Chapter 23

Nicholas stood outside, the scent of the dew and the damp earth mixing with the exotic fragrance of roses and honeysuckle that scented the air around him. The pavilion was near the rear wall of the garden, screened from the ballroom by a coniferous hedge. He breathed in and tried to calm down. Surely, she'd arrive soon.

"Why was she so strange?" he asked the silence. The pond stretched out a few feet from him, the water like a dark mirror, the stars like points of brightness on its inky, smooth surface. He gazed at it, wishing he could see something that would give him some guidance.

Bernadette was behaving so peculiarly.

She'd been so warm, so intimate, just two days ago. There had been such beauty in their dance together, so much trust and caring. It felt so beautiful, almost magical. It felt almost as though he'd imagined it. She was being so distant, so disinterested. She had barely agreed to come and hear what he had to say in the pavilion.

Maybe she is just worried, he told himself firmly.

He let out a long breath. It was a lot to have happened in such a short time. In no less than two days, they would move into Blackburne House together. He shook himself, feeling nervous. He'd had the place prepared for her—clean curtains, clean rugs, the entire house swept and tidied from top to bottom. He'd ordered fresh linen and laundry and he'd even considered hiring another maid, just to make sure the place stayed fresh and tidy. But even that didn't feel as though it would be enough.

Bernadette deserved the best, and he wasn't sure if he could give it to her.

He let out another long sigh. One thing he had to do, and that was what he'd told his mother he'd do. He would tell Bernadette how he felt, confessing his feelings. He had to.

She needs to know I love her , he thought distractedly.

He heard a noise on the path and he tensed. It was her. She was coming out after all! He breathed in and out, trying for calm.

"Nicholas? Nicholas!"

He spun around, horror filling him where joy and apprehension had been seconds ago.

"Emily!" he hissed. "Why are you here?"

Emily stepped out from the archway, her lovely, cruel face wreathed with sweet smiling. "Nicholas. How lovely to see you." She stepped up to him, her voice a purr, her smile beguiling. "And you came out to talk to me."

"I didn't!" Nicholas said firmly, horror holding him in place where he stood across from the pond. "I came out to speak to..."

"Shh..." she whispered and stepped close to him. Before he could stop her, before he even knew what she was going to do, she reached up and rested a hand on his chest, another on his shoulder, drawing him close to her.

"What in..." He hissed, but he was off balance, and she leaned against him and just then, just as her body was pressed to his, he heard footsteps on the pathway. "No!" he shouted.

Emily looked up at him, and the sweet smile was gone, her eyes hard, a bitter cruelty in their green depths. She said nothing, but that hard gaze was like a knife stabbing into him. He turned away from her, her bitter gaze not quite as important as the fact that he was almost certain those footsteps had been Bernadette.

"Bernadette!" he shouted. "Wait! It wasn't what you..."

He ran up the path, calling for her, and as he tried to explain he caught sight of her. She ran up the steps of the terrace and he ran towards her, but before he could get close, she opened the doors to the ballroom and disappeared inside.

Nicholas stood where he was, rooted to the spot in horror. He gazed at the doors, which swung closed, and for a moment he couldn't think of anything or even breathe. Nothing made sense. What had happened?

He whipped around, thinking he heard footsteps on the path behind him, but it was something rustling in the bush, perhaps a bird, and when he walked down the path again, Emily had vanished.

"What in...?" he swore. He walked to the pond, determined to find her, sure she had to be there somewhere, in the pavilion, perhaps, but she had gone from the garden, and he stalked around the path around the pond, but his searching was fruitless. Somehow, she'd sneaked back inside while he was searching for Bernadette.

He swore again. Bernadette had certainly seen them. Perdition alone knew what she must think. He blinked, shaking himself. It was no good running around looking for Emily, even though his first wish was to question her and find out just what she thought she was doing. He had to find Bernadette. She needed to hear from him what had really happened, before she thought the worst.

She wasn't near the doors as he stuck his head into the ballroom, and he blinked, eyes unaccustomed to the sudden brightness, gaze searching the room. His heart thudded wildly.

Without thinking, he stumbled in, gazing around, looking for her. He could see nobody—everyone's faces were a blur. His heart was racing, and he drew a breath, trying to calm down, trying to decide what to do.

Her parents were somewhere in the ballroom. Surely, they would know where she was. He looked around, trying to locate them. The musicians were playing, the sound disjointed and horrid in his ears as he tried to focus. He gazed around, looking for someone he recognized.

Lord and Lady Rothendale were in the corner near the entrance, talking to a group of men and ladies around their own age. He hurried over and stood on the edge of the group, waiting for a moment when he could ask them where she was.

"Nicholas!" Grandfather appeared at his side, making him jump. "Capital party! Capital."

Nicholas stared at him. His words didn't make any sense. After a second, he cleared his throat. "Grandfather? Where's Bernadette?"

Grandfather tilted his head, frowning. "No idea, Grandson. She must be here somewhere. It's not such a big ballroom, eh? Big, but not that much." He chuckled, as if pleased with his own jest.

Nicholas breathed out, feeling annoyed and desperate. "Are you sure you haven't seen her?" he demanded.

Grandfather nodded. "Absolutely sure. I reckoned you two were waltzing. Capital music. Capital!"

Nicholas looked away, heart thudding in his chest. She was here somewhere—she had to be. His eyes scanned the room again, but he couldn't see her. In a hall full of ladies in scarlet or white—the fashionable colors for the season—he would have expected a woman in pale blue would have stood out immediately. He could see nobody like her.

The reason is simple. There isn't anybody like her, he thought sorrowfully. There's nobody like her in London, and that's one of the best things about her.

His heart twisted painfully. She was pretty, but more than that, she was one of a kind. She was funny, clever, caring and gentle and she had stolen his heart entirely. He wanted to tell her. He had invited her to the pavilion so he could tell her.

And now she'd run away.

"Lord Rothendale? Lady Rothendale?" he called, relieved that there was a gap in their conversation.

"Yes?" Lord Rothendale asked, smiling nervously at him. "What is it?"

"It's Bernadette," he said quickly. "Did she come inside?" He was almost certain he'd seen her go into the ballroom, but he was starting to wonder if his mind had tricked him.

"Was she outside?" Lady Rothendale asked, sounding a little shocked. "I thought she was in here."

"She came outside to talk to me," Nicholas said quickly. "I asked her to. But I wondered if she'd come back in."

"I haven't seen her," her mother said slowly.

Nicholas felt his heart thud. He had hoped she'd run to her parents—that would be the logical response. Even if he'd had to explain to them what was happening—and that would have been far from easy—he would have welcomed it, since it would give him time to explain to her, too. He felt sweat trickle down his back.

"I'll look in the house," he said quickly. Perhaps she'd run through the ballroom, distressed, and escaped somewhere in the house—the drawing room mayhap—to express her emotions. She was naturally upset.

He walked through the ballroom, hurrying to the doors even as he struggled not to draw too much attention to himself, and shut them swiftly, letting out a sigh of relief as he hurried up the hallway into the house.

"Bernadette?" he called. The hallway that led from the ballroom to the privy was brightly lit, but the rest of the house was in darkness, and he stumbled up the corridor, finding the stairs by feel. The marble balustrade was cold under his hand, and he shivered, hoping she hadn't fled blindly up the stairwell in the dark. It wasn't safe.

"Bernadette?" he called softly as he reached the doorway of the drawing room. He felt sure she was in there. It was the logical place to go, since it was one of the only places she'd been in the house, and she'd have known how to find it.

He gazed around, eyes becoming accustomed to the soft glow from the fireplace. The room was empty, he was sure of that after a few moments, even though he wasted a minute or two searching in the darkened space.

"Where is she?" he asked, pained.

He ran downstairs again, blinking in the light in the entrance-way. The entrance was empty, except for the two footmen in charge of the cloaks and coats of the guests. He felt his brow crease in a frown, noticing that the doors were slightly ajar.

"Did someone depart?" he asked the footmen swiftly. The man on his left nodded.

"Yes, my lord. A young lady just requested her cloak a few minutes ago. She said she felt ill."

"You let her go out into the street alone?" Nicholas demanded, horrified. London was far from safe, and it was late at night. He glared at the men in horror.

"No, my lord," the other footman spoke reassuringly. "Mr. Swinburne hailed a Hackney for her. She's safe, my lord. On her way home."

"Oh." Nicholas felt his heart sink. It was Bernadette who sneaked out. He was quite sure of it. "Did she have a blue dress? And brown hair? About this tall?" He lifted a hand, indicating a height between his shoulder and the middle of his chest.

"Yes. Yes, my lord. That describes her exactly," the first footman murmured.

"Oh." Nicholas swallowed hard. It was certainly her.

He stood in the hallway, utterly unsure of what to do. He couldn't pursue Bernadette to her home—it would be most unseemly, and rumors would circulate, ruining her reputation. But he also couldn't bear to go back to the ballroom and smile and laugh and talk to guests as though nothing untoward had occurred.

"Tell my grandfather I have retired to bed," he said promptly. "I feel ill." Perhaps if he went to rest, he could decide what to do.

The butler, who had just returned into the entrance-way, bowed immediately.

"Of course, my lord."

Nicholas went up the stairs, head aching. He did feel sick. Worry and sadness weighed on him, draining his strength. His first wish was to find Emily and give her the talking-to he should have given her years ago, but he let out a long, slow breath. It wouldn't help—all it would do was upset her and upset him and it wouldn't set anything right with Bernadette.

He reached his bedroom, but paused and turned without going in. He didn't want to sneak off and hide. He needed to do something. He walked down the hallway, feeling restless, and as he did, he almost walked into his grandmother. She was on the stairs, and she looked up at him in surprise.

"There you are! What happened?" she asked lightly. "Aren't you going to join the others in the ballroom?"

"It's Bernadette," Nicholas blurted, deciding to give the real cause for his absence. "She's not there. She's run off somewhere. I can't stay. I have to find her." He looked around, heart thudding with distress.

"Has she?" His grandmother frowned. There was an odd tone to her voice, though, a bitter tone like she'd bitten a sour fruit. Nicholas frowned, mind racing to a shocking idea. "I can't imagine why." She didn't sound even vaguely convincing, and the idea grew. Grandmother had insisted on Lady Emily being at every ball. Grandmother knew them well. She had always wished Emily to be the countess after her.

"You did that." He said it harshly, shock holding him in place. He felt as though he'd been blinded, but now, all too clearly, he saw all the facts fitting together. "You sent her out there. You knew I was there. You knew I wanted to speak to Bernadette." He felt his stomach twist nauseously. Grandmother had been standing close to him when he invited Bernadette outside. He had barely even noticed at the time, but now he was certain he was right. She had guessed his plan and moved to counter it before he'd even had a chance to say his piece.

"She's a fool," Grandmother said harshly. "She should know her place."

"What?" Nicholas breathed. He'd been hoping his grandmother would deny it, would tell him it was nonsense and that she wouldn't dream of interfering.

"Miss Rowland. It's ridiculous. The girl is so graceless, and she stands out horridly in high society. You can't seriously imagine she could be a countess?"

"Grandmother." Nicholas could hear how horribly cold his own voice was. "What did you do? What exactly have you done?"

"Nothing," Grandmother said firmly. "I merely arranged for Emily to be where she would see her. The girl has enough sense to know Emily is an ideal countess and she is not."

"What?" Nicholas exploded. "You mean, you really, truly, sent her out there? Knowing what would happen? Knowing what Bernadette would see? You planned it all?"

"Not exactly," Grandmother said mildly. "I had the idea in my mind, but when I heard you invite her to the pavilion, well, I seized the opportunity." She shrugged helplessly. "I was helping you," she added as Nicholas' face darkened.

"You planned this. You planned to hurt her. You planned to hurt me." He could barely speak. "Have you any idea what you've done? And you can't even apologise!"

"I was doing the best for the earldom," his grandmother insisted.

Nicholas didn't stay to listen, but walked past her on the stairs and hurried down to the hallway. He knew Bernadette and he knew how hurt she must be. He walked swiftly to the door, tugging on an outdoor coat and boots and hurrying into the street beyond the townhouse.

He had to find her.