friends one can count on are rare in this world.
“However,” Nick pulled himself firmly back to the present and fixed Frederick with a steady gaze, “at the moment, Uncle, let us not talk of the past but of the here and now. Since my arrival last night, we have spoken of nothing but me. My life and travels and adventures. Surely, the years have not stood still for you?”
“Would that they would have, but the years march on inexorably, etching themselves in the lines on my face and the gray upon my head.” Frederick heaved an overly dramatic sigh. “I am growing old even as we speak. I shall soon be doddering and inept and require a nursemaid simply to feed me.”
“Come now, your fate is not that dire.” Nick laughed. “Why, you are the very picture of health.”
“Only at the moment, my boy.” Frederick’s voice was grim, but a twinkle shone in his eye. “One should be prepared for the future. I already have my eye on a nursemaid who would prove most…efficient.”
“Oh?” Nick drew his brows together in concern. “Is there something you haven’t told me? Are you ill, Uncle?”
“Not today, but tomorrow…It is always wise to be prepared.” Frederick leaned back in his chair and blew a smoke ring that hovered in the air for a moment before fading away to oblivion. “For example, this nursemaid I mentioned would need a fair amount of training. Her current position does not demand the skills I should require. Or perhaps,” he smiled wickedly, “it does. I daresay, in many ways, she might be well versed in the care of older gentlemen such as myself.”
Nick stared for a moment, then grinned. “She is on the stage then?”
Frederick nodded. “The woman has the most magnificent pair of…” He cleared his throat. “Legs. For a nursemaid, that is.”
“Of course.” Nick’s grin broadened. “For a nursemaid.”
“Or a goddess.” Frederick chuckled and flicked the ash of his cigar in the general direction of the ever-present saucer. Inevitably the ashes drifted to the floor.
Nick laughed. “It is good to know some things never change.”
“You, however, are not the same man who left here a decade ago.”
Nick aimed his cigar at his uncle. “That, Frederick, was the whole purpose of my departure.”
“I am not speaking of wealth or success.” Frederick studied him for a moment. “I see a marked difference in your manner.”
“Older and wiser I should hope.”
“As do we all, but that’s not what I mean.” Frederick considered him thoughtfully. “Ten years ago, even on your last visit, you would not have sat calmly in your seat without fidgeting or leaping up to pace the room. You are far less restless than you once were. There is a distinct air of calm about you.”
“I have conquered my doubts, the demons of uncertainty that have long haunted me, if you will.” Nick’s voice was casual, as if his words were of no consequence—and perhaps, at this point in time, they weren’t.
Nick had always known it was important to him to succeed where his father had failed, but he’d never quite understood how deep that desire was until he had achieved success. It was as if with success came peace. “Indeed, one could call me satisfied with my life. Even content.”
“As admirable as that is, there is more to life than the accumulation of wealth. Or at least there should be,” Frederick said. “A man needs a wife and an heir to make his life truly complete.”
“Yet I see you are no closer to marriage now than you were a decade ago.”
“And I freely admit there is an element lacking in my life that I regret rather more often than I should like to acknowledge. However, I am not dead yet.” Frederick’s voice was cool. “I confess I have kept my eye on a lovely young widow of late.”
Nick laughed. “Excellent, Uncle. I am glad to hear it. Perhaps this one will finally get you to the altar.”
“I wouldn’t wager on it,” Frederick murmured. “My interest in her is not of that nature.”
“Why not?”
“We simply do not suit. I have known her for much of her life, she is the daughter of old friends. I have a difficult time thinking of her as a grown woman even though she most certainly is.”
“Who is this widow?” Nick said slowly.
“She has two sons,” Frederick continued without pause, “and while I am not opposed to children in a theoretical sense—they are the future of the nation and all that—I am not entirely certain I wish to play the role of father at this stage of my life.”
“Uncle.” A warning sounded in Nick’s voice.
Frederick ignored it. “Regardless, she is still eminently eligible, of good family and an excellent disposition. Beyond that, the years have been most kind to her. The lady is every bit as lovely now as she was, oh, say, ten years ago. Possibly more so.”
Nick raised a brow. “Are you quite finished?”
“For the moment.” Frederick pointed his cigar at his nephew. “But only for the moment.”
“Then am I to understand that this is a beginning of a campaign on your part?” Nick downed the rest of his drink.
“I hadn’t thought of it as a campaign, but,” Frederick shrugged, “that’s not entirely inaccurate, and I rather like the way it sounds.”
“Then be prepared to accept defeat.” Nick forced a casual note to his voice, placed his cigar in the saucer on the table beside him, and got to his feet. “I have no intention of pursuing Lady Langley.”
“Why not?”
Nick crossed the room to the decanter of brandy on the desk. “Charles was one of my closest friends.”
“And?”
“And nothing, Uncle.” Nick drew his brows together. “I cannot betray his memory by pursuing his wife.”
“His widow.”
“Semantics.” Nick shrugged and refilled his glass. “She was, and always will be, Charles’s wife.”
“He�
�s dead and gone now.”
“From her life, but not from her heart.” Absently, Nick moved to the nearest bookshelf and perused the titles.
“Perhaps.”
Nick glanced at his uncle. “What do you mean, ‘perhaps’?”
“Nothing really. Rumor, gossip, innuendo, nothing of significance, no doubt.”
Nick narrowed his gaze. His uncle was not usually this vague. “What are you trying to say?”
Frederick shrugged. “Only that one truly never knows what goes on behind the closed doors of a marriage. What transpires between a man and a woman in the privacy of their own home.”
“I had understood they were quite happy together.” It was as much a question as a comment. Without thinking, Nick held his breath. Not that his uncle’s response mattered, really. Ten years ago, Nick had made certain Elizabeth would put aside all thoughts of him and turn to a life with Charles, where she belonged. He had done what he believed—no—he’d known was right for her future and her happiness, and it was far too late to question that decision now.
And if that decision had been wrong?
“As I said, one never knows the truth of a private relationship.” Frederick thoughtfully drew on his cigar. “I can only tell you, to my personal knowledge, they did indeed appear the perfect couple. I never saw anything to indicate otherwise.”
There was a tone in Frederick’s voice, no more than a hint really, that all might not have been as it had seemed between Lord and Lady Langley. Still, what relationship between a man and a woman, any man and any woman no matter how well suited, was ever without a certain amount of discord? It was only natural and, indeed, to be expected. Nick pushed aside a vague sense of unease. Besides, there was nothing he could do about it now.
He stared unseeing at the row of books in front of him.
Nick had spent the last ten years putting Elizabeth firmly and thoroughly out of his mind and out of his heart. And he had succeeded as admirably in this as he had in everything else. While he had not loved another woman, he had certainly not been celibate, and he’d even toyed with the idea of marriage when the occasion, and the lady in question, had warranted it. The fact that he had never taken that drastic step had had nothing to do with Elizabeth. She was a part of his past and nothing more to him now than the wife—or rather the widow—of a good friend.
He wandered absently around the fringes of the room. Oh, certainly, there had been the odd moment through the years when another lady’s smile would remind him of her smile or a laugh heard in a crowded theater would be reminiscent of her laugh or the green of seawater just under the crest of a wave would be the very shade of the color of her eyes. But those moments were as rare as they were unexpected, and Nick was confident his feelings for Elizabeth were as distant as the years and the miles that had separated them.
“What are you going to do about Lady Langley?”
“What?” Nick pulled up short. His startled gaze jumped to his uncle’s. “What do you mean, do about her? I plan to do nothing whatsoever about her. I just told you I have no plans to pursue her. She is not a part of my life, nor do I intend for her to become so.”
Frederick raised a brow. “That’s not what I meant, but I do find your overly vehement response rather telling.” He waved his cigar at the younger man. “You protest too much, boy.”
“Then what did you mean?”
“Charles’s will. What will you do about that?”
“Nothing.” Nick swirled his brandy and watched the amber liquid coat the inside of the glass. “As I understand it, Jonathon has handled Elizabeth’s finances and her sons’ inheritance since Charles’s death. I see no reason to change that.”
“Charles explicitly requested you take over that responsibility whenever you returned to England.” Frederick studied him thoughtfully. “He came to talk to me when he decided to include that clause in his will. Charles could think of no one better suited to watch over the financial resources of his wife and children. He, too, was proud of your accomplishments.” Frederick paused. “His decision to put his family’s financial fate in your hands had to do with your success and abilities and friendship and nothing beyond that.”
“I never even considered the possibility that it did.” Nick noted the ease with which the lie slid smoothly off his tongue and avoided meeting Frederick’s gaze.
The moment Nick had learned of his old friend’s wishes he had wondered if Charles had indeed suspected Nick’s long-ago feelings for Elizabeth. Still, Charles had given him no indication of that in his infrequent correspondence through the years.
“Regardless of Charles’s reasons, Jonathon is her brother and I am little more than a stranger.” Nick shrugged. “It’s best to leave things as they are.”
“Still, you speak of being unwilling to betray his memory, yet you are more than willing to ignore his final wishes on a matter that I know was of the utmost importance to him.”
“It’s two entirely different things, Uncle.” Nick shook his head and without thinking moved to stand before a painting of hounds and horses and red-coated riders. He stared at it as if he had not seen it countless times before. “However, I am not unaware of my responsibilities, especially as Jonathon’s last letter to me reiterated them. It was he who suggested I visit London to make certain for myself that all is well.” In truth, Nick had jumped at the excuse to return home. He had been away far too long. “I plan to meet with Jonathon tomorrow to ascertain precisely the state of Charles’s estate.”
“It’s the least you can do,” Frederick murmured.
“It’s the best I can do,” Nick said sharply, then sighed and cast his uncle an apologetic smile. “I simply don’t think there will be a need for me to do anything beyond confirming that the finances of Charles’s wife and sons are in good hands. I could be wrong, of course, but I doubt it. Forgive me for snapping at you, Uncle. I am obviously still fatigued from my long journey home.”
“Yes, of course. Precisely my thought.” Frederick puffed his cigar. “I didn’t for a moment think it was the subject of Lady Langley that caused your irritation because you still harbor a certain amount of affection for her.”
Nick scoffed. “As I have never harbored any affection whatsoever for Lady Langley save that of friendship, that would indeed be ridiculous.”
Frederick nodded. “Ludicrous.”
“Absolutely,” Nick said staunchly.
“Preposterous.”
“Most certainly.”
“Or possibly most perceptive on my part.”
Nick glared. “Or possibly simply a case of you seeing only what you wish to see.”
“Come now, my boy. In spite of your protests I know you cared for her ten years ago when you left London. I know you avoided her and virtually everyone who knew her—or you, for that matter—on your lone visit home. And I am firmly convinced your feelings have not changed.”
“Regardless of whether or not I cared for Elizabeth when I left England, which I will say for the last time I did not, that was a lifetime ago. She is most certainly different, as am I.”
“You said yourself some things do not change.”
“My point exactly.” Nick nodded. “There was no future to be had between the two of us then, and that has not changed now.”
“Nonsense.” Frederick snorted. “Everything has changed regarding the two of you. Life has moved on and pulled you both in its wake. You were barely more than children a decade ago. She is not the same woman who wed Viscount Langley, and you are not the same man who left to make his own way in the world. You have both grown, and while much of the rest of the world hasn’t changed, you and she have.”
“Indeed, Uncle, I am not a child. I know my own mind and—”
“Do you know your heart as well?”
“Yes,” Nick snapped.
“Do you?” Frederick raised a brow. “I doubt it.”
Nick heaved a long-suffering sigh. “Why?”
“For one thing, there’s a look in
your eye whenever Elizabeth’s name is mentioned.”
Nick snorted. “Don’t be absurd.”
“For another.” Frederick blew a perfect ring of blue smoke, drew on the cigar again, and puffed a second ring that sailed through the first, suspiciously reminiscent of an arrow piercing a heart. “Your restlessness is back. I’d say the demon that has haunted you has returned. Or perhaps,” he flashed his nephew a knowing grin, “she never left.”
Chapter 5
Elizabeth, Lady Langley, slammed open the door of the Effington house library and noted with satisfaction how it smacked against the wall and the way the sound reverberated through the room and, with luck, the entire house.
“How could you, Jonathon?” She stalked into the library, waving the papers in her hands and resisting the urge to fling them at her brother. Jonathon Effington, the Marquess of Helmsley, sat behind the desk, his eyes wide at her sudden appearance.
“For three years you haven’t so much as hinted at this! I’m your sister after all, and I should think that alone would provoke a certain amount of loyalty on your part! How could you not have told me?”
Jonathon laid his pen down on the paper in front of him, no doubt his latest literary effort, cast it a longing look, and rose to his feet in his best someday-I-will-be
-the-Duke-of-Roxborough manner. In spite of his demeanor, a mix of inevitability, resignation, and a distinct touch of trepidation showed in his eyes. Good. He should be uneasy. Very uneasy. He’d be wise to be afraid as well.
“I did tell you,” he said in an altogether too collected manner for a traitor. “You obviously have the papers I sent you right in your hand. Therefore you cannot complain that I did not tell you.”
“Oh, I most certainly can,” she snapped. It was just like Jonathon to try to smooth things over by taking her words literally. He knew full well exactly what she was asking. “Then allow me to rephrase my question. Why didn’t you tell me before now?”
A Visit from Sir Nicholas Page 6