“Yes, I will marry you.”

It was not until that moment that David realized how much he had been hoping that Nicola would agree to his proposal. So much so that when he smiled, Nicola caught her breath at the change it wrought in his appearance. She was hardly to know it was a smile that only a few close friends and family members were ever privileged to see.

“There is…something I should like to ask you.”

“You may ask of me anything you wish, my dear.”

The endearment caused the strangest flutter in the pit of Nicola’s stomach, but she forced herself to concentrate on what she had to say.

Blackwood’s Lady
Gail Whitiker

www.millsandboon.co.uk

To Mom and Dad, the best parents in the world

And to Ron, for encouraging me to strive, and for

never forgetting the little things that are so important

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Epilogue

Chapter One

‘So, my boy, are the rumours true?’ a beaming Sir Giles Chapman enquired of the younger gentleman sitting across from him. ‘Have you really decided to do it or is the story nothing more than hearsay spread on the lips of fools?’

A brief flicker of amusement lit the silvery blue eyes of David Penscott, fifth Marquis of Blackwood, as he settled back into the comfort of the deeply padded armchair and reached for the glass of brandy his uncle’s manservant had just refilled. ‘I’m afraid you’re going to have to be more specific than that if I am to give you an intelligent answer, Uncle Giles, since I’ve no idea which rumours you’re referring to.’

‘No idea! My dear boy, I am referring to the ones that have you marrying the Earl of Wyndham’s daughter. Everyone knows how loath you are to enter the wedded state, and given that the lady is something of a mystery to Society circles the subject is generating considerable interest. So, I am asking you straight out. Are the rumours true?’

David raised the cut-crystal glass to his lips and smiled at his uncle over the rim. ‘That depends. Does your interest stem from the fact that you’ve money riding on my answer or from a genuine interest in my welfare?’

‘Money riding on my— Egods, sir, you wound me!’ Sir Giles cried, clasping his hand over his heart as though he had been grievously injured. ‘You know I don’t wager on my family.’

‘I know that you have been warned not to,’ David replied, his smile broadening, ‘but I wasn’t sure how seriously you were taking the threat.’

‘I am taking it very seriously indeed, considering that it was levied by your aunt Hortensia. That meddlesome woman has threatened to sell off my entire collection of snuff boxes if I so much as look at another betting book. And she’d do it too,’ Sir Giles muttered, the tips of his silvery moustache bristling with indignation as he thought about his eldest sister and her much publicized campaign to reform his character. ‘Hence, I fear I must consider myself cured of the dreaded vice. But, as regards these rumours, I do admit to being curious. I never thought to see you brought to heel by a woman, David, and certainly not by a dark horse like the Lady Nicola Wyndham.’

‘I hardly call making the decision to marry at four-and-thirty being brought to heel, Uncle,’ David replied, choosing for a moment to ignore the latter part of his uncle’s comment. ‘It simply suits my purposes, that is all.’

‘I see. Then is it indeed the Lady Nicola upon whom you have set your heart?’

‘It is, though I fail to see why you would doubt one part of the rumour if you believed the other.’

‘Because I would doubt anything that was being hailed as the truth by the likes of Humphrey O’Donnell and his cronies.’

‘O’Donnell!’ David’s smile faded as an image of the handsome but far too cocky young dandy appeared in his mind. ‘I am surprised that young scapegrace would trouble himself over my affairs. He has been overheard to say that no intelligent woman would be foolish enough to take me on.’

‘Yes, and so he would once he’d learned that the lady in question was the Earl of Wyndham’s daughter. Are you not aware that O’Donnell has been casting after Lady Nicola himself these past few weeks?’

David frowned. ‘As a matter of fact I was not.’

‘No, I thought not. I hate to sound like an interfering old busybody, David, but you really should pay more mind to what goes on in the drawing rooms of London if you are at all serious about this marriage business,’ Sir Giles advised. ‘The hunting fields can wait.’

‘I am very serious about this marriage business, as you call it, Uncle Giles, but no man could possibly be expected to keep up with all the rumours drifting through London’s drawing rooms,’ David objected. ‘As for the hunting fields, I take leave to tell you that this proposed alliance with Lady Nicola may well have been forged through the very sport you now decry.’

‘Really? I was not aware Lady Nicola rode to hounds.’

‘She doesn’t, but her father does, and I thought perchance the number of times he and I have hunted together might have made him look more favourably upon my suit.’

‘More favourably? My dear boy, an offer of marriage from the Marquis of Blackwood would be viewed as exceptional even for the daughter of an earl. Especially one who, at five-and-twenty, is—’ Sir Giles broke off in mid-sentence and stared at his nephew. ‘Tell me that you are at least aware of the lady’s age?’

A glimmer of mirth danced in David’s eyes. ‘I am well aware of the lady’s age, Uncle, and I considered it a point in her favour, rather than against it.’

‘You did?’

‘Most assuredly. At five-and-twenty, Lady Nicola is far more likely to possess the qualities I seek than any of the simpering young ladies making their bows at court. And, while I know that it is well past time I settled down, having had it pointed out to me time without number, and by people whose opinions I value, that does not mean I intend to plunge into the situation with my eyes closed. Marriage is far too important a decision to make based solely upon the feelings of the heart.’

Sir Giles couldn’t help smiling. ‘Some gentlemen consider it the only way to make this particular decision, David.’

‘Possibly, but I am not one of them. I can think of nothing worse than leg-shackling myself to a vapid young woman whose head is filled with silly romantic nonsense and little else.’

‘I see. Then what kind of wife do you seek?’

‘I seek a competent hostess and a loyal companion,’ David replied, without hesitation. ‘A woman who will be a good mother to my children, and who will discharge her role as Marchioness of Blackwood with dignity and style, as my mother did. And I believe Lady Nicola to be precisely that type of female.’

‘She also happens to be a remarkably beautiful young woman,’ Sir Giles remarked idly. ‘Or had you taken time to notice that during your rather clinical assessment of her many other fine attributes?’

‘I have most certainly taken note of the fact that Lady Nicola is an exceedingly lovely young woman, but more important to me than her beauty is the fact that she has been raised in a nobleman’s house—an upbringing which will have equipped her with the knowledge and refinement necessary to take her place in mine.’

‘Knowledge and refinement. Dear me.’ Sir Giles regarded the only child of his much loved younger sister, Jane—who, sadly, had succumbed to a virulent lung infection eight years ago—with an expression akin to pity. ‘Is that all you can say about the woman you intend to marry?’

‘Is that not enough?’

‘Have you spoken to the young lady?’

‘Of course. I accompanied her on the pianoforte at Lady Rutherford’s musicale last month, and we danced twice at Lady Dunbarton’s ball just a few weeks ago.’

‘And you feel that to be a sufficient foundation upon which to make a decision that will affect the rest of your life?’

David’s brows drew together in a dark line. ‘I take it you do not.’

Sir Giles shrugged eloquently. ‘Doesn’t matter what I think, David; I’m not marrying the girl. I simply thought you might have…well, taken time to get to know her before offering for her hand.’ Then, seeing the look which appeared on his nephew’s face, Sir Giles chuckled. ‘Forgive me. I thought love and marriage went hand in hand.’

‘Only in penny romances,’ David retorted dryly. ‘I am not looking to fall head over heels like some moonstruck young cub, Uncle, or to cast away duty and obligation in the name of undying love, as my father did.’

‘Your father did nothing of the sort,’ Sir Giles replied mildly, having had this conversation with his nephew before. ‘Richard was as respectful of the title as you are, and he was well aware of the obligation he owed to the family. But when he met Stephanie de Charbier nothing else mattered to him except that they be together.’

David stiffened as he always did at the mention of his father’s second wife. ‘I do not care to discuss her.’

‘I know, but I will not have you accusing my brother-in-law of shunning his responsibilities. Your father was a lonely man, David. Jane had been dead for over four years, and not once in all that time did Richard so much as look at another woman. Until he met Stephanie—’

‘I said, I don’t want to hear—’

‘But you will hear it, sir,’ Sir Giles said, with more firmness than he usually employed when in conversation with his favourite nephew. ‘Stephanie brought happiness and joy back into your father’s life. The family didn’t approve of her and neither did you, but she stood by him regardless. Even you can’t deny how much her love changed him.’

‘No, I can’t deny it,’ David agreed, the bitterness evident in his voice. ‘Because it was that same love that turned his life upside down and eventually killed him.’

Sir Giles shook his head sadly. ‘Love didn’t kill your father, David. Grief did. Surely you understand that now? He never recovered from the shock of losing her.’

‘What I understand is that he locked himself away in a room refusing to eat or drink, until there was nothing left of him,’ David said woodenly. ‘And all in the name of love. Well, if that is what passion does to a man, you can keep it. I have neither the time nor the inclination for such foolishness.’

‘Then why bother to marry at all?’ Sir Giles asked quietly. ‘You say you are content as a bachelor. And as your cousin Arabella is happy enough to act the part of your hostess when you do trouble yourself to entertain, why spoil such an amicable arrangement by bringing in a wife?’

‘Because there is the matter of progeny,’ David said, his brief spurt of anger deserting him as the melancholy he had never quite been able to overcome moved in to take its place. ‘It is my duty to marry and produce the requisite heir, and I can’t very well do that with Arabella, even if I were of a mind to.’

‘No, I dare say there would be those who would take exception. First cousin?’

‘Second, but it is of no consequence. Belle’s always been like a sister to me.’

Pity she’s never thought of you as a brother, Sir Giles was tempted to say, but then thought better of it. If David wasn’t aware of his beautiful cousin’s affection, perhaps it was just as well.

‘Well, then, all things considered, I suppose there is nothing for it but to marry,’ Sir Giles said at length. ‘So, when does the courtship begin?’

‘There isn’t going to be a formal courtship,’ David informed him. ‘I am expected at Wyndham Hall tomorrow afternoon, at which time I shall set forth my offer of marriage. I have already secured the Earl’s blessing.’

‘Yes, and why would you not?’ Sir Giles said fondly. ‘You are considered a splendid catch, my boy, and I wager there will be many a broken-hearted young lady moping about Town when news of your betrothal appears in The Times.’

‘Perhaps, but, as there are an equal number of gallant young gentlemen to console them, I doubt anyone is in fear of losing sleep over it. Besides,’ David said, lifting his impeccably clad shoulders in an eloquent shrug, ‘it may be the Lady Nicola for whom you should be reserving your sympathies. I am not as dashing as some of the young bucks parading around Town, and I have never been known for my gay outlook on life.’

‘No, but what you lack in spontaneity is more than made up for by your cutting wit and rapier-sharp mind.’

One corner of David’s mouth lifted in a smile that could almost have been called wistful. ‘I hardly think wit and intelligence will endear me to a lady unless she happens to be something of a scholar herself. And I don’t know that I am predisposed to spending the rest of my life with a bluestocking.’

‘Rest assured, Lady Nicola has a fine mind and a lively sense of humour, but she is no bluestocking,’ Sir Giles assured his nephew. ‘In fact, I believe the only reason she is still unwed is as a result of her having been in mourning for so long.’

‘Yes, what a tragic set of circumstances,’ David observed soberly. ‘First her maternal aunt and uncle killed in that freak carriage accident, and, then less than a year later, her mother in a riding mishap. And then her paternal uncle, most unexpectedly.’

‘Tragic indeed,’ Sir Giles agreed. ‘Especially considering how close Lady Nicola was to her mother. But she has come through it all, and now Lord Wyndham is anxious that she marry and start a family of her own. And, given her devotion to him, I dare say she would marry you just to please him.’

‘Not the most flattering of reasons for accepting a man’s offer of marriage—’

‘But acceptable enough under the circumstances,’ Sir Giles pointed out sagely. ‘After all, you were the one who said that love was not a consideration in the asking, David, so why should the lack of it be a consideration in the acceptance?’

‘Why indeed?’ David agreed ruefully, admiring the finesse with which his uncle had just swung the argument in his favour. ‘And, with that in mind, I shall propose to Lady Nicola tomorrow afternoon in the hopes of achieving two goals. One, that she will accept my suit and agree to become my wife. And, two, that we may put an end to this matrimonial fussing once and for all!’

‘Alistair, you really are becoming quite impossible!’ Nicola scolded gently. ‘How do you expect to win Father over if you keep on misbehaving like this?’

The eyes gazing up at Lady Nicola Wyndham—while unquestionably bright and endearing—were patently devoid of contrition, and, recognizing that, Nicola shook her head in resignation. ‘Very well. I can see that I am not making any headway with you, so I’ll not waste my breath further. It would break my heart if we were to be separated, but we both know that Father will turn you out in a trice if your behaviour does not improve. Now, be a good boy and do not try to escape again.’

Fine words, Nicola thought ironically. A lot of good they were going to do a fox!

Picking up the wooden bucket, Nicola tipped fresh water into Alistair’s drinking bowl, shut the cage door and locked it, and then stood back to watch him. It was hard to believe that this glossy, bright-eyed creature was the same pathetic, shivering animal she had found close to death in the woods last year, his front leg having been cruelly broken in a trap. Now, after Nicola’s faithful ministering, the leg was all but healed. Even the fur had grown back, though for some strange reason it had come back white, serving as a permanent reminder of his injury.

Unfortunately, Alistair—as Nicola had affectionately named the cub—was showing no signs at all of wishing to return to his life in the wild. Rather, the little imp had become quite adept at getting out of his cage and turning up in the gardens near the back of the house—a situation which could only bode ill for both of them. After all, it was perfectly understandable that, as an avid hunter, Lord Wyndham believed the only place for a healthy fox was in the field. And, while he had long since resigned himself to the endless stream of small birds and injured animals she was forever bringing home, he had tried to draw the line at a fox cub—until Nicola had reminded him that her mother had never turned away any animal in need.

At that point, the argument had been as good as lost. Lord Wyndham had adored his beautiful wife, and had denied her nothing. Nor, it seemed, could he deny his only daughter, who was showing definite signs of having inherited both her mother’s affinity for, and skill with, animals.

‘Now, be a good boy, Alistair, and perhaps I shall come and see you again before I go riding this afternoon,’ Nicola told the young fox as she collected her supplies and made ready to return to the house. ‘No doubt I shall be in need of a diversion after my visit from the Marquis of Blackwood.’

Giving the fox’s silky ears an affectionate tweak, Nicola started back towards the house, her mind drifting ahead to the upcoming meeting with Lord Blackwood. She knew why he was coming, of course. Her father had already hinted at the marquis’s intentions, and, all things considered, she was not opposed to the match. She had always longed for a home and children of her own, and at her age she had almost given up hope of such things coming to pass.

But to think that the Marquis of Blackwood might actually be the man to make them happen…well, it was all but unthinkable. As a nonpareil and pink of the ton, Blackwood could have had his pick of any number of younger and—to Nicola’s way of thinking—eminently more suitable girls than herself. Why, then, would he choose to wed the countrified daughter of a widowed earl, who spent far more time in the country than she did in Town?

And what would the exceedingly correct marquis say, Nicola wondered, if he were to discover that his future wife was tending a menagerie of wounded animals, which at the moment included two silky black puppies she had found half drowned by the edge of the river, an assortment of injured birds—including a falcon with a broken wing—and a wily fox named Alistair? Somehow, she could not imagine him being pleased.

Wives of the nobility simply do not indulge in such pastimes, Nicola could almost hear her stodgy old governess saying.

Well, maybe they didn’t, but, if an alliance between the two of them was what he wished for, Nicola would certainly listen to his proposal. Her father seemed favourably disposed towards the match, and Nicola knew that he would never approve of a suitor who was not acceptable in every way. Clearly, Lord Blackwood had earned her father’s approval.

Now, all he had to do was earn hers!

David set out upon his mission of matrimony in a spirit of amiable resignation. Resignation because, to him, marriage was a necessity of life—an obligation one undertook for the good of the family. And to David Penscott, Marquis of Blackwood, Earl of Winsmore and Viscount Huntley, obligation was a duty that went before all.

His feelings of amiability stemmed from the fact that he believed his selection of Lady Nicola Wyndham to be a judicious one. Her past was unblemished, and if she had spent somewhat more time in the country than most young ladies of her class it did not seem to have affected her adversely. Certainly her manners were all that he could have wished. She neither laughed too much, nor too loud, she was lovely enough to suit his rather exacting standards, and, by all accounts, she was not prone to vapours. If these were qualities to be gained by sacrificing the first blush of youth, it was a sacrifice David was more than willing to make.

Reaching Wyndham Hall just before three o’clock, David was greeted at the door by the steadfast Trethewy—an elderly retainer who had been with the Wyndham family for over forty-five years—and relieved of his hat, gloves and whip. From there, he was shown into the spacious green salon where, as expected, Nicola’s father was waiting to greet him.

‘Ah, Blackwood, good to see you again,’ Lord Wyndham said in a rich voice that carried easily to every corner of the room. ‘Ready to do the deed?’

‘I am, my lord, though I admit to being somewhat anxious as to your daughter’s reply.’

‘Anxious? Good Lord, man, there’s no need for apprehension. Nicola didn’t seem at all unhappy when I informed her of your intentions. Once she had recovered from her surprise, that is.’

Surprise? David wondered ruefully. Or shock?

‘Now, before Nicola joins us, might I interest you in a glass of wine? I have just received a shipment from France and I would welcome your opinion on this particular Bordeaux.’

Already familiar with the size and quality of the earl’s cellar, David nodded in anticipation of a rare treat. ‘I should be pleased to, thank you.’

‘Splendid. I’ve not a bad nose for wine, but it doesn’t hold a candle to a connoisseur’s like yours,’ Wyndham said as he poured out two glasses. ‘Right, then, your good health, Blackwood.’

‘And yours, my lord.’

The wine proved to be of excellent vintage, and David was persuaded to enjoy another glass before Lord Wyndham resumed the conversation.

‘No, my Nicki’s not at all like those other flibbertigibbets at court. She’s a sensible lass, always has been. Takes after her mother in that regard. There were always rumours about her, of course, but I never paid them any mind.’

‘Rumours?’ David repeated cautiously.

‘Aye. Superstitious fools. Thought she was a witch.’

‘Lady Nicola?’

‘Nicola?’ Lord Wyndham frowned. ‘Good Lord, no. Nicola’s not been bothered by any rumours in that regard. At least, not yet.’

David cast a surreptitious glance at the older man. Yet?

‘No, I was referring to Elizabeth. Personally, I could never understand what all the fuss was about,’ the earl continued blithely. ‘Just because the parson’s wife saw Elizabeth feeding a wild buck at the edge of the common was hardly reason to think her odd.’

David’s hand stopped the glass halfway to his lips. ‘A buck?’

‘Aye. Magnificent beast. Twelve pointer, as I recall.’

‘And you say that Lady Wyndham was feeding it…by hand?’

‘As though she were holding out crusts of bread to a lamb. Amazing woman,’ Lord Wyndham said in a tone of mild bewilderment. ‘But a witch? Rubbish! And so I told them, for all the good it did me. Thick-headed bunch,’ he muttered as he crossed to the bell pull and gave it a tug. ‘Still, no point in standing here reminiscing; you’ve important business to get on with. Ah, Trethewy, there you are. Would you tell Lady Nicola that Lord Blackwood is here and ask her to join us?’

‘Very good, m’lord.’

When the butler had gone, Wyndham gruffly cleared his throat. ‘Sorry about that, Blackwood, didn’t mean to ramble on about my wife. It’s just that Elizabeth was very special to me. We were blessed, the two of us, and not a day goes by that I don’t miss her. But then, I’m sure you can understand what I’m talking about, given your father’s second marriage to Madame de Charbier. Now there was a love match if ever.’

The proffered statement—well intentioned as David felt sure it was meant to be—caused the words of condolence he had been about to offer Lord Wyndham to die on his lips, and he turned towards the window, fighting down his resentment. Stephanie de Charbier had been a beautiful young Frenchwoman who had come to England shortly after Napoleon’s banishment to Elba. The widow of an influential Parisian diplomat, she had been left a wealthy young woman, and had purchased a charming house on Green Street, where, along with a small staff brought with her from Paris, she had set about re-establishing her life.

Stephanie had been twenty years younger than his father, but her age had made no difference to either of them. They had met quite by chance at the Royal Art Gallery and had fallen in love almost immediately. They had been married a mere three weeks later.

To be fair, David had no doubt that Stephanie de Charbier had loved his father. She had not been deceitful by nature, and, given her great beauty and genteel background, he knew that she could have had her choice of any number of titled English gentlemen. Certainly enough of them had danced attendance upon her.

But it was Richard Penscott whom she had chosen. And that he’d loved her in return, David did not doubt either. One had only needed to listen to the sound of his father’s voice to know that he’d adored his beautiful French émigré. But what David had never been able to come to terms with was the fact that his father—whom he had loved and respected more than anyone else in the world—had perished because of that love. That on the day Stephanie de Charbier had died from a raging fever Richard Penscott had died too. By simply refusing to go on. By giving up on life.

That David could never forgive the young Frenchwoman for. Not even in death.

Moments later, blissfully unaware of her visitor’s agitation, Nicola walked into the room and hurried to her father’s side. ‘Good afternoon, Papa. I am so sorry to have kept you waiting, but I stayed rather longer at the stables than I meant to.’

‘You did not keep us waiting, my dear,’ Lord Wyndham assured her. ‘Lord Blackwood and I were just discussing your dear mother.’

‘Ah, then I dare say it is a good thing I came when I did, for it is a subject upon which you could converse for hours,’ Nicola said, a silvery ripple of laughter accompanying her words. ‘Good afternoon, Lord Blackwood, how very nice to see—’

The rest of the greeting came to an abrupt halt as Lord Blackwood turned and Nicola was given a glimpse of eyes that were so black, so…distant that they froze the laughter in her throat and caused her to take an involuntary step backwards. Good Lord, whatever could have happened to make him so angry? The tension was etched into his handsome face like lines carved into granite, and even under the impeccably fitted jacket Nicola could sense the rigidity of his broad shoulders.

A swift glance in her father’s direction provided no clue as to Lord Blackwood’s state. If anything, her father seemed blissfully unaware that anything was wrong. What, then, was the cause of it? Was the marquis unhappy about the deed he had come to enact today? Or was he—as a stickler for propriety and punctuality—displeased by her own tardy arrival?

‘Lord Blackwood, pray…forgive my delay in arriving,’ Nicola apologized uncertainly. ‘I fear I…lost track of the time.’

Her apprehension was palpable and, recognizing that he was the cause of it, David swore softly under his breath. How stupid of him to have allowed his emotions to get the upper hand, especially in front of her.

He quickly forced a smile to his lips and bowed over her hand. ‘On the contrary, it is I who should be offering you an apology, Lady Nicola. I did not give you a great deal of notice as regards my intention to call this afternoon.’

His words were all that were polite, but Nicola was not convinced that he had recovered from his anger. Whatever had caused his anger in the first place must yet be lingering in his mind. Still, he was obviously making an effort to be civil, which meant that the least she could do was to accommodate him. Her mother’s training had been too deeply instilled to be ignored.

‘Thank you, my lord, but certainly no great notice was ever required. I am always at home and happy to receive visitors. And you did advise my father of your intention to call, so I am not at all put out.’

It was a most gracious acceptance of his apology, and David bowed again, admiring the finesse with which she had handled his momentary lack of civility.

Here, then, was the woman he hoped to marry, the lady his uncle had referred to as a dark horse, and whom society deemed a mystery. How ridiculous, he thought contemptuously. There was nothing in the least dark or mysterious about Nicola Wyndham. She was unaffectedly gracious and warm, yet possessed of a lively good nature which would make for the kind of companion David could imagine spending the rest of his life with. And, most assuredly, in the fetching silk gown which suited her complexion and richly coloured hair to perfection, she was as lovely as he could have wished.

‘Well, now that the pleasantries have been exchanged, I shall leave the two of you alone,’ Lord Wyndham announced into the silence. ‘Don’t need me at a time like this, eh, what?’

Impulsively, Nicola reached up to press an affectionate kiss to her father’s cheek. ‘On the contrary, I shall always need you, Papa.’

The earl’s eyes softened as they rested on his daughter’s face and he reached out to stroke a shiny lock of her hair. Then, giving her an encouraging wink, he turned on his heel and walked out of the salon.

Left alone with her guest, Nicola offered him a tentative smile. ‘May I offer you some refreshments, Lord Blackwood?’

‘Thank you, Lady Nicola, but no. I have just enjoyed a glass of your father’s most excellent wine.’

‘Then, will you sit down?’

Her voice was pleasantly low-pitched, with a slightly husky overtone that settled well on David’s ear. It made a welcome change from the high-pitched giggles and titters that seemed all too prevalent in the drawing rooms of London.

‘Actually, I should prefer to stand given the nature of what I am about to say. You, however, may wish to be seated.’

‘As you like.’

With an unhurried movement, Nicola settled herself on the rose-coloured sofa and smoothed the skirts of her gown around her. She had taken a little longer with her toilette this afternoon and was glad that she had, if for no other reason than to lend herself extra confidence. She knew that the gown of Pomona green silk was the most flattering she owned, and that it became her very well. Even the thick, russet-coloured hair, which was so often the bane of her existence, toned perfectly with the shade. ‘I am listening, Lord Blackwood.’

‘Thank you, Lady Nicola. I suppose I should begin by saying that, even though our acquaintance has been of relatively short duration, and our time spent in conversation even shorter, I have come to admire you greatly. Your ease in social situations, your manners, and your sense of dignity, are all qualities I am looking for in a…lady.’

Nicola allowed herself a brief smile at his hesitation. It seemed that the word wife did not come easily to the tongue of the bachelor Marquis of Blackwood. ‘Thank you, my lord.’

‘As for myself, I fear I may not be as…entertaining as some of the gentlemen with whom you have been keeping company—’

‘I have not been keeping the company of gentlemen,’ Nicola felt obliged to point out. ‘Having observed an extended period of mourning for…members of my family, I have been removed from Society these past two years.’

There wasn’t a trace of self-pity in her voice and, knowing how hard her mother’s death had been for her, David’s admiration for the young lady rose. ‘It is never easy to lose a parent,’ he agreed sympathetically.

Nicola sighed. ‘No, but then, I am sure you know how that feels. I understand that you were very close to both your mother and your father, Lord Blackwood.’

By this time, David had his emotions fully under control, and he was able to respond to her in a calm and steady voice. ‘I was indeed. But life goes on, and we must make the best of it. My father would have wished me to marry and start a family of my own, and I know that Lord Wyndham is hopeful that you will do the same. And that is why I have come to see you today.’ David cleared his throat and took a deep breath. ‘I have already spoken to your father and received his blessing. And so I should now like to ask you to do me the very great honour…of becoming…my wife.’

It was hardly a romantic proposal, Nicola reflected. Yet how could it be when they had spoken to each other only a few times over the past two months?

‘My lord, before I answer that, perhaps you would be so good as to explain why you wish to marry me.’

There was a very brief, but very meaningful pause. ‘I…beg your pardon?’

‘Well, as I am no doubt older than the ladies with whom you would have been keeping company, I simply wondered why you would not have asked a younger lady to be your wife. At five-and-twenty, most would say that I am on the shelf and have been for some time.’ Nicola raised questioning eyes to his. ‘Would you not agree?’

Her candour startled him. As did the deep, emerald-green of her eyes. David could not recall having seen such a remarkable shade before. And was that, possibly…a freckle on the tip of her daintily rounded nose?

He quickly marshalled his thoughts and returned to the matter at hand. ‘I wish to marry you, Lady Nicola, because I have no desire to tie myself to a green girl fresh from the school room. I cannot imagine that we would have anything in common, nor have I any intention of wasting time trying to find out if we had. What I seek is a woman of breeding. A woman who knows how to conduct herself in Society, and how to manage a household effectively. Several households, in fact. And I hardly think an eighteen-year-old Bath Miss is likely to possess the degree of maturity necessary.’

‘Is not the vitality of youth suitable recompense?’

David shook his head. ‘Not to me. With youth comes giddiness, frivolity and a tendency towards unacceptable behaviour. Conduct I cannot condone in the future Marchioness of Blackwood. I have a duty to my family. To my name.’

‘Ah, I see.’

Well, he was certainly setting it out plainly enough, Nicola reflected. Whosoever married the Marquis of Blackwood would be doing so with her eyes wide open. There would be no misunderstandings, no false expectations, and no grand delusions of love. Not exactly the type of proposal she had been dreaming of all her life, Nicola acknowledged wryly.

‘In return, the lady who becomes my wife will wear the coronet of a marchioness,’ David continued. ‘She will be the mistress of two of the finest country homes in England, as well as an elegant town house in London, and will have jewels, carriages and servants at her disposal. She will enjoy the respect due to her position in Society, and will want for nothing.’

Nicola knew she shouldn’t have, but she could not prevent a tiny smile from lifting the corners of her mouth. ‘Is that all, my lord?’

‘Is that all?’ David looked down at her in astonishment. ‘Is that not enough? Surely I have offered you all that is good in life?’

‘Well, yes, you have, but—’

‘But what?’

Nicola risked a quick glance upwards, about to explain to Lord Blackwood exactly what was lacking in his proposal, when the look on his face stayed the words on her lips and gave her the answer she was looking for.

No, love was clearly not a requirement in the marquis’s choice of a wife. It would be too…unpredictable, too quixotic an emotion. It would spawn erratic behaviour and, instinctively, Nicola knew that such spontaneity would have no place in the life of the very proper Marquis of Blackwood. Or in that of the marquis’s very proper wife.

‘I take it my proposal is not to your liking, Lady Nicola?’ David asked, as the silence between them lengthened.

‘On the contrary, it is a very flattering one indeed,’ she said, regretting that he had misinterpreted her hesitation. ‘It is just that I am somewhat…surprised by the manner in which it was delivered.’

‘Ah, yes.’ David smiled sardonically. ‘You were expecting something more romantic, perhaps. A proposal inspired by the honeyed words of Byron himself.’

‘Not at all. I do not expect you to profess love where you feel none. That would be hypocritical indeed.’

‘Then perhaps it is myself you find lacking,’ David countered, trying to determine the source of her indecision. ‘I have not led a very domestic existence to this point, nor will I try to make you believe that I have. But you need not fear that you will be making a dreadful mistake by marrying me. You will be given a free hand with regard to the running of my homes and be treated with the respect that is your due. And, in time, hopefully there will be children for you to care for.’ David stopped and glanced at her quickly. ‘You do like children, Lady Nicola?’

Nicola’s face lit up. ‘Oh, yes, of course, I adore them. Don’t you?’

‘To be honest, I have never given it much thought. I’ve always considered it my duty to assure the continuation of the line, of course—’

Nicola’s feathery brows rose in surprise. ‘Is that how you look upon children, my lord? As a duty?’

‘I suppose that is how I look upon a number of things,’ David replied slowly. ‘In a position such as mine, freedom of choice must often be compromised for the good of the family. Surely you understand that?’

Nicola shifted her gaze and focused it on the painting behind Lord Blackwood’s head. ‘Yes, I understand,’ she said softly. And she did. She understood that the most important thing in Blackwood’s life was his duty. Duty to his name and to his family. He would put that before everything—including love. That explained why there had not even been a pretence of affection in his proposal. And since he had chosen her to be his wife he obviously believed that she could deal with his offer on those same terms. But could she? Hadn’t she, like most young women, harboured dreams of being loved for all the right reasons? Of being told that she was the only woman in the world who could make him happy?

Of course she had, and Nicola knew that she would be a fool indeed if that was what she believed she was being offered here. What she was being offered was a life of supreme comfort, in exchange for her presence at the head of his table and her willingness to fill his nursery with children. That was what the Marquis of Blackwood was offering. And, just as Nicola was about to tell him that it simply wasn’t good enough, Blackwood himself threw her into confusion.

‘Forgive me, Lady Nicola. I don’t seem to be doing a very good job of this,’ he admitted as he sank down onto the sofa beside her. ‘Perhaps because I have always believed marriage to be such…a serious business.’

The unexpected admission, humbly offered, caught Nicola totally unawares and she faltered. ‘Well, yes, of course marriage is a serious business. But surely there can be reasons besides duty and obligation for wishing to marry someone.’

‘I would like to think that there are, but I also think that you and I are mature enough to understand that none of those more…sentimental reasons come into play here,’ David said quietly. ‘Like you, I do not look for shallow declarations of love simply because they are expected. I believe that such a great depth of emotion can only develop over time, as two people come to know and to understand each other. But I would hope that we could deal intelligently with each other, and perhaps with affection. Most importantly, I will honour, respect and revere you, Lady Nicola,’ David said softly. ‘That much I can promise you, from this day forward.’

David wasn’t sure who was more surprised by his admission—Lady Nicola, or himself. He couldn’t remember ever having spoken so openly to anyone before. But she wasn’t to know that he had been suffering pangs of conscience ever since she had asked him if he liked children, and his answer had made him sound like an insensitive boor. Of course he liked children; he always had. Why, then, had he made it sound as if it was only duty that made him consider having them?

David studied the lovely face beside him, and offered her a game smile. ‘Well, I think that is all I have to say. Perhaps you would like some time to think it over? A few more days before I call again for your answer? Unless…you are sure of your answer now.’

Nicola lifted her head to look at him, and marvelled at how fickle the human heart could be. She had just received a proposal of marriage from one of the most eligible gentlemen in London—one whom most would have accepted before his final words were out—and now he was offering her time to consider an answer which, until a few short moments ago, would have been the same in a week’s time as it would have been today.

Until a few short moments ago…

‘No, I do not need more time, Lord Blackwood,’ Nicola replied. ‘What more could a lady ask than to be given the assurance that she will be well taken care of, and blessed with a family to love and to care for? Yes, I will marry you.’

David stared at her. ‘You will?’

‘Yes. And I thank you for asking.’

It was not until that moment that David realized how much he had been hoping that Nicola would agree to his proposal. So much so that, when he smiled, Nicola caught her breath at the change it wrought in his appearance. It made him appear younger, and so much more…approachable. She was hardly to know that it was a smile which only a few close friends and family members were ever privileged enough to see.

‘I think it is I who should be thanking you… Nicola,’ David whispered. He leaned forward to brush a kiss against her cheek, and noticed, for the first time, how very sweet was the fragrance that surrounded her. ‘You have made me a very happy man. And now shall we call your father back in and give him the news?’

‘Wait…before you do, there is…something I should like to ask you.’

‘You may ask of me anything you wish, my dear.’

The endearment caused the strangest flutter in the pit of Nicola’s stomach, but she forced herself to concentrate on what she had to say. ‘My lord, I was wondering…how do you feel about…animals?’

Chapter Two

Animals? David glanced at Nicola sharply as a memory of her father’s earlier words about the mighty buck suddenly sprang to mind. ‘I take it you are referring to…pets.’

Nicola paused for a moment. Was she? In truth, Alistair was as endearing as the two black puppies, so she was not telling him a complete falsehood. And Guinevere was extremely well behaved…for a falcon.

She smiled with what she hoped was conviction. ‘Yes, I suppose I am.’

‘Then rest assured I have no objection to your keeping pets,’ David said as the vision of the mighty buck was replaced by that of a small, fluffy lap-dog. ‘In fact, I have several dogs of my own.’

Nicola’s smile faded. ‘Foxhounds?’

‘Sheepdogs, actually. Big, lumbering brutes, but as gentle as kittens. Have you a dog of your own, perhaps, that you would like to bring to Ridley Hall?’

‘I recently acquired two puppies,’ Nicola told him, avoiding, for a moment, any reference to the other members of the menagerie, ‘which I believe to be about six weeks old.’

‘And you would prefer not to leave them here.’

‘I confess, I have grown rather attached to them.’

‘Then by all means bring them along. They will make admirable company for my own. What breed are they?’

‘Spaniels.’

David began to smile. ‘Didn’t get them from old Lord Hartley by chance, did you?’

Nicola shook her head sadly. ‘I found them down by the river. I was…too late to save the rest of the litter.’

‘Too late to—’ Abruptly, David broke off as he realized what she was saying. ‘Oh, I see. Not purebred, then.’

Nicola raised wide green eyes to his face. ‘No, they are not, but surely that is no reason for doing away with them in such a cruel and heartless manner.’

‘It would be to a man like Hartley.’

Nicola flinched at Blackwood’s offhand reply. ‘Would it be reason enough for you, my lord?’

David hesitated, sensing the need to tread carefully with his new fiancée on what was obviously a very delicate subject. ‘I have never been one for the indiscriminate taking of life, Nicola, but I can understand the rationale behind a man taking certain precautions to ensure the purity of the line.’

‘Then I suggest he should have taken more care in the breeding of the dog in the first place,’ Nicola said heatedly, well aware that animal husbandry was an inappropriate subject for a gently reared lady to be discussing.

It seemed that Lord Blackwood was in complete agreement. ‘Well, I think that is enough said about the subject. You are welcome to bring the dogs along, Nicola, whatever their…parentage. Now, shall we call your father in and give him the good news?’

There was a slight reserve to his tone and, realizing that it would serve no useful purpose to protest further, Nicola graciously acquiesced. She did not wish to anger David over someone else’s shortcomings, nor did she see that there was anything to be gained by doing so. It was enough that he was agreeable to her bringing her puppies along. And so, with a smile upon her face, Nicola rose with David to greet her father and to share their happy news with him.

It was not until some time later, as Nicola watched her fiancé disappear down the drive in his gleaming black and gold carriage, that she had time to think back over the events of the past hour and to marvel at how significantly her life had changed. She was now the fiancée of the Marquis of Blackwood. Quite an achievement in a society where matches were made solely for the betterment of financial or social standing.

But what kind of life had she committed herself to? Nicola wondered silently. She was not in love with David, nor he with her. But her father approved of the match, and she respected Lord Blackwood for the man she knew him to be. Was that not reason enough to accept his offer?

Not really, Nicola admitted to herself on a sigh. And she wouldn’t have, had it not been for that brief and totally unexpected moment of softening, when David had spoken to her with humility in his voice and just a trace of wistfulness in his eye. Almost as though he regretted that theirs would not be a marriage of two hearts.

That was what had changed her mind about Lord Blackwood, and made her look at him differently. Maybe he did care about the importance of feelings between two people, Nicola decided charitably. Maybe he wasn’t the staid, reserved aristocrat that most people accused him of being. Maybe it was simply that no one had ever taught the very upright Lord Blackwood how to laugh.

The announcement of the engagement of the Marquis of Blackwood to the Lady Nicola Wyndham duly appeared in The Times the following week, and, as Sir Giles had predicted, there arose from the marriageable ladies of the ton—or, rather, from their mamas—a sigh of disappointment that could be heard from one end of London to the other. From one drawing room in the country, however, there was only the sound of delighted laughter as the good news was received and celebrated.

‘Well, my dear, you have certainly achieved the match of the season!’ Glynnis, Lady Dorchester, told her niece in a tone of supreme satisfaction. ‘And I, for one, could not be happier. I had begun to despair of Blackwood ever settling down. Lord knows, he has been as slippery as an eel these past few years. But, without even trying, you have caught him in your net and brought him home. Well done, my dear, well done!’

‘Thank you, Aunt Glynn, although I don’t know that he is any the less elusive now,’ Nicola told her aunt with a smile. ‘He merely slipped in long enough to propose before slipping right out again. I have not seen him this sennight.’

‘Well, that is not such a bad thing,’ said Lady Dorchester complacently. ‘Absence makes the heart grow fonder, you know.’

‘Perhaps, but it would have been nice had Lord Blackwood stayed around long enough to give me something to grow fond of,’ Nicola observed dryly. ‘I can hardly miss a man I know nothing about.’

Lady Dorchester glanced at her niece shrewdly. ‘I take it this is not a love match, then?’

‘Oh, dear, no, far from it.’ Nicola laughed as she recalled the wording of the marquis’s proposal. ‘Lord Blackwood was very straightforward when it came to telling me exactly what he expected in the future marchioness.’

‘And that is?’

‘A sensible woman not prone to giddiness, frivolity or…unacceptable behaviour I believe was how he phrased it. He also assured me that he would be a good husband and father, and that I would want for nothing.’

‘Admirable sentiments, to my way of thinking.’

‘And Papa believes it to be an advantageous match.’

‘And so it is, my dear!’ Lady Dorchester agreed wholeheartedly. ‘Lord Blackwood is one of the wealthiest men in London, not to mention one of the most handsome. I admit, he may not be as light-hearted as some of the gentlemen his age, but then, he has always been something of a serious lad, and he grew even more so after his dear mother died. He never really took to his father’s second wife, you see. Rumour has it that he blamed her for his father’s death.’

‘Oh, dear, I had no idea,’ Nicola said, biting her lip. ‘But I know so little of Lord Blackwood.’

‘Which is hardly surprising, given your extended absence from Town,’ Lady Dorchester said. ‘However, we cannot overlook the fact that you have been extremely fortunate, Nicki. And I feel sure that once Lord Blackwood is happily married you will see a considerable change in his disposition. So, when and where is the wedding to take place?’

‘I’m not sure. Lord Blackwood mentioned having the ceremony at the family chapel at Ridley Hall, but I rather had my heart set on St Andrew’s, where Mama and Papa were married. Unfortunately, he had to return to London before we were able to come to a decision.’

‘Well, no doubt you shall be able to settle it the next time he comes to Wyndham. Now, we must start making plans for your betrothal ball. And I will not take no for an answer,’ Lady Dorchester said firmly, as Nicola went to object. ‘Your father and I have already discussed it, and he has assured me of his complete cooperation. That is why we are going to hold the ball at Wyndham rather than here at Doring Cross. Given the number of people I intend to invite, Doring would hardly be large enough.’

‘But it is such a lot of work, Aunt,’ Nicola said guiltily.

‘I am well aware of that, my dear, but, in truth, I am looking forward to it. I was not fortunate enough to have children of my own, and if I cannot do something like this for my own daughter, at least let me do it for my sister’s child. I know this is what Elizabeth would have wanted for you.’

It was probably the best argument she could have employed, and thus appealed to, Nicola could not find it in her heart to say no. ‘Well, if you are sure, but—oh, upon my word! Champagne?’ she exclaimed as the door to the drawing room opened and the butler came in with a silver tray.

‘Well, of course. It isn’t every day my favourite niece becomes engaged to the Marquis of Blackwood, and I think such a momentous occasion warrants a special celebration. Besides, I have had precious little else to celebrate these last few months.’

Nicola’s green eyes softened and, impulsively, she leaned forward to kiss her aunt’s smooth, unlined cheek. ‘Dear Aunt Glynn. You really should start moving about in Society again. Uncle Bart has been gone these three years, and you are far too lovely to shut yourself away. I know that you could find another husband if you only set your mind to it.’

‘In all honesty, I am not sure that I wish to, Nicki.’ Lady Dorchester’s expression grew suddenly wistful. ‘Your uncle and I were together for over fourteen years, and, frankly, I am not sure that I could adjust to having a new gentleman under foot—if I could even find one who would have me. A younger man will be looking for a woman to give him sons, whereas an older man will be looking for a pretty young thing to parade about Town on his arm. And at six-and-thirty I am neither one nor the other. I seem to fall into that…grey area in between.’

‘Fiddlesticks. You are far too young and lovely to think of yourself as part of any grey area,’ Nicola scolded her aunt affectionately. ‘And I know that any number of gentlemen would tell you so, if you were but willing to listen.’

Lady Dorchester patted her niece’s hand. ‘You are a dear child, Nicola. And I would be lying if I said there were not certain things I miss about being married, especially to a man one is truly in love with.’ Her eyes crinkled around the edges. ‘The Duchess of Basilworth is forever telling me that I should take a chèr ami.’

Nicola gasped, and then started to laugh. ‘Never!’

‘Oh, yes. And she is quite serious.’

‘No doubt she is. The duchess has been known to make some outrageous statements. But would you really consider doing such a thing, Aunt?’

Lady Dorchester looked thoughtful for a moment, and then shook her head. ‘I think not. As exciting as the idea may be, one seldom finds happiness with such a man. They are usually either married, or considered too much a rake or roué to be so, and I, for one, have no desire to throw my heart away on someone I can neither have nor trust. Oh, dear, have I embarrassed you?’ Lady Dorchester asked, noticing the sudden rosy hue in her niece’s cheeks.

‘Not at all.’ Nicola was quick to assure her. ‘I was merely thinking about something I overheard at Lady Rumbolt’s soirée the other evening.’

‘Dear me, it must have been something very interesting to make you blush so.’

‘Yes, it was.’

Lady Dorchester waited expectantly, then prompted, ‘Well?’

Nicola bit her lip. ‘I am not at all sure it is an appropriate topic for me to be discussing.’

‘Why don’t you tell me and allow me to make that decision?’

Nicola laughed self-consciously, then said, ‘Very well. Is it true, Aunt, that…a married lady should not mind if her husband goes elsewhere for…well, that is, for his—?’

‘Thank you, Nicola; I think I can figure the rest of it out,’ Lady Dorchester said abruptly, even as her blue eyes began to sparkle. ‘My word, that was quite a conversation you overheard. However, I will give you the benefit of my opinion, by saying that, yes, a wife should most definitely mind if her husband looks elsewhere for his…pleasures. Love between a man and his wife can be a wonderful thing, Nicola. And, if you are fortunate enough to really love your husband, the thought of his going elsewhere will cause you more misery than you can imagine. Unfortunately, all too often, women look upon…certain aspects of marriage as an unpleasant task, a duty that must be borne stoically and in silence, refusing to believe that, with a little effort on their part, they could actually come to enjoy it. And I’ll wager you’ll not hear that whispered in the drawing rooms of Society,’ she added dryly.

Nicola looked thoughtful for a moment. ‘Then such feelings can exist within a marriage, if one but makes the effort.’

‘Oh, yes, indeed. Mark my words, Nicki: if you want a happy marriage, make the effort to please your husband,’ Lady Dorchester urged her. ‘I give you my promise, it will be well worth it in the long run. For both of you!’

In London, David attended to the business of his upcoming nuptials with the same efficiency that he employed in matters concerning the running of his estates. He spent an afternoon with his secretary, dictating letters and issuing instructions, and generally whittling down the pile of correspondence which had accumulated during his brief absence. The pink, highly scented letters from his mistress he burned without reading. He had warned Yvette time without number not to address correspondence to his home, but she had not paid him the slightest heed.

Probably because it was not intellect the darling Yvette was renowned for.

Fortunately, his desire for the pretty ballet dancer had long since begun to wane—as had his interest in any kind of casual encounter—so it was not with a deep feeling of regret that David left her cosy little house that night, after bidding her a final adieu. In spite of the tears, he had no doubt that she would recover quickly from her grief. In fact, he fully expected that she would have a new gentleman in her bed by this time tomorrow night.

From there, he headed to St James’s to enjoy a few quiet hours at his club. He was not at all surprised to find his uncle already reposed in a comfortable chair by the fire, a glass of port in one hand, a copy of The Gentleman’s Quarterly in the other.

‘Evening, Uncle Giles.’

Sir Giles looked up, and his face brightened considerably. ‘David, my boy, thank God you’re back. Place has been as quiet as a tomb without you.’ The baronet folded his paper and signalled to the waiter for another glass. ‘So, tell me, how did Lady Nicola react to your proposal? Did she say yes right off?’

David settled back into the comfortable leather armchair next to his uncle, and crossed one ankle over the other. ‘Not exactly. As it turned out, she had a few questions of her own.’

‘Did she indeed? Brave girl. I doubt many others would have had the courage to quiz you about anything other than how soon you would start showering them with the fabulous Blackwood diamonds.’

David chuckled softly. ‘I admit, I was slightly taken aback when she asked me why I wanted to marry her.’

‘The devil! And what did you tell her?’

‘That I was looking for a sensible woman, and that in return she would want for nothing.’

‘Did she think that an appropriate reply?’

‘She must have. She agreed to marry me.’

Sir Giles studied his nephew thoughtfully. ‘I wonder if she will not be quite as biddable as you think, David.’

Briefly reminded of the flash of determination in Nicola’s eyes when she had asked about bringing along her river-salvaged pups, David couldn’t help but wonder himself. What would she have said, he wondered, had he refused to allow her to keep the mongrels?

But then, recalling the look of pleasure on her face when he had sat down beside her, and the way her eyes had fluttered closed when he had kissed her cheek, he wondered whether the other was all that important. While he wasn’t looking for an argumentative wife, neither did he wish to spend his life with a whey-faced young miss who would bow to his every whim. A certain amount of spirit was admirable. A certain amount.

‘No, all things considered, I think Nicola and I shall suit,’ David said, surprised at how content the statement made him feel. ‘Time I gave up this bachelor existence anyway.’

Sir Giles’s lips twitched. ‘All of it?’

‘All of it. I have given Yvette her congé in the form of a flashy ruby bracelet—’

‘Which no doubt helped to ease the pain of parting.’

David laughed. ‘No doubt. And I sent a note round to Belle, advising her of my intentions to marry.’

‘Ah, yes, the fair Arabella.’ Sir Giles hesitated, wishing to phrase his question diplomatically. ‘Do you think she will be disturbed by the news?’

‘I see no reason why she should be. Belle was kind enough to act as my hostess when I required one, and I was grateful for her efforts, but I hardly think she will feel put out when she learns that she is to be displaced by the woman I rightfully intend to marry!’

‘So, Blackwood is finally planning to wed, eh?’ the rotund Lady Fayne commented as she accepted a cup of tea from her hostess. ‘About time too, if you ask me.’

Lady Mortimer sniffed disparagingly. ‘Should have married years ago. Doesn’t do to keep so many young ladies holding out hopes. Know anything about the gel?’

Arabella Braithwaite stirred a small spoonful of sugar into her tea and then sat back against the richly upholstered cushions of the gold damask settee, her lovely features arranged in a mask of amiability. ‘Not really, other than that she spends a good deal of time in the country.’

‘Lovely girl, though,’ Mrs Harper-Burton put in kindly. ‘I recall seeing her at Almack’s years ago. They made almost as much fuss over her come-out as they did yours, Belle.’

‘Still, the announcement must have come as something of a shock,’ the Duchess of Basilworth said loftily. She smiled at the beautifully gowned woman across from her with a modicum of pity. ‘I suppose you will have to resign yourself to playing a much smaller part in Lord Blackwood’s life from now on. He will hardly need you acting as his hostess when he has a wife of his own.’

‘Perhaps, but just because Lord Blackwood has a wife does not mean I shall no longer have occasion to see him, Your Grace,’ Arabella said sweetly. ‘We are cousins after all, and no doubt his wife will appreciate my being there to help smooth her transition back into London Society. I understand that she has been keeping a very low profile since putting off her blacks.’

‘Oh, Belle, how generous of you,’ Mrs Harper-Burton said. ‘I thought you might have been…well, resentful of another woman taking your place.’

‘Taking her place. Really, Clara!’ the Duchess of Basilworth snapped. ‘How can Arabella be resentful of someone taking a place which was never hers to begin with?’

‘Indeed,’ Arabella said lightly. ‘I merely came to Lord Blackwood’s aid at a dinner party, and, much to my surprise, he asked for my help at his next one. I really just…slipped into the role.’

‘Well, you are just going to have to slip right back out of it again,’ the Duchess said smugly. ‘I am sure the future Lady Blackwood will not be looking for assistance in domestic matters. I understand she is a sensible young woman. No doubt she will be able to hire a competent staff to attend to such matters.’

Arabella’s smile never faltered. ‘Yes, I am sure she will. More tea, anyone?’

The conversation moved off into other areas and the topic of Lord Blackwood’s upcoming nuptials was forgotten. But as soon as the ladies took their leave and Arabella was left alone the scowl which had appeared on her face upon receiving her cousin’s note abruptly reappeared, wiping out all traces of her earlier complacency.

How could David spring the news on her like that! He had never even made mention of the fact that he was thinking of getting married, and here he was, engaged to some country chit, without so much as a private word to her beforehand. Did he care nothing for her feelings?

Arabella stood up and began to pace the room with the fury of a caged tigress. It was simply too galling! True, there had never been anything of a romantic nature between them, but Arabella had always hoped that, given time, their relationship might develop into something…warmer. But that wasn’t likely to happen now. Because David was replacing her with a wife. His politely worded letter, thanking her for everything she had done, and assuring her that they would continue to see each other on a social basis, did nothing to lessen her humiliation. She had not just imagined the pity in the Duchess of Basilworth’s beady eyes this afternoon. It had been there, as plain as day. The old biddy had been laughing at her; enjoying her fall from grace, as it were.

Well, David wasn’t married yet, Arabella reminded herself, and, until he was, she intended to make very sure that she did not slip quietly into the background. Her cousin was a stickler for propriety, and he would expect his wife, as the future marchioness, to behave in a no less honourable fashion—the way Arabella herself had taken pains to behave every time she had been in his company. Duty meant everything to David and, given that Arabella had heard some very interesting stories about the late Countess of Wyndham, and about the daughter who was rumoured to have inherited some of the mother’s more eccentric qualities, Arabella decided that she would be well advised to stay close to the proceedings. If Nicola Wyndham put a foot wrong, Arabella wanted to be there to point it out.

She wasn’t going to lose David without a fight. And she intended to make very sure that the ladies all laughed on the other side of their faces before this was over!

Chapter Three

At long last, the day of Nicola’s betrothal ball arrived and, with it, the agreement that Lady Dorchester had outdone herself. The servants had been kept busy from morning till night, polishing and dusting, fetching and carrying, and helping to transform the ballroom at Wyndham Hall into a glittering fairy-tale forest, complete with bubbling fountains, miniature trees, and endless pots of white and pink roses which lent their colour and delicate perfume to the exquisitely decorated room.

Lady Dorchester herself had supervised the creation of Nicola’s new wardrobe, and had taken her to her own modiste for the selection of the magnificent gown Nicola would wear on the night of the ball.

‘You simply cannot be seen wearing anything that is not strictly au courant, my dear,’ Lady Dorchester had informed her as the modiste had brought forth yet another bolt of exquisite material. ‘This is the beginning of your new life. You must start as you mean to carry on.’

But as she studied her reflection in the cheval-glass on the night of the ball Nicola was not sure that she was making quite the right statement. ‘Is it the fashion to be so revealing, Aunt?’ she asked in dismay, eyeing the outrageously low décolleté of the gown and feeling that there was considerably more flesh above the neckline than below it.

‘My dear girl, as the Marchioness of Blackwood, you will set the fashion, not follow it,’ Lady Dorchester told her confidently. ‘I only wish your dear mother could have been here to see you. She would have been so very, very proud. But we mustn’t stand here dithering. I am sure Lord Blackwood is anxiously waiting for you to appear.’

As it happened, David was in the hall when Nicola and her aunt made their descent down the grand staircase. He had purposely arrived early in the hopes of spending a little time alone with his fiancée before the arrival of their guests, since there was one more thing he wanted to do before making their betrothal official. But as he stood and watched Nicola walk down the staircase towards him, looking a vision in a magnificent gown that flattered every sensuous curve of her body, he almost forgot what he had come early to do.

‘You look…stunning,’ he said quietly and with complete sincerity. He raised her gloved hand and pressed his lips warmly to the back of it. ‘I am honoured to be at your side this evening, my lady.’

Nicola blushed prettily at the charmingly old-fashioned gesture, and then withdrew her hand. ‘Thank you, my lord. I am delighted by your approval. I wonder, are you acquainted with my aunt?’

‘I most certainly am,’ David said, turning now to bow towards Nicola’s aunt, who was equally resplendent in a gown of emerald-green satin. ‘It is a pleasure to see you again, Lady Dorchester. And, may I say, looking every bit as radiant as your niece.’

There was a twinkle in Lady Dorchester’s eye as she curtsied and said, ‘And you are every inch as charming as I remembered, Lord Blackwood. My niece is a lucky young lady indeed to have secured the affection of such a gentleman. But then, I believe you to be even more fortunate in having secured hers.’

David chuckled deep in his throat. ‘Indeed I am, Lady Dorchester, and, if I may be so bold, I would like to have a few minutes alone with Nicola before the evening gets underway. There is something I should like to give her.’

Lady Dorchester beamed. ‘I would not mind at all. As long as you promise to have her back in time to greet your guests.’

‘I give you my word.’

Thus assured, David took Nicola by the hand and led her through the house to the conservatory, which was located well away from all the hustle and bustle of the festivities.

‘My lord, what is this all about?’ Nicola asked when they stood alone in the middle of the spacious, plant-filled room.

About to make the formal presentation of the ring, David turned towards her, and then abruptly went silent. The room was illuminated by nothing more than the glow of the full moon shining in through the glass windows, and by the flickering light of the candles in the sconces lining the walls. Even so, it was enough to show him how truly beautiful was the woman he had asked to be his wife. In the shimmering silk gown, with the high-waisted bodice delicately beaded and hugging a creamy expanse of bosom, and the skirt falling in gentle folds to reveal tiny feet shod in dainty satin slippers, Nicola’s loveliness nearly took his breath away.

And then there were those eyes. Deep-set and fringed with the most impossibly long, gold-tipped lashes he had ever seen, they were eyes that stirred the passion in a man’s heart and coaxed the soul from his body. Eyes which, in the soft light of the moon, glowed a deep, luminous green.

Witch’s eyes.

‘My lord?’

‘Mmm?’

‘You’re staring at me.’

‘Am I?’ David shook his head, wondering at the turn of his own imagination.

Witches indeed!

‘Forgive me, Nicola, I fear my mind must be wandering tonight.’

‘Well, I think even the great Marquis of Blackwood should be allowed to daydream once in a while. Don’t you?’

David smiled to himself. What would she say, he wondered, if she knew exactly what he had been daydreaming about? He quickly thrust such frivolous thoughts aside, and said, ‘I wanted to have a moment alone with you to give you something.’ He drew forth a small velvet bag from his breast pocket and tipped a ring with a magnificent square-cut emerald surrounded by sparkling diamonds into his hand. ‘I chose it with your eyes in mind.’

Nicola gasped as she caught the flash of diamonds and gold in the pale moonlight. ‘Oh, my! This is…for me?’

‘It is.’ Slowly, Blackwood reached for her hand and reverently slid the ring onto her slender finger, knowing that it was only the first of many such heirlooms he would bestow upon his new marchioness. ‘Now we are officially betrothed.’ Then, to Nicola’s astonishment, he bent his head and kissed her full on the lips.

Nicola had not been expecting his kiss, nor was she prepared for the devastating effect it had on her senses. As his mouth moved gently over hers, teasing her with its warmth, a strange new excitement began to stir within her body. She felt his arm close firmly around her waist and pull her close; so close that she could smell the clean masculine fragrance of his soap and feel the warmth radiating from his body. Goodness, no one had ever told her that a kiss could be like this, and, flustered, Nicola drew back.

David drew back too, though he didn’t release her hand. He continued to gaze down into her face, committing to memory the elegant line of her nose, the feathery curve of her eyebrows and the intoxicating dimple at the left side of her mouth, and felt an inexplicable tightness in his chest. ‘Does that please you, Nicola?’ he whispered hoarsely.

‘Y-yes. It was…very pleasant indeed.’

‘Was?’ Puzzled, David paused for a moment. Then, realizing what she was saying, he began to chuckle softly in his throat. ‘I was referring to the ring, my dear.’

Nicola was eternally grateful for the darkness which hid her blushes. What a widgeon he must think her. Of course he was referring to the ring. He would hardly need question the expertise of his kisses.

‘It is…truly beautiful, my lord,’ she said, glancing down at her hand to avoid the dark, probing eyes.

‘I am very glad to hear it. But, now that we are officially betrothed, do you think you could bring yourself to call me…David?’

It was such a silly oversight that Nicola started to laugh. ‘Oh, dear, yes, I think I most probably could…David.’

And so, in a spirit of mutual charity, and much pleased with the events of the last few minutes, Nicola accompanied her fiancé back to the ballroom to await the arrival of their guests.

It did not come as any surprise to David that the evening—and Nicola—were a complete success. Chatting easily as the seemingly endless flow of people made their way down the reception line, David watched his future bride smile and greet their guests, and knew that he had not been mistaken in his assessment of her abilities. The confidence and the poise with which Nicola carried herself would have made any man proud, and, indeed, a duchess could not have been more dignified.

‘Well, David, I am delighted to see you looking so settled,’ the regal Duchess of Basilworth said, breaking into his reveries. ‘And not before time either. I was beginning to wonder whether the fifth Marquis of Blackwood was not destined to become the last Marquis of Blackwood.’

‘I assure you, Your Grace, I had no intention of allowing anything of the kind to happen,’ David said, turning to offer her a warm smile. ‘I was simply waiting until the time was right. And, of course, for the right lady to come along.’

‘Yes, well, I am sure you aged most of the mothers in this room waiting for just the right time and the right lady,’ the Duchess chided him affectionately. ‘I know of at least five young ladies who turned down estimable proposals on the off chance that you might favour them with yours.’

‘Really? I cannot think why. I am hardly such a worthy catch as all that. And I am old enough to be a father to some of these girls.’

The Duchess tapped him lightly on the arm with her fan. ‘I assure you, there was nothing paternal in the way any of them viewed you. Still, I am glad that you have made your choice, and that you have chosen so wisely. Lady Nicola is a sensible young woman with the manners of a queen. Look at her dealing with that odious mushroom, Mrs Bonguard. One would never know that she was anything but delighted to be talking to her.’

‘Perhaps she is.’

‘Fustian, how could she be?’ the Duchess disclaimed. ‘The woman is married to a Cit and thinks that by virtue of her husband’s wealth she is entitled to an entrée to Society. I wonder that someone hasn’t put her in her place.’

David tactfully hid his amusement at the Duchess’s remark. ‘I am sure someone will, Your Grace.’

‘Perhaps, but I fear it will not be your future bride. Too nice for her own good. Speaking of which,’ the Duchess said, her sharp gaze returning to Blackwood’s face, ‘have you seen Arabella Braithwaite this evening?’

‘Only in the receiving line,’ David replied. ‘I intended to speak with her later, though.’

‘Yes, do that, David,’ the Duchess advised. ‘It would be wise for you to settle things between the two of you as quickly as possible.’

‘Settle things?’ David’s brows knit together in confusion. ‘I do not see that there is anything to settle, Your Grace. The day before the announcement appeared in The Times, I sent Arabella a note, personally informing her of my intention to marry so that she would be advised beforehand.’

‘And have you had word from her since?’

‘No, but—’

‘I thought not. I am going to give you a piece of advice, my boy, and you would do well to mind it.’ The Duchess leaned forward and lowered her voice. ‘Watch her carefully.’

David looked at the woman in surprise. ‘Nicola?’

‘Gudgeon! Arabella. She has enjoyed playing the part of the Marchioness of Blackwood, and she don’t like being displaced,’ the Duchess told him bluntly.

If he hadn’t been so surprised, David would have been tempted to laugh. ‘Nonsense! She can hardly be displaced from a position she never held.’

‘No, but you had her act as hostess at your dinner parties, did you not?’

‘A few, but—’

‘And she saw to the arranging of your receptions and to various other sporting functions, did she not?’

‘Again, yes, but—’

‘Then what would you call that, if not playing the part of your wife?’

‘I would call it lending assistance as a friend,’ David replied calmly. ‘And as a relation. Need I point out that Arabella is my cousin?’

‘Yes, and one ill-content to be so. Oh, come along, David, everyone knows that cousins marry, and pray do not attempt to appease my sensibilities by pretending they do not. I am telling you that Arabella had it in her mind to become the next Marchioness of Blackwood, and if you paid any mind to Society gossip at all you would have known that.’

Uncomfortably reminded of his uncle’s words, David frowned his displeasure. ‘I do not care for rumours and speculation, Your Grace, as I think you know. It is enough for me that Arabella helped me when I asked her to. I am sure she has no amorous intentions towards me, and I can assure you that I have none towards her. Our relationship has never strayed beyond the walls of the dining room, if you follow my meaning.’

‘I know precisely what you mean, Blackwood,’ the Duchess commented dryly, ‘and I am not trying to ascertain whether your conduct towards your cousin is, or was in any way lacking. All I am saying is that spurning an ambitious woman can sometimes lead to trouble. It is entirely up to you whether you heed the warning or not. Now, having said that, I must go and have a word with Lady Fayne. She still owes me fifty pounds from our game of whist the other evening. No doubt she has forgotten again, poor dear. Mind like a sieve. I shall see you at supper, David,’ the Duchess said, before moving away like a regal battleship at full sail.

David watched her go, surprised and not a little troubled that she could have misjudged his cousin so. Arabella jealous? Impossible. There had never been anything in her conduct to suggest that she was in the least interested in him romantically. In fact, David was sure that, when they had last ridden together, Arabella had expressed an interest in Lord Wickstead, a prominent peer with extensive holdings in Kent and a reputed income of some fifteen thousand a year.

‘You look very deep in thought, David. Thinking about your new lady love?’

Startled out of his deliberation, and by the very person he had been thinking about, David turned to see Arabella wearing a gown of dark maroon silk, and looking as beautiful at eight-and-twenty as she had as a bride of eighteen. As the widow of a wealthy man, she could hardly lay claim to the mannerisms of a blushing bride, but there was still a touch of coquetry in her ways that a number of gentlemen found attractive.

To David, however, she was just his cousin Arabella, and he smiled at her accordingly. ‘As a matter of fact, I was thinking about you, Belle. You are looking exceedingly lovely this evening.’

‘I thought it only fitting that I look my best for my favourite cousin’s betrothal ball,’ Arabella replied in a carefully nonchalant voice. ‘So, you have finally decided to settle down and marry. I am happy for you, David, and delighted that you have found someone with whom to share your life. After all, is that not what we all look for?’

‘It is, and I am pleased to hear you say so, Belle. I would not wish to offend you in any way.’

‘Offend me! My dear man, how could I possibly be offended?’ Arabella said, her laughter just a shade too bright. ‘You have always treated me with the utmost courtesy, and it has been a pleasure to preside over your various functions. But I am well aware that it was only a temporary measure until you found someone who could do it on a more…permanent basis. Which you now have. I just hope you won’t cut me from your life altogether.’

‘Of course I do not intend to cut you,’ David told her, wondering at her making such a remark. ‘We are family, after all. And as an old married man—’

‘You will never be an old married man,’ Arabella said fervently. ‘You will always be my dearest cousin David.’ Then, fearing that she may have sounded a trifle bold, she added quickly, ‘Now, why don’t you bring your lovely fiancée here? I should like very much to spend a few minutes chatting with her, and getting to know her better.’

‘I am sure Nicola would enjoy that,’ David said, turning to look for Nicola. Unfortunately, a quick search of the room failed to reveal the whereabouts of his Titian-haired beauty.

‘How strange,’ he said after glancing around the room. ‘I can’t imagine where she would have gone. Excuse me for a moment, will you, Belle?’ Moving away, David did a quick circuit of the room, but to no avail. Nicola was simply nowhere to be found.

‘Lady Dorchester, have you seen Nicola?’ he asked, coming upon her aunt a few minutes later.

‘No, Lord Blackwood, I have not. At least, not for a little while. The last time I saw her she was sipping champagne with old Lord Wexler.’ Lady Dorchester glanced around the room and then suddenly began to frown. ‘Oh, dear, you don’t think the odious man has run off with her, do you?’

A faint smile briefly ruffled David’s mouth. ‘At sixty-eight, I doubt Wexler’s heart would stand the strain. Funny, though, her disappearing like this. Perhaps I should take a look outside.’

‘Yes, do that, Lord Blackwood,’ Lady Dorchester said, glancing around the room again. ‘I shall look for her father. Perhaps the two of them have gone away together for a talk. It would not be the first time.’

Little did either of them know, however, that at that precise moment the young lady in question was neither chatting to her father nor enjoying a stroll around the gardens. She was standing in the middle of the darkened billiards room, an expression of deep concern marring the tranquillity of her lovely features.

‘And you are sure you saw her fly in here?’ Nicola asked the young lad standing nervously beside her.

‘Aye, m’lady. Saw it as plain as the nose on me face.’

‘But how did she get out of the cage?’

The boy, who looked to be about eleven years old, fiddled anxiously with the cap in his hand. ‘I just turned me back for a minute to get the piece’v meat Cook give me, and when I turned back round there she was—gone!’

‘Oh, dear, this really is most inconvenient.’ Nicola cast anxious eyes towards the ceiling. ‘The wing was not set nearly well enough for her to fly. I am surprised she made it this far.’

‘I did see ’er go down once, m’lady,’ the lad admitted, ‘and then she kind of ’obbled, like.’

‘But how did she get in here?’ Nicola murmured, moving slowly about the room. ‘The windows are all closed.’

‘Aye, but the windows in the one next to this one aren’t. I saw ’er fly in there and I climbed in after ’er. Then, when she came in ’ere, I shut the door and nipped out to let Mr Trethewy know.’

‘Well, I am very glad you thought to get word to me, Jamie,’ Nicola said kindly. ‘Now, listen carefully. I want you to run down to the kitchen and tell Cook to give you a length of old linen. Ask her for as much as she can spare. Then bring it back up here as quickly and as quietly as you can.’

‘Aye, m’lady, I’ll do that!’

The young lad dashed away, stopping only long enough to close the door behind him. As soon as he was gone, Nicola resumed her search for the injured falcon, all the while chewing nervously on her bottom lip. This couldn’t have happened at a worse time. What ever must David be thinking? Surely he had noticed that she was gone. And poor Guinevere; she must be scared half to death. The sooner Nicola got her safely back into her cage, the better for all concerned.

She was just on her way towards the door, when a shuffling sound drew her attention towards the far corner of the room.

‘Guinevere?’ Slowly moving forward, Nicola raised the lamp, directing the light towards the corner—and saw the falcon wedged in between the two armchairs. ‘Oh, Guinevere, you naughty girl. You have given me such a dreadful fright!’

Just then, the door opened and Jamie reappeared with a length of kitchen linen piled over his arm. ‘Is this ’nuff, m’lady?’ he asked anxiously.

At a glance, Nicola could tell that it was not, but there wasn’t time to send him back downstairs now. ‘That will do fine, Jamie. Now, off you go and bring Guinevere’s cage back here as quickly as you can.’

‘Yes, m’lady.’

After he’d dashed out again, Nicola put the lamp down on top of the table where Jamie had left the linen, and then removed one of her long silk gloves. Starting at her wrist, she began wrapping the linen around her arm, making sure that the skin was covered all the way up to her elbow. She worked quickly, aware that with every passing minute her absence from the ballroom would grow more noticeable, until, finally, David would be forced to come in search of her. And heaven only knew what he would do if he found her playing nursemaid to an injured falcon.

Wrapping the last few inches of fabric around her arm, Nicola secured the makeshift bandage with a knot, and then pulled it tight. It wasn’t nearly as thick as she would have liked it to be, but at least it would offer her some protection from the falcon’s razor-sharp talons. If for any reason the bird panicked, those claws would slice through Nicola’s soft skin like hot knives through butter. Finally, picking up the lamp, Nicola drew a deep breath and then turned to confront the injured bird.

‘All right, Guinevere, you’re going to be fine. But I need to have a better look at that wing.’

So saying, Nicola slowly raised the lamp—and then groaned. The broken wing was visibly hanging away from the bird’s body. All that hard work for nothing.

‘Well, it looks as though we are going to have to start all over again,’ she said on a sigh. ‘Now, if I can just get you safely back into your cage.’

As if listening, the falcon’s dark eyes blinked at her and the hooked beak opened and closed. But Nicola didn’t draw back. She had to get Guinevere back into her cage and out of the room before she did the wing, or herself, any more harm. For that reason, she continued to inch her way forward, closing the distance between them, and all the while uttering soft, soothing sounds so as not to frighten the falcon.

It took a while, but, eventually, the bird responded to the familiar sound of Nicola’s voice. With an awkward hop, she jumped onto Nicola’s arm, her talons sinking deep into the linen as they found a secure foothold. Nicola was glad that she had thought to make the bandage thickest in the area close to her wrist. Even so, she winced as the sharp talons sank through the layers of fabric and pierced the soft skin below. Now, if Jamie would just return with the cage—

Suddenly, Nicola froze. Someone was coming—but it wasn’t Jamie. From beyond the door she could hear the unmistakable sounds of people. Of voices, male and female alike, raised in laughter. And they were coming in this direction!

‘Oh, no!’ Nicola murmured, her eyes glued to the door. This was the worst possible thing that could happen. If they came in now, Guinevere would take fright and try to fly away. As it was, she was already starting to flap her wings. Her talons were getting tangled in the linen and Nicola winced as they cut through the flimsy bandage and found the unprotected skin below again. At this rate, Guinevere was going to do them both an injury!

‘Guinevere, please don’t try to fly!’ Nicola whispered as she backed away from the door, willing the crowd to pass.

But they didn’t. The door-handle started to turn. The voices and the laughter grew louder.

Guinevere uttered a piercing cry and Nicola closed her eyes—

‘Wait, m’lord, don’t open the door!’ a frantic voice called out amidst the peals of laughter. ‘You can’t go in there! Please, don’t let them go in!’

Nicola’s eyes flew open. Thank goodness Jamie had arrived!

Unfortunately, so had her father!

‘What do you mean, we can’t go in?’ Lord Wyndham demanded. ‘What’s the meaning of this, lad? And what on earth is that cage for?’

‘It’s for the bird, m’lord.’

‘What bird?’

‘Gwenevere. She sent me to fetch the cage!’ Jamie said frantically.

‘What the devil—who sent you to fetch a cage?’

‘Lady Nicola.’

‘Lady Nicola!’

Nicola’s eyes focused on the door and her heart plummeted.

The search was over. David had found her!

‘Aye, she escaped when I were trying to feed ’er, m’lord,’ Jamie said breathlessly, ‘and I followed ’er in ’ere. Then I sent word to ’er ladyship.’

‘And her ladyship came?’ David enquired in a tone of stunned disbelief.

‘Aye. I told Mr Trethewy to tell ’er what ’appened. And just now, she sent me to fetch the cage. But you daren’t go in, sir, or she’ll take fright fer sure! Gwenevere, that is.’

‘All right, lad, we won’t all go in,’ Lord Wyndham said brusquely.

Nicola heard her father hushing the crowd and asking everyone to step back. Then, slowly, the door began to open. A hand holding aloft a candelabra appeared through the crack, and a voice called softly, ‘Nicola?’

Nicola swallowed. ‘Yes, Papa?’

‘Is everything all right, my dear?’

‘Yes, Papa.’

The door opened a little wider, and two men stepped forward. The light from the candles in their hands fell upon Nicola, silhouetting her against the window. Her back was turned towards them, her arm held slightly in towards her body, offering what protection she could to the frightened bird.

‘Nicola, are you all right?’ This time, it was David who spoke, though in a voice much sterner than her father’s had been.

Nicola turned her head in his direction, and saw that the doorway was crowded with people all anxiously peering in. ‘Yes, my lord, I’m fine. But I am afraid Guinevere is a little the worse for wear. Jamie, are you there?’

‘Aye, m’lady,’ came a shaky voice from somewhere in the depths of the crowd.

‘Bring the cage in and set it on the table,’ Nicola advised. ‘Move slowly, now. We don’t want to frighten Guinevere any more than she already is.’

The crowd reluctantly parted and Jamie’s anxious face appeared in the doorway. He started to move forward, encumbered by a large wooden cage that was fully half as big as he was, and awkwardly set it on the top of the billiards table. Only then did Nicola turn round, exposing, to the eyes of her guests, the sight of the majestic falcon sitting proudly on her arm.

A gasp of astonishment rippled through the assembly.

Nicola raised uncertain eyes to her fiancé’s face and saw the unmistakable look of shock and disbelief written all over it, and wondered how in the world she was going to explain this. Unfortunately, she didn’t have time to worry about it now. She had to get the falcon back into the cage.

And so, with what looked to be half the people at her betrothal ball in attendance, Nicola slowly began to walk towards the cage.

‘Nicola, your arm!’ David said abruptly.

For the first time, Nicola glanced down at her arm, and inwardly caught her breath. It was not a pretty sight. Splotches of bright red stained the bandage in a number of places where the falcon’s talons had pierced through to her skin. All she could do was try to laugh it off as she reached the cage and carefully placed her arm through the opening. ‘’Tis nothing, I assure you. Guinevere just became a little excited when she heard the voices. There now, Guinevere, back you go.’

Nicola tilted her arm and waited for the bird to move. It was only then she realized that one of the falcon’s claws had become hopelessly entangled in the loose threads.

‘Oh, bother! Jamie, will you help me with my other glove, please?’ Nicola said, extending her left arm. ‘Guinevere’s leg is caught.’

But it was not Jamie who slowly stepped forward to remove the glove.

‘I’ll do that,’ David said curtly.

Nicola held her breath as their eyes met and she held her arm out towards him. It was all she could do not to flinch as his fingers brushed the soft warm flesh above her elbow. She watched him roll down the glove and then slowly pull it free of her fingers, in a gesture that was so intimate, so…familiar that it brought the colour surging to her cheeks. She didn’t say a word, however, as she took a deep breath and slowly put her bare hand into the cage, carefully untangling the threads that held the falcon captive. If Guinevere snapped at her fingers now, the resulting injury would be far worse than anything her claws had inflicted thus far.

Fortunately, whether from exhaustion or some sixth sense that Nicola was trying to help her, the falcon merely tipped her head and watched what was going on. Moments later, when both of her feet were free, she obligingly hopped forward onto the perch and allowed Nicola to remove her arm and close the door.

Guinevere was safely home once more!

‘There we are, Jamie,’ Nicola said weakly. ‘Take her back down to the pen and feed her. And this time do not open the cage door for any reason.’

‘I don’t need no second warning about that, m’lady,’ the boy said jauntily, now that the crisis was over. ‘Come on, then, Gwenevere.’

The crowd hastily stepped back as the boy carried the cage and its occupant out into the hallway and towards the closest door. When he had gone, all eyes turned back to Nicola, standing in the middle of the room, her one arm bare, the other covered in a blood-spattered bandage.

The silence seemed to drag on for ever.

‘Well, I think that is quite enough excitement for one night,’ Lord Wyndham said brusquely. ‘Ladies and gentlemen, why don’t we all return to the ballroom?’

‘Yes, that would be a grand idea,’ Lady Dorchester added, promptly stepping forward to take charge. ‘Come along, everyone, back to the ballroom if you please. I shall see to Lady Nicola. You need not stay either, Lord Blackwood.’

David stood by Nicola’s side, his eyes fixed on the length of linen now liberally spotted with blood, and marvelled at the spectacle he had just witnessed. Had he really seen his beautiful, genteel fiancée parade around the billiards room with a hunting falcon on her arm, and a stable boy for an accomplice?

‘Are you sure you’re all right?’

‘Perfectly, my lord,’ Nicola said, with as much calm as she could muster under the circumstances. ‘It looks much worse than it is.’

‘Nicola, I must insist—’

‘Blackwood, perhaps you’d care to have a drink with me before rejoining your guests,’ Lord Wyndham offered hastily, sensing that this was neither the time nor the place for the inevitable confrontation to take place. ‘Nicola will return to the ballroom, uh…directly.’

David glanced from one to the other, and then nodded. ‘Very well. But I hope you will be good enough to give me an explanation for this at the earliest opportunity, Nicola.’

Nicola sighed. He was furious and doing his level best not to show it. ‘I shall be happy to, my lord, but for now I would ask that you go back to the ballroom with the rest of our guests. I shall return shortly.’

David sketched her a quick bow, disapproval evident in every line of his body. Without another word, he turned and left the room. Only after the door closed behind him did Lord Wyndham venture a faint chuckle. ‘I don’t think Blackwood was very pleased at the sight of you with that bird perched up there, Nicki. Put the wind up him, seeing your arm all bloodied like that.’

Nicola began to unwind the blood-stained bandage from her arm, taking care not to get it anywhere near her gown. ‘There was absolutely no reason why it should have alarmed him, Papa. Poor Guinevere was the one at risk, not me. Besides, it was my own fault for not ensuring that I made the bandage thick enough.’

‘Unfortunately, that is what comes of keeping exotic pets.’

‘Yes, well, under the circumstances, I think it better that Lord Blackwood not hear about…Alistair and the others right now,’ Nicola muttered.

‘I thought you were planning on taking your menagerie with you when you married?’

‘I was,’ she confessed. ‘And I did tell Lord Blackwood about the puppies, and he said he did not mind my having pets. I just haven’t found the right moment to tell him about…the others.’

‘Well, I would advise you to do it soon, my dear,’ Lady Dorchester said as she carefully took the soiled bandage from her niece and handed it to Trethewy who had magically appeared in the doorway. ‘I doubt the marquis’s perception of pets is going to be the same as yours, and he will hardly be expecting his future marchioness to be a gamekeeper! Now, come along upstairs, and let me have a good look at that arm!’

Chapter Four

The image of Nicola standing in the darkened billiards room, with a hunting falcon perched proudly on her arm, and blood staining the flimsy layer of cloth with which she had wrapped it for protection, stayed with David for a very long time. In fact, it made for an extremely restless night.

What the devil had she been thinking of? Imagine trying to rescue a bird that could just as easily have…ripped her to shreds as look her in the eye! It was commendable, yes. And brave, certainly. But, as the future Marchioness of Blackwood, it was hardly appropriate behaviour. Especially occurring right in the middle of their betrothal ball as it had.

Well, it would no doubt make for an interesting topic of conversation later in the day, David reflected as he stood in the guest bedroom at Wyndham Hall the next morning and painstakingly arranged the folds of his cravat into a perfect Mathematical. And for some clever explanations on the part of his fiancée, to be sure!

By the time David reached the breakfast parlour—his appetite having been considerably whetted by the tantalizing smells issuing from it—he was ready for a hearty repast. The fact that he would likely be enjoying it alone did not trouble him unduly. He knew that Lord Wyndham was not partial to breakfast, having oft heard him refer to it as a singularly uninspiring meal, and, as he knew that it was not the custom for well-bred young ladies to rise early following a night of dancing and revelry, David had no reason to suspect that Nicola would put in an appearance much before noon.

But then, he’d had no reason to suspect that she would treat him to a display of falconry in the billiards room last night either. Which was probably why, when he entered the breakfast parlour to find his fiancée already seated at one end of the long mahogany table, her plate generously heaped with curried eggs and toast, and her attention riveted on the pages of the romantic novel in front of her, he was not overly surprised.

‘Good morning, Nicola,’ he said laconically. ‘Interesting book?’

Nicola’s head shot up, her eyes widening in dismay as she realised that, once again, David had caught her doing something that wasn’t quite appropriate. She quickly closed the book and offered him what could only be called an apologetic smile. ‘David, pray forgive my abominable manners. Miss Withers would have had apoplexy if she’d caught me reading at the table, but, in truth, I did not expect to see you downstairs until much later.’

‘Later?’ David propped his back against the edge of the door and remarked in some surprise, ‘Do I strike you as such a layabout, then?’

Catching the subtle inflection, Nicola hastened to reassure him. ‘Not at all. It was simply my understanding that fashionable gentlemen preferred to keep to their beds in the morning. Unless they were partaking of some early morning sport, of course.’

‘Of course.’ Tempted to inform her that the only kind of sport that would keep him abed of a morning included the willing participation of a certain kind of lady, David instead said, ‘I was under the impression that fashionable young ladies did exactly the same thing.’

‘Well, yes, I believe they do. But then, I do not aspire to be a lady of fashion,’ Nicola told him with an unaffected smile. ‘At least, not in the truest sense of the word. There is precious little need for that when one spends most of one’s time in the country.’

She might not aspire to be a lady of fashion, David thought, but one would never know it by her charming appearance this morning. In the fashionable white muslin gown, delicately embroidered with sprigs of pale blue flowers around the square neckline and hem, Nicola presented a very pretty picture indeed. Her hair was caught up in a charming cluster of curls, through which a ribbon the same colour as the flowers on her dress had been wound, while a few stray tendrils hung loose against the curve of her neck. It was only the fact that she was clearly enjoying a rather hearty meal, and that she had probably risen earlier than most of the household, that lent credibility to her statement at all.

‘I take it from the fact that you are already well along with your breakfast that you are in the habit of rising early?’ David enquired mildly.

‘Oh, yes, most assuredly. Morning is my favourite time of the day.’

‘How unusual. A lady who professes no concern as regards to maintaining a fashionable appearance, and who prefers the quiet, restful hours of a country morning. I would venture to say, my dear,’ David said with a meaningful glance, ‘that you are not at all typical of the rest of your breed.’

‘No, so Papa has often told me. No doubt that is why I have been spared the attentions of the young tulips and dandies of London Society. I can neither match them in appearance, nor keep up with their nocturnal habits. Indeed, were I to marry such a man, I dare say we should see precious little of each other of a day.’

David’s mouth twitched, but he stubbornly refused to smile. He wasn’t yet ready to forgive Nicola for her behaviour of the previous night. ‘Should I be offended that you do not consider me such a paragon of gentlemanly fashion?’

‘Ah, but you are, my lord,’ Nicola assured him in a most serious tone, even as her eyes sparkled. ‘You are a pattern card to many a young sprig of fashion. But not, I fear, to the fribbles and dandies who would wear their collar points so high as to restrict movement of the head, or don waistcoats so bright that they are painful to the eye. Those are definitely not the type of gentleman who would emulate your considerably more…refined sense of style.’

She was bamming him, David acknowledged ruefully, and with a deftness that was making it dashed hard for him not to laugh out loud. He had not expected to find such a lively wit dwelling behind those enchanting eyes, nor such a conspicuous lack of arrogance in her character. Until now, those were qualities which he had found sadly lacking in the females of his acquaintance.

He pushed himself away from the door, and set about examining the tempting array of hot and cold delicacies displayed in silver platters upon the sideboard.

‘I hope you are recovered from the events of last evening,’ he remarked idly, selecting, amongst other things, a slab of freshly cured ham, a morsel of rare steak, two poached eggs and three slices of toast.

Having decided early on to be as optimistic as possible about what had happened in the billiards room last night, Nicola offered him a dazzling smile. ‘I am suffering no ill effects whatsoever. In fact, I am not in the least tired, even considering all the dancing—’

‘It was not the dancing I was referring to,’ David said, cutting across her spate of cheery words. ‘I was referring to that little episode with the bird.’

Nicola’s smile dimmed a little. ‘Oh, that.’

‘Yes, that.’ David nodded briefly in the direction of a footman, who scurried from the room in search of fresh coffee. ‘I notice that you have covered your arms today. Are your injuries so grievous that you need to hide them from me?’

Nicola glanced up at him with an expression of genuine surprise. ‘They are not grievous at all, it is merely the style of the dress. I have many others like it. Besides, as I told you last night, the bandage made the injuries appear far worse than they really were.’

‘Indeed.’ David turned back to the sideboard. ‘What I should like to know is what a falcon was doing in the billiards room in the first place. And why you were the one trying to capture it.’

‘Actually, I was…rescuing her.’

‘I beg your pardon?’

‘I was rescuing Guinevere. She belongs to me, you see,’ Nicola explained. ‘I found her in the woods some weeks ago.’

David turned to stare at the elegant young lady sitting so calmly at the table in front of him, and said, in disbelief, ‘You found a wounded falcon…and brought it home?’

‘Well, yes. She had injured her wing and I knew that she was unlikely to survive the night, so I brought her back here and began nursing her back to health.’

‘Nicola, we are not talking about a pretty little finch here. We are talking about a bird of prey, traditionally used for the hunting of small vermin and rodents. You can’t just…take it in and treat it like a pet.’

‘Guinevere is very gentle and exceedingly well behaved—’

‘Yes, I saw how well behaved she was last night,’ David drawled. ‘So well that, even with a broken wing, she flew out of her cage at the first opportunity.’

‘She merely slipped out when Jamie was feeding her,’ Nicola replied in the bird’s defence. ‘It should never have happened.’

‘And it wouldn’t have, had you had sense enough not to keep the bird in the first place!’

‘She would have died without my care!’

‘That is the law of nature, Nicola. In the wild, only the strong survive. You cannot take it into your head to rescue every wounded bird you come across. My God, we should be overrun! Or over flown,’ David muttered under his breath.

‘I am hardly keeping a flock, my lord,’ Nicola said, crossing her arms in defiance. ‘I merely rescued one injured falcon.’

‘I understand that, but has it not occurred to you that you might have been injured last night? What if that damn bird had gone for your face?’

‘Oh, David, there was never any danger of that,’ Nicola said, her tone evidencing a complete lack of concern. ‘Guinevere was simply frightened by all the noise. You saw how docile she became when everyone quietened down.’

‘And the injuries to your arm?’

‘Were my own fault for not ensuring that the bandage was made thick enough.’

‘But surely you realize—’

‘My lord, would you care for some of Cook’s homemade apricot jam?’ Nicola interrupted, as the door to the parlour suddenly swung open and the footman returned carrying a fresh pot of coffee. ‘She is renowned throughout the county for the recipe. I think you will find it goes very nicely on your toast.’

Forced by the rules of etiquette to comply, David smiled, and duly accepted the pot of jam Nicola held out to him. It wasn’t the thing to be seen arguing in front of servants, and he waited until the young man had resumed his place by the door before continuing in a much softer voice, ‘Nicola, I understand that you wished to help the bird, and I certainly cannot fault you for that. But I must insist that, from now on, if you happen to find any injured birds lying in the field, you leave them where they are. You will be far too busy attending to your duties as the Marchioness of Blackwood to trouble yourself with every debilitated bird you come across.’

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