Ali didn’t want to badger her sister. Nor did she want to give away her foolish infatuation, but she couldn’t help asking questions.
“And is he always so – serious?”
Abigail grinned.
“Robert said that he used to be quite different. According to him, Nic was as carefree as James and even Simon in his day, though perhaps not as badly behaved as Simon,” she laughed. “Until about ten years ago. He said that one day, Nic came back from Ireland and was an entirely different person. None of them ever knew why, and he never said. But he doesn’t tell them anything about his life, not really. Robert said there’s not much to tell. He has kept them all in line when needed. Always been the most level-headed and sensible one of them. Lives a quiet and uneventful life.”
Alison was more than a little intrigued and lapped up the information about the mysterious duke.
But it wouldn’t do to let her sister know how fascinated she was by even this snippet of information. Abby would tease her mercilessly.
“Lord, how boring,” Ally said jokingly, hoping not to raise any suspicions.
In any case, he did sound boring. Chances were she’d made him far more interesting in her head than he actually was.
“What an old fuddy-duddy. I hope the other gentlemen I meet are more interesting than Lord Barnbury.”
“I’m sure they will be.”
Alison gasped and whipped her head back to the open door at the sound of a masculine voice.
“Oh, no,” she whispered as she took in the giant shoulders, the glinting navy eyes, the stern expression.
The Duke of Barnbury stood there, stiff as a statue and glaring into the carriage.
And he was not impressed.
Chapter Three
She was even more beautiful than he remembered.
Although Nic had convinced himself that his mind had smoothed imperfections, had made her more impossibly lovely than she could be, it turned out his imagination just hadn’t been up to the task of doing Miss Alison Langton justice.
She was, in actuality, far more beautiful than his limited mind had given her credit for.
Her hair, tucked though it was under a straw bonnet, gleamed like gold in the summer sun.
Nic felt an unwelcome tightening of desire as he watched those damned kissable lips form a surprised “oh.”
Her cheeks grew pink, her astonishingly blue eyes widened, and though he would have assumed they’d be filled with shame or remorse at having been caught speaking so ill of a duke, they sparkled instead with a mischief that set his teeth on edge.
Perhaps he hadn’t remembered her beauty accurately, but he had certainly been correct about her irritating impropriety and mischievous nature.
His eyes darted to Abigail, who looked worriedly between Nic and the termagant, before moving right back to Miss Langton.
Nic felt the deep scowl on his face but was powerless to rid himself of it.
Every single thing about this woman annoyed him, and for the first time in his life, he had no qualms in making that fact known.
But rather than drop her gaze demurely or seem in any way contrite, her chin tilted up and a blue flame of defiance flashed in her eyes.
“Nic, it’s good to see you, man.”
Nicholas turned at the sound of Robert’s voice.
Though it had been a couple years now since Rob had met Abigail, the difference in his friend still took Nic by surprise.
Gone was the haunted look in Rob’s grey eyes. Gone was the air of pain and despair that had always seemed to surround the duke, drowning him in its oppressiveness.
Now, Robert’s face was creased in smiles more often than not.
And the dark circles under his eyes were, Nic was sure, a product of the arrival of little Lady Charlotte rather than Robert’s past holding him in its clutches.
“Ah, the new father. I was just getting ready to greet Abigail and meet Lady Charlotte.” Nic clasped Rob’s outstretched hand, clapping him on the back and giving him a genuine smile.
He didn’t mention the other occupant of the carriage.
The occupant with the kissable though extremely annoying mouth.
Robert stepped around Nic and held a hand out to assist the ladies.
Nic should have done so, of course.
But he’d been rendered a statue, first by the sound of Alison Langton’s insulting remarks, and then by the sight of her sitting there bedecked in blue velvet.
She appeared to be the epitome of social grace and innocence. Nic was sure she was anything but.
Shaking himself from his distracting thoughts, Nic turned in time to see Robert take his daughter from Abigail’s arms and turn to face him, his face stamped with paternal pride.
“Here she is,” he said, his voice filled with an awe only parents seemed to be able to produce, and only when talking about their offspring.
The lance of hurt that shot through Nic upon sight of the babe took him by surprise.
It wasn’t often that he experienced the pain of his loss anymore. If he allowed it to, it would consume him.
And so, he quite simply didn’t allow it to.
But standing there, gazing down at the bundle of pink and white, he couldn’t stop his mind from going somewhere he desperately tried to protect it from.
Would his own child have been tiny like this one?
Would he have grown to a sweet little imp like James’s ward, Poppy?
These were questions he never allowed himself to ask.
Yet here he was, wondering all the same.
“Lottie, meet Uncle Nic.”
Nic quickly gathered himself in time to first bend and place a quick kiss on Abigail’s cheek, steadfastly ignoring her sister, before holding out his arms for Rob to place the baby into them.
All around them there was bustle.
Servants dashed in and out of the white-stucco townhouse carrying trunks and following the orders of the overseeing butler.
Nic barely heard any of it.
He gazed into the perfect face of the sleeping baby, and something splintered in his heart.
He was truly happy for his friend. Felt truly privileged to be considered an uncle to Lottie, and Poppy, and any other children who may come along in their small circle.
But he would never experience fatherhood himself.
Never wanted to.
And that decision, a decision made in the dank, dark hallway of yet another Rookery hovel, had never been one that he’d regretted. More than that, it was a decision he never thought about.
Yet, just like the questions he’d asked himself moments ago, the thought he had whilst he held Lady Charlotte Forsythe wouldn’t be silenced.
What sort of father would I have made to the child I never had a chance to meet?
Before his emotions could foolishly make themselves known, Nic took a steadying breath and smiled at the doting parents.
“She’s perfect,” he said simply. “She must get that from her mother.”
Rob laughed, his arm snaking around his wife’s waist.
“I have no doubt that she does,” he answered easily. “Certainly, her beauty comes from the Harrington side of the family. Just don’t tell James I said that, or we’ll never hear the end of it.”
Nic laughed.
“He won’t hear it from me,” he said. “When he arrives at Town, you can tell him yourself how much you admire that pretty face of his.”
Charlotte stirred, and Abby stepped forward to take her from Nic.
“She will be wanting to feed soon,” she said, either not knowing or not caring that ordinarily, duchesses did not speak of such things to gentlemen.
“I’ll come with you.”
Nic’s eyes flew to Miss Langton, whom he’d been purposefully ignoring.
“You’ve just come to London, Ally. You can hardly want to lock yourself away in the nursery with me. Better to get all of the latest gossip from Nicholas.” She grinned.
Miss Langt
on’s eyes flew to Nic’s, and he tried not to notice the flecks of silver in their bright blue depths.
Nic bit his tongue to stop from rudely telling her he didn’t want her company.
He knew he was scowling again.
And he knew if he didn’t stop, Robert would notice.
And if Robert noticed, then he’d tell James.
The last thing Nic needed was both the chit’s brother-in-law and cousin, having a problem with him.
Because they’d ask him questions he simply couldn’t answer.
Nic didn’t know why he disliked the tiny blonde as much as he did.
Didn’t know why he reacted so viscerally to her mere presence.
Her words in the carriage had been scathing, but he wasn’t a missish debutante overset because someone didn’t like him.
Though, he had to concede, it was rare for anyone to dislike him.
He might not garner the adoration James did, but he certainly had never upset or offended anyone.
But now, he was tempted to.
In any event, Miss Langton saved him from either being rude or having to endure her company.
“I think the reception in the nursery will be warmer than the one I’m getting here,” she quipped outrageously.
She then turned her gaze up to his once more.
“I am sorry that you heard what I said earlier, your grace. About your being a boring fuddy-duddy.”
Nic could have wrung her slender neck as he heard Rob’s snort of amusement.
“That’s quite all right, Miss Langton,” he forced through gritted teeth. “I’m sure we all say things we don’t mean at times.”
His tone was gratingly condescending, even to his own ears.
He watched in trepidation as a spark of mischief flashed in her expressive eyes.
“Oh, I meant it,” she drawled. “I’m just sorry I got caught.”
He could only stare as she turned and dashed up the steps to the townhouse, her blue velvet skirts trailing behind her.
Chapter Four
“Do you want to tell me what that was all about?”
Nic sighed as he took the tumbler of brandy from Rob’s hand then sat on a chair in the study.
When Robert’s only reaction to Miss Langton’s behaviour outside had been to offer a drink, Nic had thought the matter would be dropped.
Clearly that was wishful thinking.
Another black mark against the defiant debutante.
“What do you mean?” he hedged.
Rob merely raised a brow and waited.
Nic could sit here and stare his friend down, but he knew Robert was owed an explanation of sorts.
The problem was he didn’t have one to give.
Not one that made sense, in any case.
“I’ve known Alison for a year now, and I’ve only ever seen her be unfailingly kind to people. She likes everyone,” Rob continued. “She’s worse than Abby for her good moods.”
Nic couldn’t help his grin as some of the old, unsociable monster inside his friend made itself known.
“Generally speaking, a good mood is considered a good thing,” Nic drawled, momentarily distracted.
“I’m aware of that,” Rob scowled. “It’s just – a lot. A lot of singing and laughing and flowers.”
“We all know the flowers are your fault,” Nic interjected. “It’s terribly romantic, according to Abigail, Senna, and Amelia. So, you only have yourself to blame there.”
Nic couldn’t pretend to understand the significance of wildflowers when it came to Rob’s marriage.
All he knew was that ever since Abigail had first arrived at Montvale Hall, it was constantly full of them, and Rob and Abigail were positively nauseating whenever it came up in conversation.
Even now, Rob’s eyes were growing soft.
Nic didn’t usually mind.
Today, it irritated him.
Another first.
And he was inclined to blame this on Alison Langton, too.
“Yes, well, be that as it may, I was a grumpy bastard for long enough that an abundance of gaiety still grates from time to time,” Rob said now. “I’m just glad that Alison is determined to find herself a husband this Season. Then I’ll only have one unashamedly happy blonde to deal with.”
The feeling of – well, something unpleasant that shot through Nic at the mention of Alison Langton’s future husband made him so uncomfortable he forced himself to ignore it.
“Two, if you count Lottie,” Nic teased.
“Well, she got her mother’s beauty, thank God,” Rob answered. “But I’m hoping she gets at least some of her father’s countenance.”
Nic snorted in disbelief.
Robert doted on his wife. Everyone knew it. Nic knew nothing would make his friend happier than a daughter just like her mother in every way.
“Anyway, even if Lottie ends up as vivacious as her mother, that will still only leave me with two instead of three to take care of. It’s already been a hard enough task keeping the dandies of Northumberland from my door. In the Marriage Mart, I haven’t a hope in Hell of keeping them from battering the door down.”
That unwelcome, uncomfortable feeling rose again inside Nic, and he finished his drink in one, great swallow before moving to refill his tumbler.
“You’re going soft, then?” he asked with a lightness he didn’t quite feel. “Losing your touch? I remember a time when people would be far too petrified to beat down the door of the Monster of Montvale.”
Rob rolled his eyes at the moniker as he stepped forward to refill his own glass.
“We all know love makes heroes or fools of us all,” he said. “A pretty face can drive a man to madness. And Alison’s is prettier than most.”
Prettier? If she were merely pretty, Nic wouldn’t be having this problem.
She was beautiful. Earth-shatteringly, heartbreakingly so.
“She’s determined to marry. And Abigail is determined to help her. Which means I’ve no choice but to let them come with their stupid posies and insipid poetry.”
Rob shuddered, and Nic felt a spark of sympathy for his friend.
He could just imagine what they’d be like. For Rob spoke the truth. Someone that looked like Alison Langton and had connections to both the Duke of Montvale and the Marquess of Avondale would be fighting them off in droves.
If he could stand to be around the girl, he’d rather enjoy watching both Robert and James deal with them.
But for his sanity, he wouldn’t be around any more than absolutely necessary.
“Anyway, I asked what was going on between the two of you outside.”
“Nothing’s going on,” Nic answered quickly. “She clearly doesn’t have a very high opinion of me. It happens.” He shrugged.
“It doesn’t happen,” Rob answered. “Not to you. Nobody’s ever said a negative word about you in all the years we’ve known each other.”
If you don’t count my father, Nic thought, though he kept the sentiment to himself.
His friends knew nothing of his past with his father. Nor would they.
Speaking of the whole thing would only serve to make it real.
“Well, there’s a first time for everything,” he drawled with feigned nonchalance.
“And you don’t like her either,” Rob continued carefully.
Nic’s navy eyes fled to Robert’s.
“Why do you say that?” he asked, his heart thumping.
“I know you, Nic. I might not know what it is you do when you hide yourself away from one end of the day to the other. I might not know where you disappear to when Parliament finishes and Town empties of everyone except you. But I do know you. And you don’t like her.” He paused for a beat. “Why?”
Nic sighed, his head beginning to pound.
“I don’t know, Rob,” he answered finally. Truthfully. “She’s spoilt. Far too pretty for her own good. Manipulative. You know she very nearly ruined things between Simon and Amelia?”
“Simon and Amelia nearly ruined things between Simon and Amelia,” Rob countered. “And either one of them would tell you that themselves. Why, Amelia and Alison are the best of friends. And Simon doesn’t even notice a woman who isn’t his wife anymore.”
Nic felt his frustration growing.
Why couldn’t his friend see how bothersome Miss Langton was going to be?
Nic could just sense it in the chit. She was trouble.
“She might be spoilt, I’ll grant you,” Rob continued. “As spoilt as any of the Langton girls could be with the parents they had, in any case.”
Nic frowned, wondering at that cryptic remark, but Rob wasn’t finished.
“And she can’t help what she looks like, Nic,” he continued softly, just highlighting how insane Nic sounded for complaining about it. As though the girl were that beautiful on purpose to annoy him.
“I’ve just never seen you like this. And I wonder as to why.”
Nic sighed once again.
“I already told you,” he bit out, uncharacteristically snippy, bending his head and pinching the bridge of his nose. “I don’t know.”
He expected Robert to yell at him. Perhaps even threaten bodily harm for good measure.
But when there was nothing but silence, he looked back up to see his friend smiling enigmatically.
“I see,” Rob said cryptically.
He saw? Nic laughed humourlessly to himself.
Whatever it was Rob saw, Nic didn’t bloody see it. And he wouldn’t ask what Robert meant because he suspected he wouldn’t like the answer.
He was in for a long summer.
“Why are you hiding from Nicholas?” Abigail asked for the hundredth time.
“I’m not hiding. From him or anyone,” Alison answered for the hundredth time.
Abigail’s stubbornness was infamous.
Alison’s was worse.
And she would not be goaded into saying anything telling about the formidable duke.
It had been more than a little unfortunate getting caught saying such impolite things about him.
They weren’t even true; that was the kicker.
Alison didn’t find Lord Barnbury boring. If anything, it was quite the opposite. She was fascinated by him.
The Saint of St. Giles Page 3