Nora couldn’t agree more. She already felt richer.
“I’m afraid my reticule hasn’t any coin.” She cast a sideways glance at Mr. Grenville. “I wager Mr. Grenville’s cravat.”
“You cannot wager a fellow gambler’s cravat,” he protested.
“And you can’t call him Mr. Grenville,” Bryony put in with a laugh. “He’s Heath, I’m Bryony, this is Dahlia, and that’s Camellia.”
Nora’s cheeks flushed with pleasure at the unexpected honor of first-naming them so quickly. “And I’m Eleanora, but friends call me Nora.”
“You consider it friendly to wager an innocent bystander’s cravat?” Mr. Grenville—er, Heath—said with faux hurt.
“You don’t know how to tie them anyway,” she replied sweetly, to the delight of his siblings.
The next quarter hour passed in a blur of flying cards, sibling rivalry, and tears of laughter on all sides. Being with the Grenvilles was just like being at home with her own family. Nora gazed at them in contentment. Her brother Carter would fit in perfectly with a crowd like this.
The Grenvilles were utterly mad and rowdy and fun and breathtakingly genuine without airs of any sort. For the first time in weeks, Nora was among a group of people with whom she felt like she could finally be herself.
Almost herself.
Her happiness faltered. She would have to remain the Nora she presented to the world, rather than the artist she was in private. The Grenvilles were the last people she could confess her secret identity to, particularly since all of them were sworn enemies of the caricaturist.
Yet she yearned to belong more than anything. She wished she could have moments like this, a tribe like this, a life like this. Her stomach churned. She hated that she could not tell them the truth and still be welcome at the table.
“What do you think?” asked Dahlia as the latest storm of playing cards rained down about them. “Should we do it?”
“Absolutely.” Camellia beamed at Nora. “It’s time.”
Nora’s heart skipped. “Time for what?”
“Time to make it official,” Heath said gruffly. “No escaping now.”
Her pulse thrummed. “Make what official?”
Dahlia climbed up on her chair and affected a regal stance. “Miss Eleanora Winfield, known to her friends and family—”
“And us,” whispered Bryony.
“She’s getting there,” Camellia hissed back.
“—and us as Nora,” Dahlia continued from high atop her makeshift throne. “I now pronounce you—”
Camellia and Bryony quickly gathered the loose cards from the table top.
“—an honorary Grenville!” Dahlia finished with a crescendo.
Bryony and Camellia baptized Nora with a deluge of fluttering cards. “An honorary Grenville!”
The garbled sound in Nora’s throat was somewhere between a laugh and a sob. Her pulse pounded in her ears. She turned wide eyes toward Heath in question.
He lifted her hand to his lips and pressed a warm kiss to the back of her fingers. “You’ve been sworn in. Like it or not, you’re one of us now.”
The backs of Nora’s eyes stung. She stared back at all of them speechlessly.
“Don’t think you’re special,” Bryony teased. “You’re the fourth.”
Nora felt incredibly special. She gave a wobbly smile. Nothing could lessen this moment. “Who was first?”
“Faith Digby,” Heath answered. “Dahlia’s partner in crime.”
“In charity,” Dahlia corrected him. “Faith has been my bosom friend since we were small. Now we run a boarding school together.”
“Very Grenville of her,” Camellia agreed.
Nora could only imagine. “And the second?”
“Simon Spaulding,” everyone but Dahlia answered in a singsong voice.
Though she didn’t speak a word, the bright red of her cheeks spoke volumes.
“Oh, and Lord Wainwright, of course,” Bryony said. “Everyone needs a Lord of Pleasure in the family.”
Camellia’s cheeks pinkened in mortification.
Nora suddenly wanted to sink through the floor.
“Thus, it was past time for my turn.” Heath gazed at her warmly. “Welcome to the family, Nora.”
Her breaths were shallow as she forced herself to smile back.
“I hope we haven’t frightened her off,” Dahlia whispered to Bryony.
“I won’t allow you to.” Heath lifted Nora’s fingers to his lips for a second kiss. “I am hoping to make her presence permanent.”
Her heart stopped. Heath hadn’t been planning on making her an offer to become his mistress. He wanted her to be his wife.
A bolt of longing sharp enough to scald shot through her at the idea. Courted. By him. Her heart ached.
There was nothing she wanted more than to be Heath’s wife, to be part of this wonderful madcap family, to live happily ever after.
But she would lose him if she were honest with them. Lose all of them, all of this.
Nor could she wed him with such a secret hiding between them. He would never forgive such a betrayal. She would never forgive herself if she hurt any of them more than she already had.
Her skin prickled with cold sweat. It took all the courage she had to ruin a moment so perfect, but she forced herself to speak. “I think…”
A footman strode into the room. “Lady Grenville requests the honor of her children’s company.”
“Mother,” Camellia gasped. “I forgot all about tea.”
“I’ve never in my life forgotten tea,” Bryony said with feeling.
Heath leapt to his feet and offered his elbow to Nora. “Come, meet my mother in truth this time.”
Nora swallowed her protest. She had no choice but to take the arm of the man she loved and allow him to lead her to a mother she would never have. This was not the moment to make an uncomfortable scene for Heath. They could speak later, in private.
If such were even necessary.
More likely, Lady Grenville would put paid at once to the fantasy of her husband’s heir courting a sheep maiden from the West Midlands.
Nora’s heavy stomach churned at the idea of losing them all. She’d somehow fallen in love with Heath’s entire family in the space of an afternoon.
No wonder he would do anything in his power to protect them. Particularly from people like her.
Even if she had not involved his sister in one of her caricatures, a courtship with Nora would ruin more than Heath’s social standing. It would ruin his career. The name he had so painstakingly built for himself was as the man who kept the ton scandal-free.
She couldn’t ruin that for him.
“Is Father downstairs?” Heath asked one of the footmen in a low voice.
The footman shook his head. “No, my lord.”
Heath’s jaw tightened.
“It’s nothing to do with you,” Bryony whispered in Nora’s ear. “Father is never around.”
Heath stopped in his tracks and turned to face Nora.
She stared up at him in alarm.
“What my sister said is true.” He lifted Nora’s hands to his chest. “But it won’t happen to us. I want you to know that I am not a mercenary suitor in search of some cold alliance. I’m looking for a partner in all senses, now and forever. With you, I’ve found everything I’m looking for.”
“That’s… extremely romantic,” Dahlia whispered.
Bryony nodded, wide-eyed. “I don’t think we should be witnessing this part.”
Nora could not speak over the pounding of her heart.
“What part?” came a curious voice.
Nora’s pulse skipped.
They had stopped just outside the threshold to the front parlor, and its inhabitants had witnessed everything.
“Mother,” Heath said, releasing Nora’s hand with obvious reluctance. “I was just saying that I hope to see much more of Miss Winfield.”
He didn’t say marriage. He didn’t even say poss
ible courtship. Yet the unspoken implication hung heavy in the suddenly thick air.
Lady Grenville blanched in obvious shock.
Good, Nora told her twisting stomach. This flight of imagination was about to come crashing down.
Heath led her and his entourage of sisters further into the room.
“You wish to court Lady Roundtree’s employee?” Lady Grenville asked in baffled horror, when at last she managed to speak.
Lady Roundtree’s voice boomed from the settee. “Miss Eleanora Winfield is my cousin.”
A palpable wave of surprise coursed through the room.
Nora was perhaps the most shocked among them. She had known the baroness had developed some level of affection for her, but had not expected public acknowledgment. Lady Roundtree must truly consider Nora family now.
Dahlia stared at her. “The two of you are cousins?”
Nora nodded jerkily, not trusting her voice.
“I just said so.” Lady Roundtree pulled out her quizzing glass. “Don’t tell me you need an ear horn already.”
Everyone’s gazes turned to the matriarch of the family.
After a long moment, Lady Grenville gave a delicate sniff. “I cannot imagine why you are all looking at me. My arms are open. It is Miss Winfield who must decide if she wishes to accept Heath’s hand.”
Open arms. An audible gasp strangled in Nora’s throat. Lady Grenville would make no objection?
“That settles it,” Bryony whispered to Nora. “‘Honorary’ is only temporary.”
Nora’s heart leaped—and almost immediately sank. She could easily imagine spending a happy life with a family like the Grenvilles. But she already had a family of her own.
Would Heath demand she choose between them?
Chapter 24
After returning to Lady Roundtree’s town house, Nora helped the footmen settle the baroness upon a comfortable settee in the front parlor, then turned to face Heath.
His family was marvelous. He was marvelous. Her head swam at the thought of being his wife.
Now that Nora’s days of drawing Society caricatures were relegated to her past where they belonged, perhaps her future was finally open. She hated that she could not confess what she had done to save her family, but there was no sense causing trouble over something he had no need to know.
She supposed helping one’s family by any means necessary was not a worse secret than others brought to their marriages. If she wedded a rake, she certainly would not enquire names and dates of the countless women he’d bedded before her, and doubted even minimal information would be likely to be volunteered. A marriage was not about looking backward toward each other’s pasts, but rather forging a new future together.
That was the primary hurdle they would need to work out before their attachment could go further. Forging a future… where? What of Nora’s family? What of Heath’s? If one of them would be required to give up everything, she had no doubt the duty would fall upon her shoulders. He was the baron. She was the sheep maiden.
But she could not help but wish for a happy ever after.
“Stay,” she said impulsively, then turned to the baroness. “If it’s all right with Lady Roundtree.”
“He’s your suitor.” The baroness motioned for her tea set. “I wouldn’t shoo him out.”
Heath bowed. “Only a fool would turn down an opportunity to spend an evening with two beautiful women.”
“Keep your voice down.” Lady Roundtree added her evening dose of laudanum to a china teacup. “I might rest my eyes for a few moments.”
Nora glanced at Heath, then back to the baroness. “Shouldn’t you keep an eye on me?”
“Captain Pugboat is your duenna,” Lady Roundtree mumbled without opening her eyes. “And common sense, if you have any. I’m right here in the same room.”
Nora’s cheeks heated at the implication and she quickly turned back toward Heath. “Your family is a joy. I can see why you love each other.”
“They were just as taken with you,” he said with a satisfied smile. “You even set a record as the quickest honorary Grenville in history.”
Nora couldn’t wait to make all of them honorary Winfields in return.
“I’m sorry your father disappointed you,” she said softly.
A muscle twitched at Heath’s temple. “Bryony was right: Father is never present. Any disappointment is my own fault for failing to set my expectations correctly. What is your family like?”
“Wonderful,” she admitted. “My grandparents have too many age and health issues now to be much help with the crops or the sheep anymore, but they love us just as much as they love that farm. If there was anything at all they could do for us, I know they wouldn’t hesitate.”
“Us?” Heath repeated with a frown. His face cleared. “That’s right, you have a brother.”
She nodded. “Carter is a full year younger, but he might as well be my twin. We’ve been inseparable for as long as I can remember. That is, until I was sent here.” A sudden stab of nostalgia gripped her heart. “It’s been so hard without them.”
Worry filled his hazel eyes. “Wouldn’t you… Do you not want to live in London?”
Her stomach bottomed. Here it was. The moment he would realize they couldn’t suit.
“I can’t leave them to fend for themselves,” she said simply. “Carter is doing his best to make the farm self-sustaining again, but—”
“Nora, I have money.” Heath took her hands, his gaze sheepish. “It’s considered a vulgar subject to talk about, but this is important for you to hear. Even before the banns are read, I will ensure your family wants for nothing. None of you will ever have to worry about the farm again. We can send funds, servants, a lifetime supply of ostrich feathers for your grandmother’s bonnet, anything they need.”
“They need me,” Nora said, her voice scratchy with the pain of disappointing him. Of disappointing herself. She had known this couldn’t work. “I know you need to be in London. Your clients are here; your family is here. But my family is back home. I can’t spend my life here with you if it means giving them up, too.”
A sudden snore rent the parlor. The baroness had fallen asleep.
Heath lifted Noras hands to his chest. “I would never ask you to give up your family. You’re right that mine is here in London, but they’re here because of the Season. Most peers and their families come to Town only whilst Parliament is in session, and then return to their country estates.”
Nora frowned. “Where is your country estate?”
“In the West Midlands,” he said, his eyes shining. “With you.”
Her reply was barely audible. “The West Midlands?”
“We’ll build a home wherever you like. Right next to your grandparents, if you prefer. We’ll spend the Season here in London and the rest of the year near your family.”
Hope gripped Nora’s chest. Was it really possible? Might they find a compromise where everyone could win?
Or was this wishful thinking? Pretty words he could promise now, before he inherited the title and became as distant as his own father? She would have to tread lightly if she wished to discover the truth.
“Does the barony take up much of your time?” she asked.
Heath’s brow furrowed. “I don’t have it yet.”
“But…” She pulled her hands back to her lap in confusion. “Oughtn’t you to learn the ropes? Isn’t there some sort of…”
“barony apprenticeship?” Heath asked dryly. “That was Eton and Oxford. My father has a large cabinet of trusted advisors. Every year in our annual meetings, they assure me of a smooth transition in the future.”
Annual meetings to discuss the inevitable event of a parent’s death made inheriting a title sound positively ghoulish. Nora wished she hadn’t needed to broach the subject. “In the meanwhile, I’m glad you found a career that fulfills you.”
“A what?” His mouth curved and he affected a haughty accent. “No gentleman in line to a title woul
d be caught dead anywhere near a career.”
Her neck heated. “I didn’t mean any offense.”
“You were absolutely correct. Scandal-fixing is my career.” He lifted a shoulder. “Mayhap I wouldn’t be so sensitive about it if I had chosen the path that fulfilled me.”
Lady Roundtree let out another snore and turned her face toward the settee.
Nora lowered her voice. “You don’t enjoy being a scandal-fixer?”
“I do it to help people who need it.” His gaze grew distant. “It is not how I’d prefer to spend my time.”
She leaned forward, intrigued. “What would you rather do?”
“I…” Heath cast a glance toward the baroness snoring softly on the other side of the room. “Perhaps this isn’t the right moment for confessions.”
Nora bit her lip. He was right. They would not be able to have the heart-to-heart they desperately needed if the baroness could wake up at any moment and overhear everything.
She rose to her feet. “Come with me.”
Heath looked at her quizzically but pushed to his feet without question.
She led him past the room where they had trained Captain Pugboat to the tiny parlor she used as her drawing nook. It was close enough to the front parlor to hear the baroness if she should happen to call, and not so far away as to reach the guest chambers.
The tiny parlor was too small to hold more than the single chaise, so Nora seated herself on the end with the armrest and motioned for Heath to join her.
“Is this your hideaway?” he asked as he settled by her side.
It had been her sanctuary for eight short weeks. The idea of moving into her own house… Nay, of having not one but two homes of her own, with the farm no longer a worry…
“Yes.” She tilted her face toward his. “But first, you were telling me there was something you’d rather be doing with your life. I’d love to know what that is.”
He leaned his wide shoulders back against the wallpaper. “Don’t laugh.”
“Never.” She loved him too much to treat his ideas with disrespect. “Trust me.”
After a moment, he nodded. “An art gallery.”
Rogues to Riches (Books 1-6) Page 103