There, on the other side of the room, was Nicholas, talking to Marion.
Julian, unaware of her shock, turned, and led her forward, following Daniel, who had dropped her hand and run to his mother’s side.
“Jane, let me introduce you to my guest.” At Julian’s words, Nicholas turned, and Jane saw the same shock written on his face, as his eyes met hers. Their spring green drew her in, and everything else seemed to fade away. “Mrs Jane Canfield, may I present Nicholas Belmont, the Earl of Amberhithe. Lord Amberhithe is staying with us, whilst we assist him in a most distressing matter.”
Somehow, Nicholas overcame the shock enough to bow elegantly over her hand.
“Delighted, Mrs Canfield. Your daughter has told me much about you.”
His warm rich voice flowed over her, heating her blood, and resonating in her bones, as it always did. She found words, a little shakily, desperately trying to maintain the formal politeness which one might expect in people who had never met before, tempered by the private situation in which they had been introduced.
“My Lord. I am not certain how I feel about that! I can only hope that she has been kind.”
He laughed, a delightful sound, and smiled again. He had not yet released her hand, and she glanced down, unsure what to do. He noticed her glance, and uncurled his fingers, a slight flush colouring his cheeks.
“I cannot imagine the Countess being anything other than kind.”
“I am relieved to hear you say so.”
Conversation flowed, and Jane slowly regained her equilibrium. But her eyes followed Nicholas, and their eyes often met. It was hard to concentrate on the conversation, with him in the room. An Earl! She had not suspected. Their friendship had been so completely based on a separation from the day to day world, that she had held no concept of his status.
Now, she found herself shy in his company, unsure how to go on, with a man far beyond her social status. And yet… he was still Nicholas.
A nursery maid came to take Daniel off to his supper and bed, and shortly thereafter, a footman announced that dinner was ready. Julian led the way to the dining room, and Jane found herself beside Nicholas. He offered his arm, and she took it, nervous as he led her to her place at the table. They settled into their seats, and Jane found herself still deeply distracted – Nicholas’ presence at her side was somehow far different here, than when they sat companionably on the bench at the folly.
The warmth of him beside her was palpable – seeming to heat her body in turn. She was grateful when food was placed before her, and she could concentrate on simply eating – or at least trying to, for her appetite was reduced by her nervousness. Once the first course was done, conversation resumed, and Julian chose to explain to Jane the sad circumstances which had brought Nicholas to stay at Windemere Towers.
“I am not sure if Marion has told you anything of Lord Amberhithe’s sad story, Jane?”
“Only a little.”
“Ah, well, let me tell you a little more – and, of course, you should correct me if I have any of this wrong, Nicholas.”
Nicholas nodded in Julian’s direction. “Please. I am happy for you to tell the tale. I confess that I am most heartily sick of needing to repeat it, when it hurts me so much to even think about the situation.”
Jane glanced to her side, watching Nicholas’ face as he spoke – some deep sadness was visible in his expression. She remembered that Marion had spoken of his son being missing, but it seemed there was more to the story than Marion had mentioned. She felt a sudden desire to reach out, to take his hand, to offer, in some way, some comfort. Instead, she turned her attention back to Julian, feeling flushed, and uncertain.
“Lord Amberhithe lost his wife some three years ago now, and his only son and heir, Viscount Woodridge, in dealing with his grief, allowed himself to be drawn far too deeply into gambling and other undesirable pursuits. This brought him into conflict with his father, much to Nicholas’ distress. It seems that the gambling debts were out of control, far more than anyone realised. Nearly two months ago, Viscount Woodridge disappeared. He had intended to visit a friend’s estate in the country, and sent his valet on ahead with the carriage, choosing to ride, by a roundabout route, to avoid being followed by enforcers sent by the moneylender. He never arrived at his friend’s estate.”
At these words, Jane gasped, looking to Nicholas again. Nicholas simply stared, unseeing, at his wine glass, his pain at the situation obvious. Again, she wanted to reach out to him. But it was not her place to do so. She turned back to Julian.
“That is terrible indeed!”
“When he did not arrive, the valet searched, and eventually came to Nicholas to tell him the sorry tale. Since then, Nicholas has searched widely, ever further afield from the direct route from London to the Viscount’s friend’s estate, but has not found him. So he came to me, in the hope that I could assist. Sadly, although I have called on everyone I know, so far, I have had no more success than Nicholas. His son is still missing. It distresses me that I have not been able to help – for I know far too well the pain of losing a son. I pray that we will find him yet.”
After a moment, Nicholas spoke, his voice far rougher than normal.
“I blame myself, in a way. I was so caught in my own grief, I did not realise the path that Gervaise’s grief had led him down, until far too late. And then, I took the approach of cutting back his allowance, in the hope of reducing the gambling. If only I had understood! I would happily have paid his debts, rather than lose my son, no matter what the cost.”
“You must not lose faith, Lord Amberhithe. Surely, if anyone can discover a way to find him, it will be Julian.”
Nicholas turned to Jane as she spoke and nodded slowly.
“You are right, Mrs Canfield. I must not lose hope.”
The next course was served, and everyone ate in rather sombre silence, considering the potentially dire fate of Lord Amberhithe’s son. Soon, Julian determinedly turned the conversation to lighter topics and, in the end, the evening passed most pleasantly. But the shadow of sadness was never far from Nicholas’ eyes.
~~~~~
Nicholas was finding it harder and harder to maintain his hope. And every day, when he spoke to Marion, and saw young Daniel, it reminded him of the daughter-in-law he might never have, of the grandchild he might never have, if they did not find Gervaise.
He stood in the parlour, talking to Marion about the events of the day, while young Daniel played at her feet. There was the sound of the front door being opened, and Daniel leapt to his feet and sped from the room. Ah the vagaries of children!
He continued his conversation, vaguely aware of someone entering the room, until Julian’s voice drew his attention.
“Jane, let me introduce you to my guest.”
Nicholas turned, wondering who this might be, and stilled, shocked. For there, being brought across the room by Julian, was his Jane. The Jane with whom he shared those wonderful conversations by the stream, those conversations during which he could forget, for a little while at least, that Gervaise was missing.
Somehow, he staggered through the introductions, his mind reeling with the fact that Jane was Marion’s mother, and had known Julian even longer than he had. Tonight, dressed formally for dinner, she was even more beautiful. The silk of her dress was an echo of her eyes – a rich honey colour, with a shimmering finish. The necklace and hairpins of amber set in silver added to the warm impression. He realised that he was staring, unable to drag his eyes away, and flushed.
The evening progressed, with him ever aware of her presence by his side even in those moments when Julian spoke of their fruitless search for Gervaise, and he was quite certain that he was a poor companion, so distracted was he by her proximity. How would he ever speak with her the same way again?
~~~~~
As Jane drifted off to sleep that night, her mind kept replaying random pieces of the last few weeks, in the half dream state before true sleep. Much of what went through
her mind was Nicholas – both during their conversations near the folly, and at dinner. But she also saw snippets of her conversations in the village, and other moments.
The juxtaposition of the two things – the image of Nicholas’ sorrowful face, when speaking of his missing son, and the image of Mary’s face as she described the gossip about the woodcutter’s discovery of a man in the woods – made her wonder – was there any connection? She pushed the fanciful thought aside. His son had been far from this area when he disappeared, as far as anyone knew, and the chance of any connection was vanishingly slim.
Sleep claimed her, and her dreams were full of spring green eyes and a voice like warm honey.
In the morning, however, that strange thought of connection stayed with her.
Chapter Six
The image of Jane as she had walked into the parlour at Windemere Towers, all golden and beautiful, stayed with Nicholas, haunting his thoughts and his dreams. Whilst he was still utterly uncertain about how to go on, now that they knew each other’s identity, and the perfect isolation of their conversations could never be the same, he still found himself wanting to see her.
After another depressing report back from the search parties, he took himself out for a walk, and soon his feet followed the familiar path towards the folly. There was no reason to expect her to be there, that particular day, yet he was full of hope – and nervous apprehension. Could they still converse as they had?
He turned the corner of the stream, and released the breath he had not been aware of holding. She was there.
She looked up, as he approached, and smiled, her honey brown eyes warm, yet her smile a little hesitant. He understood – he felt a little hesitant too.
“Good day to you Jane. Do you, perchance, have time to sit and talk awhile?”
She looked away, shyly, so different from her previous demeanour, as if the knowledge of his title had somehow made him a different person. It saddened him – for the time here, without bearing the weight of the title, had been most precious to him. He would have to, somehow, convince her that nothing should change. After a moment, she looked up, the uncertainty still in her eyes.
“Of course, Nicholas.”
A little of the fear left him – she would at least try to go on as before.
“Thank you. I…”
“Yes?”
“I believe it best to go on as we did before – to be completely frank with one another, and to, in most cases, leave the world outside these moments out of our conversation. But… I can see, in your eyes, a hesitation that was not there before. Is that borne of knowing who I am, in the world at large? For if it is, I would most strongly wish that we had never been formally introduced, so much do I value our private conversations.”
She watched him, eyes wide, and said nothing, her fingers playing with a flower she had picked. He waited. He realised, as he did, just how much he had come to value his time with this woman, to value her, for her unaffected honesty and beauty of spirit. Waiting for her to speak was torture, but he could do nothing else. Finally, her smile grew larger, and she nodded, as if coming to a decision.
“I also would prefer to go on as we did before. But can we? I admit that your station in life makes me uncertain. Such knowledge is impossible to unknow, once known. Yet I too value our conversations, and would not wish to lose them.”
“Then let us pretend that our introduction never happened – at least whilst we are here, away from everyone else.”
“As you wish Nicholas. What shall we talk of today?”
He paused, suddenly unsure, for all of the rest of the world seemed now available for discussion, and pushed itself forward in his thoughts. He pushed it away, unwilling to begin any discussion which could only end with mention of Gervaise.
“I have most often seen you here – but, do you often walk far afield?”
“I do. I like to walk, to appreciate the beauty of the countryside around me. I walk into the village regularly, as well as simply wandering in the grounds of the estate, and sometimes further. Most of my life, I had little choice but to walk, if I wished to go somewhere, and it has become habit.”
“Then… shall we walk? You can show me the places you like, and I can learn more of the countryside.”
‘Yes. That would be most pleasant, Nicholas.”
He stood, and offered her his hand, gently assisting her to rise, then proffered his arm. She placed her hand upon it, and warmth spread into him from the contact. She was such an attractive woman, not simply externally, but in all ways. He was, he discovered, glad of the excuse to have her touching him.
They set off, much of the time in companionable silence.
He had not craved any woman’s company like this, not since Clara’s death. That he did so now left him confused, and feeling guilty again. He should not feel so, he knew, yet he did. And he was almost afraid. Did he wish to feel something for this woman? But love led to inevitable pain. Yet it felt right, walking like this, her hand on his arm, her warmth beside him.
Even knowing, now, who she was, he did not really know how to treat her. For she was a commoner, and, as such, theoretically completely below his station, not a woman to be associated with. Yet… her daughter was a Countess, her grandson was an Earl, and would be, in due course, a Duke. He did not know what that meant, as far as any association between them.
It struck him then, that he did not care. Somewhere, in these last two terrible months, he had ceased to care what society thought – of him, of Gervaise, of anyone he cared for. Let him only have his son back, alive, and well, and he would bear any gossip cast against him, or against those around him.
They walked on, and Nicholas allowed his mind to wander, turning his thoughts to the world around them, to anything and everything but his feelings – for feelings led to pain. After some time, she began to speak, telling him about his surroundings – what grew in the fields, what lived in the forest, how the land changed with the seasons. Things he had never considered in such detail before. The depth of her knowledge of such things surprised him – the women of his acquaintance knew nothing of the natural world.
As she spoke, she became more animated, her face alight with enthusiasm, and his heart lifted. Somehow, despite himself, she filled him with joy in the day.
They stopped, eventually, as they sun grew lower on the horizon, and the rich light of late afternoon cloaked the trees in a golden haze. They stood in a copse of trees, on the bank of another stream.
She looked up at him, and, as his eyes met hers, everything else faded away. The gold haze somehow surrounded them. His heart skipped a beat, and, as she licked her lips, moving as if uncertain, his eyes were drawn to her mouth. He wanted, in that instant, to trace his tongue over the path that hers had just taken. The desire was so strong that he did not think, he simply acted. Slowly, as if in a dream, he bent his head to hers, brought his lips to hers, and allowed himself to do as he had imagined.
As his lips touched hers, she stilled, then, as his tongue began to trace the outline of her upper lip, she sighed, and softened, her lips parting slightly. He pulled her to him, and her hands slid over his shoulders. His heart was racing, and a wild joy ran through him when her lips moved against his in response.
The kiss seemed to last forever, and no time at all. When it ended, they drew apart, both looking flustered and confused, overwhelmed by the intensity of it. The cool afternoon breeze touched his fevered skin, and reality came crashing back down upon him. What was he doing? He could not risk love! He could not risk the friendship, the peace he had found in Jane’s company. Yet he had done just that. She would be well within her rights to slap him for his presumption, to turn away from him.
Desperately, he hoped that she would not turn away. After all… for those glorious moments – she had not pushed him away – far from it, she had kissed him back.
He looked at her – she stood, breathing hard, her hands fallen by her side, staring across the stream. He wanted to re
ach out and touch her. He wanted to step back, and never touch her again. He wanted… he did not know what he wanted – only that she should stay in his life, somehow.
Slowly, she turned back towards him.
“Nicholas. I…”
She blushed, her cheeks stained a delightful pink. Her eyes met his, and for a moment, he thought he saw some strong emotion there. Then she looked away again. He spoke, suddenly needing to break the silence.
“Jane, I apologise. I had no right to presume, to take advantage…”
“Nicholas, I am not some green girl with no experience of life. I am as complicit as you in that moment. I am not sure that it should have happened, but I cannot regret that it did.”
He felt dizzy – with relief that she was not rejecting his presence completely, and with fear – for what happened next, in a situation like this? She smiled, meeting his eyes again, and reached for his hand, twining her fingers with his.
“Jane…”
“Shhh. There will be time for us to talk of this later. I think that we both need time to adjust, to consider what we wish to do. For now, let us simply walk. It is past time that we turned back – it will be close to dark by the time we reach the folly again.”
They turned, together, and began to retrace their steps. She did not release his hand, and warmth filled him at that fact.
They did not speak again until they reached the folly, and he bid her good evening, but they were both acutely aware of the other, every step of the way. He watched her walk up through the gardens, until she faded from his sight in the deepening dusk, then turned back towards Windemere Towers, his mind in turmoil.
~~~~~
For all that she had put an effort into appearing calm as they walked back towards the folly, Jane was shaking inside. As Nicholas bid her farewell for the evening, she had a moment where she wanted nothing more than to fling herself into his arms, to revisit the heady delight of his kiss.
She did nothing of the sort, firmly remonstrating with herself for the thought. Instead, she bid him good evening with a smile, and went on her way up through the gardens. She forced herself not to look back, but she had the feeling that he was watching her. Chiding herself for thinking like a foolish girl, she went into the house and settled to some sewing until dinner. There was nothing like simple practical work to takes one’s mind off flights of fancy. At least that’s what she told herself. Her mind, it seemed, did not listen.
Falling for the Earl: Sweet and Clean Regency Romance (His Majesty's Hounds Book 12) Page 4