Chapter 20

The ballroom was dark, the candles all but stumps in their holders in the chandeliers high overhead. The household staff were tidying away the plates and cups and the ballroom was silent except for the soft clink of glass and the sound of footsteps. Nicholas stood leaning against a column and shut his eyes. Exhaustion dragged at him, making him too tired to stand up.

"Nicholas, dear...go and rest. The guest suite is made up for you." Grandmother spoke quietly from behind Nicholas. He turned around, barely aware of her words or their meaning.

"In a moment," he replied when he had deciphered the sentence. "Thank you," he added politely. He turned and stared out over the ballroom. The soft glow of the candles was added to by lamps the servants had brought to illuminate the hall as they went about their work. Most of the cleaning would take place tomorrow when it was light. Nicholas stifled a yawn and stumbled up the stairs.

As he walked up the dark hallways, his mind went over the events of the evening. He struggled to understand what happened at the ball.

Bernadette was so strange, he thought confusedly. She all but told me to give her peace and quiet, and I have no idea why.

He let out a sigh. He'd had a tense evening. Grandmother had insisted he talk to Lady Alverton and her daughter, and every second had been as though he was being rubbed with sandpaper. Every nerve protested at being close to them. Lady Emily acted as though nothing had happened, but that was even more uncomfortable.

She had hurt him more than anyone living.

Grandmother went too far with her interference. She had all but forced them to dance together, and he'd agreed to it, but only because Lady Alverton was Grandmother's best friend, and he didn't want to make things embarrassing for her. She shouldn't have made the suggestion in front of Lady Alverton if she didn't want to be embarrassed by his refusal. He should have refused. He felt his fingers curl into a fist, annoyed at himself for letting himself be pushed into something he absolutely did not want.

"Nicholas?"

Nicholas jumped. He'd reached the drawing room. He had forgotten that Andrew had said he'd come up to chat before returning home. Nicholas glanced at his friend, guilt for having forgotten keeping him speechless for a moment. Even in the light of the lamps Andrew looked weary, gray prints of exhaustion under his eyes.

"Andrew," he said softly. "You should go back. It's almost one o' clock in the morning." Nicholas stifled a yawn as he spoke.

Andrew smiled. "I know," he answered, stifling a yawn himself. "But your grandmother kindly said I could stay here. They seem to have more than one guest room."

"They do," Nicholas commented briefly. He was using one of them, but there were two more guest bedrooms at Lockwood House.

"Well, then," Andrew said with a grin. "I can sit and talk for a while. Not long, mind. I'm falling asleep where I sit. Kind as your grandmother has been, I think she would not look fondly upon someone sleeping on the chaise-longue in her drawing room."

Nicholas chuckled. "No, she would not."

"I thought as much."

Nicholas sat down in an upholstered chair near the window, eyelids drooping with tiredness.

"I had a good evening," Andrew said softly.

Nicholas knew he was trying to ask about his evening, and he sighed a long, exhausted breath out. "I'm pleased," he said. He paused. "I had an...interesting one."

"What was interesting about it?" Andrew was leaning back on the chaise-longue, almost sleeping. Nicholas smiled to himself.

"I danced with Miss Rowland," he explained, "but the oddest thing is, I danced with Lady Emily too."

"You did?" Andrew sounded surprised.

"I did," Nicholas said, a little cross at Andrew's evident shock. "Grandmother insisted. I couldn't get out of it."

"Oh." Andrew didn't sound reassured.

"Well, what I wanted to say," Nicholas said, bristling a little, "is that I found it didn't matter. It made no impact on me. Emily, I mean."

"It made no impact on you," Andrew repeated dully, as though he didn't understand what he meant.

"It was odd. I wasn't upset or angry or hurt or confused. I didn't really notice. I felt nothing. It was as if she was an acquaintance I barely knew." That wasn't quite how to describe it—he'd felt empty inside, no emotion touching him. It was a strange sensation.

"Well, that's something," Andrew said mildly.

"It is," Nicholas said a little crossly. "It meant a lot. To know she can't hurt me anymore. She's courting Lord Overham. And it didn't bother me."

"Good," Andrew said. He stifled a yawn. "That's grand."

"It is," Nicholas insisted. He glanced at his friend, who was dangerously close to sliding off the silken upholstery and landing in a sleepy mess on the floor. Andrew didn't say anything, and Nicholas leaned forward to stand up.

"Come on, old chap," he said kindly. His annoyance had evaporated as quickly as it arrived. Andrew was not meaning to judge or be unkind. He was just tired. "You should get to bed. And so should I." His head thudded with the need to sleep, and he stood and went to the door. He heard Andrew following him, pausing to blow out the lamp above the fireplace.

"Goodnight, Nicholas," Andrew said with a yawn. "This way, is that correct?" He pointed down a narrow hallway that led off across from the drawing-room.

"Yes," Nicholas replied, nodding. "That's right." He himself headed onwards, turning off a few paces later at a sumptuous guest suite. He shut the door behind him and collapsed into a chair. His head thudded with weariness, and he couldn't keep his eyes open.

As he untied his cravat and took off his boots, preparing for bed, he found his thoughts drifting to Bernadette. The beautiful waltz they had shared had moved him deeply. He stood still for a moment, reliving that moment on the terrace when he'd kissed her hand. It was so beautiful, so precious.

He was falling in love, and he knew it.

Somehow, he had to find a way to tell her and find the courage, too.