“Are you here to propose?” Rob asked. “Because I’m not sure she’ll talk to you”
“I’m not here to talk to Alison,” Nic said, even though he physically ached to go to her. “I’m here to talk to you. To all of you.”
Alison’s heart thundered loudly as she sat anxiously awaiting the arrival of a servant.
Eliza had told her that Lord Barnbury had arrived over an hour ago, and still she had yet to be summoned to Robert.
Her heart, which apparently couldn’t learn its lesson, had burst with elation when she’d heard that he’d arrived, and though she tried not to, she couldn’t help but wonder if he were here for her.
However, nobody had called for her, and now she wondered if perhaps he was here to tell tales.
Perhaps he was here to reiterate to Robert that he’d been right about her.
That she was scandalous, flirting with viscounts and telling dukes she loved them. Following gentlemen into the underbelly of London, and dancing barefoot in fountains.
She half expected Robert, himself, to come thundering up the stairs and ship her back to the Americas.
Well, good, she said to herself with a conviction she didn’t feel, I want to go home anyway.
The hours ticked on.
Alison had been determined to stay in her room, hiding from everyone.
But curiosity was getting the better of her.
Finally, she could bear it no longer.
Moving as quietly as possible, she slipped out of her rooms and moved swiftly along the corridor to the staircase.
Just as she reached the top, the door to Robert’s study opened and Nicholas swept out, moving quickly toward the foyer.
She didn’t make a sound. Alison was sure of it.
But just as a waiting footman swung open the door, he stopped.
Spinning around, his eyes scanned the hallway before moving up and finding hers.
Alison’s breath caught as his navy-blue gaze bored into her.
She stood frozen, unable to move or look away.
Her heart was hammering, begging him to come to her. To say something, at least.
But apart from a quick flash of some powerful emotion, his expression remained calm and unmoved.
After a torturous moment, he bowed briefly, turned on his heel and, without saying a word, walked away.
Chapter Thirty-One
“Who is the note from, dear?”
Alison looked up from the missive in her hand to see Abigail staring curiously at her.
It had been two days since Nic had been here.
Two days of complete silence from him.
Alison hadn’t left the house. She’d declined all invitations to parties and balls, refused to accompany Abigail at afternoon calls, and begged Abby to make her excuses during her At Home.
Last night, she’d announced that she intended to return home as soon as the Season was done.
Truth be told, she didn’t want to even continue the Season, but it would take time to pack everything up, so she could be patient.
Especially because she didn’t particularly want to go home.
The truth was she didn’t particularly want to do anything.
London had lost its appeal. Ever since her visit to the children’s home, the superficial nature of most members of the ton irritated her.
All the parties were the same; all the people were the same. The gentlemen were either lascivious or sycophantic. The ladies fawning or snide.
She didn’t like it, she had come to realise.
Dinner parties, balls, and soirees were fun and entertaining, but in small doses. The daily events were taking their toll on her.
Abigial was surprised to find that Alison was less than impressed with the glittering world of the beau monde, but Alison was as surprised as her sister.
Coming to England, she had been full sure that this life was the one she’d wanted.
Now, just like so many other things, that had changed.
Nicholas Fyfe was to blame for that, too.
And now she’d received this letter.
“I-it’s from one of the children I met at the home that Ni– that Lord Barnbury sponsors,” she said quickly.
She wouldn’t say that it was a home the duke frequented.
Much as he had broken her heart, Alison wouldn’t betray Nicholas’s secret.
“One of the children? How nice,” Abigail said blandly. “What does it say?”
“I had promised that I would play for them and maybe teach them to play themselves.” Alison swallowed hard.
She never should have made such a promise. She had done so thinking that she would spend lots of time there.
“Apparently, the duke had a pianoforte delivered yesterday and they want me to come and try it.”
“Well, you must certainly go,” Abby said quickly. “You cannot let the poor, orphaned children down, can you?”
Alison scowled.
“No, I suppose I can’t,” she agreed reluctantly.
She didn’t want to let the children down. But she really didn’t want to see Nicholas, either.
“Why don’t you finish your breakfast, and we’ll call for the carriage to take us there.”
Alison gaped at her sister.
She wanted to go to St. Giles, just so Alison could play a pianoforte?
“Um, I’m not sure that’s a good idea,” Alison said now. “It’s not the sort of place we should go to alone.”
“Isn’t that the place you went to alone?” Abby blinked at her.
“Well, yes,” Alison said. “But, I promised –”
“You promised what?”
Her heart twisted painfully as she remembered her conversation with Nic.
Only you.
“Never mind,” she said dully. “But we really shouldn’t go unescorted,” she said. “We should ask Robert.”
“Ask me what?” The door to the breakfast room opened and Robert walked in, bending to kiss Abby’s head as he walked by her chair.
“Alison has had a note from some of the children at an orphanage in St. Giles and wants to go and visit. We thought that it might be best if you came with us.”
“It’s not best, it’s imperative. You cannot go anywhere near that place without me or Nic. Not ever.”
Robert’s intensity would have taken Alison by surprise if she hadn’t seen with her own eyes just how dangerous those streets were. Truth be told, she would be glad to have her intimidating brother-in-law with her.
“We should ready ourselves then,” Abigail said, ignoring Robert’s protectiveness.
Alison nodded, following her sister out of the breakfast room.
The last thing she wanted was to go anywhere near the place that was so much a part of Nicholas.
But what choice did she have?
Three hours and ten songs later, the children of the home were finally convinced to have a rest.
Alison’s fingers must be aching by now, but Nic had yet to see her grimace or complain.
All morning he’d watched her charm and enchant the children. They were as drawn to her as he was, as everyone around her was.
Nic’s heart ached when he thought of her believing that he didn’t love her.
Of course, he loved her. How could he do anything but love her?
He’d kept his distance, anxious to do this right. He didn’t want her storming off the second she’d arrived.
As Rob had promised, he’d accompanied Alison to the door of the home.
His friend’s surprise had been evident when he’d entered Nic’s small, cramped office. There were papers everywhere. Reports on the finances, the children, their wants and needs.
“I still can’t quite believe you kept your involvement in all of this so well hidden,” he’d said.
The day Nic had confessed his history to his friends, they’d sat in Robert’s study for hours. It had been one of the most difficult conversations of Nic’s life but afterwards, the relief at finally letting his sur
rogate family in had been palpable. He’d felt a decade younger as he’d unburdened himself to Simon, James, and Robert.
And as he’d hurried away to put into place everything he wanted for Alison, he’d sensed her there.
Her soul called to his own, Nic was sure of it.
Even today when she’d arrived, he’d felt her presence in the air.
Seeing her standing forlornly at the top of Robert’s staircase had been gut-wrenching, especially because he couldn’t go to her as he wanted, hold her as he wanted.
But it was imperative that he do this right. He wouldn’t go near her until he had everything in place to show her, once and for all, that she was his everything.
If Nic had left Alison in any doubt as to how much she meant to him, he intended to fix that today.
Mrs. Cafferty bustled the children out of the newly appointed music room and hurried them along to the dining hall, with Robert and Abigail laughingly helping to herd them.
And then, there was just Alison.
She still sat on the piano bench by the window, her hair gleaming gold in the afternoon sunlight, the summer breeze playing with soft tendrils in a way that made Nic itch to touch them.
She looked beautiful.
She looked miserable.
And Nic vowed to himself that if he were lucky enough to make her his, he would never cause her unhappiness again.
“They are quite the little taskmasters.”
Her head snapped up at his comment, her impossibly blue eyes wide.
“I don’t mind,” she said eventually. “In fact, I love it. When I go home, I’ll be sure to continue it in the local orphanage.”
Nic’s heart thudded painfully at her talk of leaving.
He couldn’t imagine her going home. He couldn’t imagine her anywhere but by his side, where she belonged.
“You like the pianoforte?” He nodded toward the instrument, stepping further into the room.
“It’s beautiful.” She turned to run her gaze over it, lovingly caressing the ebony and ivory keys with her fingertips. “You are very good to them.”
“It’s nothing.” He shrugged. “It’s the very least I can do.”
She smiled a little but didn’t speak.
Nic kept walking until he’d stopped in front of her, peering down at her.
“May I?” he asked, indicating the bench.
She frowned up at him.
“It’s a little small,” she said softly.
“Ah, so it is.” He nodded sagely. “Perhaps you would agree to join me for a walk in the garden?”
He could see her searching for a way to say no, and it killed him that she didn’t want to spend time alone with him.
Though after what she’d heard the other night, he couldn’t blame her.
If he lived a hundred years, he’d never forgive himself for hurting her like that.
“Please, Alison,” he said softly, before she could refuse.
She heaved a sigh then jutted out her chin determinedly.
“Fine,” she said dully. “Let’s go.”
She plucked a rose-coloured shawl from the edge of the bench, folding it over her arm, then walked stiffly from the room.
Nicholas felt a niggle of worry at how distant she was being.
But it wouldn’t stop him trying.
Nothing would stop him from trying.
Once outside, she placed the shawl over the short sleeves of her invory muslin dress.
“Where do you want to walk to?” she asked.
“I wanted to show you something.”
She didn’t speak, merely nodded and waited for him to lead the way.
“You know, I’ve never been to the Americas,” Nic said conversationally.
She blinked up at him, and Nic had to clench his fists to keep from reaching for her.
“I’ve never really been anywhere outside of London since Ciara died.”
He was watching her so closely that he noticed the tiniest flinch at Ciara’s name.
She truly believed he still loved Ciara.
“I think I would find it strange to leave London and all of the places I do my work at.”
They’d been walking slowly, past the fountain, past the flower beds and vegetable patches, past the small orchard of apple trees.
Now, he reached out and drew her to a stop.
“But if you really want to go back, I could get used to it.”
Chapter Thirty-Two
Alison could only stare at Nicholas as his words sank in.
Did he mean –?
What did he mean?
Instead of expanding, however, he turned to look at a small, white stone pillar.
Alison saw a cross embedded in it.
“We buried Ciara here,” Nic said quietly.
She snapped her gaze up to him, but his entire focus was on the monument in front of them.
How could she be noticing the strength of his chin, the curve of his lashes, the lock of chestnut hair that fell across his brow when he was standing at the grave of his love?
She was a disgrace.
“This was where the tenement I found her in stood. I had the entire street demolished so I could build the home. I moved the residents to one of the houses I purchased nearby.”
Alison didn’t understand why he was telling her this.
And what had he meant about getting used to America?
“It seemed right that she should find rest here, where she had suffered so much.”
Alison nodded, and because she hated the idea of him being in pain, reached out a hand to rest gently on his arm.
“I forgave myself years ago for Ciara’s fate, or at least I thought I had. It was only when you spoke to me about it that I realised I’d pushed it away rather than dealt with it. Blocked my grief instead of healing from it.”
She dropped her hand, clasping her fingers together.
She had no idea why Nic had brought her here, why he was telling her this. And every one of his words cut like a knife. But if he needed to talk, then she would listen.
“You made me see that I needed to open myself up to the feelings that I’d buried.”
Alison would have laughed if it weren’t so tragic; she had reawakened his feelings for Ciara, all the while falling in love with him.
“I told Robert, James, and Simon about her and about my son.”
“You did?” she asked in amazement.
“I did. And you were right – it was better for me to let them in. They would have helped me then – they want to help me now.”
“Help you?”
Nic suddenly turned to gaze at her, his eyes heated and intense.
“Come on,” he said, grasping her hand and pulling her back through the garden.
She should have pulled her hand back. Touching him now would only make it hurt more later.
But she kept it right where it was. Kept holding on.
Nic continued walking until they were back at the fountain.
“You said the other day that you couldn’t compete with a ghost.”
Alison’s heart twisted at the reminder of her words.
The reminder that she’d told him she loved him like a great, big, idiot.
“And you’re right. You can’t compete with a ghost.”
Alison dropped her gaze to the ground.
She’d known that. Of course, she’d known it. So, why did it hurt so much?
Her eyes filled with tears once more.
“Or rather.” Nic placed a finger under her chin, lifting her face, forcing her gaze to his. “Nobody and nothing could compete with you,” he said. “Not a ghost, not a living, breathing human being. Not my charities. Not my friends. Nothing compares, Alison. Nothing comes close.”
Alison’s heart tripped and stuttered.
She didn’t know what this meant; she was afraid to guess.
“I don’t understand,” she whispered, her throat tight and painful.
“You think I’m still
in love with Ciara.” Nic’s eyes bored into hers, suspiciously bright. “You couldn’t be more wrong,” he said. “Ciara was special to me. In my naïve youth, I was sure I loved her.”
He moved to sit on the edge of the fountain, pulling her down to sit beside him, keeping her hand clasped in his own.
“And for the past ten years, I convinced myself that the reason I’d never loved was because my heart had been too broken. Or that I didn’t have the ability to love anymore.”
He reached up and brushed at a tear she hadn’t even noticed falling with his thumb.
“And then you came along.” He smiled. “You were a storm, raging into my life and causing chaos. I didn’t know what to do about the feelings you stirred up inside me, so powerful, so strong. Like nothing I’d ever felt before.”
Alison couldn’t breathe, afraid that if she made even the smallest sound or movement, he would stop saying these amazing, unbelievable things.
“I tried to convince myself I hated you. Then I tried to tell myself that it was nothing more than an attraction to a beautiful woman. You’re the most beautiful woman in the world.” He smiled wryly. “How could I not be attracted to you?”
He tucked a golden curl behind her ear.
“Of course, then you went and ruined my carefully cultivated opinion of you. Instead of being spoilt and selfish and frivolous, you are kind-hearted and loving, with the most generous, giving spirit of anyone I know.”
The tears fell freely; there was no stemming them.
“I realised then that I absolutely had the ability to love. To love fiercely and with my whole heart. It was just that I’d never been in love before, Alison. Not even with Ciara. I did love her, cared for her. But all-consuming, life-changing love? That was new to me. I hate what happened to her, hate that because of me she lost her life in the most awful way.”
He swallowed hard, his eyes glinting in the sunlight.
“I brought you to her gravesite because it’s been a cornerstone for me for many years. A reminder of why I do what I do. And I want no part of me hidden from you.”
He took a deep breath before continuing.
“And there’s not a day that goes by when I don’t feel helpless, and angry, and desperately sad that my baby died.”
His eyes dulled momentarily with a pain she couldn’t even begin to imagine.
The Saint of St. Giles Page 19