Chapter 27

Nicholas rolled over, feeling the warm sunshine pouring in through the window. He blinked, recalling where he was, and slid out of the warm bed with its silky coverlet. He glanced across at his clothes from the previous evening where he'd put them on a chair in the corner of the room—his elegant evening jacket and trousers, the thin silk cravat and crisp white shirt with its high collar. He groaned inwardly.

I suppose I haven't any other clothes besides those, he thought with an exasperated grin. It would have to be his ball outfit. Not that he minded, he reminded himself cheerfully. Everything felt wonderful now that Bernadette was nearby.

He rinsed his face in the bowl of water on the nightstand, then reached for the clothes and started to dress himself. His stomach twisted with hunger, and he smiled, thinking about Bernadette. The memory of kissing her made his heart race, a big grin stretching his lips.

He hurried to the door, pulling on his boots as he did so. He couldn't wait to see her.

He walked briskly down the hallway, listening for people talking. He breathed in, catching the distinct smell of toast and tea, and turned left, halting in a doorway. The sunshine poured in through the big windows, falling onto a round table with several chairs around it. Lord Rothendale sat facing the door, Lady Rothendale beside him. Opposite them, with her back to the door, was Bernadette. He cleared his throat awkwardly and she turned around. Her brown eyes with their green tones held his and he couldn't look anywhere else. He beamed. She smiled and looked at the floor, cheeks reddening in a way that made his smile broader.

"Good morning," he murmured.

"Good morning," Bernadette greeted him awkwardly.

"I say," Lord Rothendale said loudly, as if he was feeling uncomfortable. "Come in, young fellow. Come, sit down. Break your fast with us."

"Thank you," Nicholas replied softly. He went over and drew out the chair beside Bernadette, body tensing with the feeling of her closeness. It felt as though every tiny particle of him was aware of her, glowing with warmth just because she was there. She grinned at him, and he grinned back, entire body thrumming with the memories of the previous evening.

"Tea, Lord Blackburne?" Lady Rothendale's voice distracted him.

"Yes. Please," he said quickly, nodding his head in thanks as she poured him some tea. He watched as Bernadette took a piece of toast from the toast-rack, her movements delicate and pretty. He was so mesmerized that it took him a moment to remember there was food and he was hungry. He reached for a slice of toast, buttering it hastily.

"So, young fellow," Lord Rothendale said, politely enough. "We would like an account of what happened yesterday."

Nicholas glanced at Bernadette, who looked at him with a frightened gaze.

"I will tell you later," he said. "Or Bernadette and I will tell you together, if she prefers. Right now, we would like to break our fast. We are very hungry," he added, his stomach growling as he smelled the delicious smell of toast and blackcurrant jelly.

"I was going to travel to Aunt Rachel," Bernadette spoke up. Nicholas tensed as her father stiffened, eyes wide.

"You thought to..." he began, but Nicholas interrupted.

"Lord Rothendale, Bernadette has faced enough in one evening. She does not need a reprimand. Let me assure you that she managed everything with extreme intelligence and caution. There will be no scandal. I found her in a reputable boarding house."

"A boarding..." Lady Rothendale sounded horrified.

"A reputable boarding house, my lady," Nicholas insisted firmly. "Where no harm could have come to her. It is only by the purest luck that the matron admitted me to the place." He glanced at Bernadette, amused by the memory.

"You say there will be no scandal," Lord Rothendale began, and Nicholas interrupted firmly.

"There will be no scandal," he said stiffly. "And I would thank you for caring more for your daughter than for the opinion of society. Society is fickle, but her care for you is true."

Lord Rothendale stammered, eyes wide with shock and anger, but Lady Rothendale spoke into the quiet.

"We do care, Lord Blackburne. I assure you that we do." Her expression when she looked at Bernadette was hurt and sorrowful, and Nicholas thought that perhaps at least she had come to her senses. Perhaps she had learned that there were more important things in life than caring about what everyone else thought. He let out a sigh, relieved.

"Good. Well, then," he added, looking around. "I would like to ask permission to take Bernadette for a walk in the park later."

"Of course, you may," Lord Rothendale replied instantly.

"If Bernadette is not feeling sick today," Lady Rothendale spoke up swiftly. "It was very cold last night."

"Bernadette?" Nicholas asked, gazing warmly at her. She blushed and held his gaze, a smile lifting her mouth, defying her efforts to keep her face neutral.

"I would like that," she said softly.

Nicholas beamed. "Good," he replied.

They sat and ate their breakfast in comfortable quiet.

Later, when the sun was already high and close to its midday position, Nicholas escorted Bernadette to the park. Her chaperone accompanied them, beaming at Bernadette each time she caught her eye as though she was elated to see her. Nicholas breathed in the cool air and turned to Bernadette, who took his hand shyly.

"Shall we?" he asked gently as they reached the gate.

"Yes," she replied in a soft voice. "Let's go in."

They walked through the big, wrought iron gate together.

Nicholas looked around. The park was not crowded, but nor was it empty, with people sitting on the benches enjoying the mid-morning warmth, and children playing noisily on the lawns, watched by their nannies from the benches nearby. He looked at Bernadette, smiling. She was wearing a white dress decorated with blue flowers, a simple dress that suited her well. She had a white bonnet with blue ribbons, the ends fluttering prettily in the breeze. Her gentle face was lit with a big smile.

"This is pleasant," Nicholas said softly. He was thinking of the first time they had been to the park together; how stiff and formal it felt, how tense he was. She nodded.

"It's different," she answered in a quiet tone.

"Yes, it is," Nicholas agreed, delighted that she had understood him so exactly. They walked along the path towards the fountain. When they reached it, they settled on one of the benches. The water sprayed up high into the air, the hiss of the fountain soft, the moisture seeming to reach them where they sat. It fell in thin arcs of jewel-like drops, making a soft pattering as they fell into the pond again. Nicholas watched it, lost in thought.

"Thank you for staying," Bernadette murmured. Nicholas smiled, resting his hand on hers. He had long since ceased to worry about her noticing the scars on his hands, and, if she did, she had not reacted to them at all.

"I wanted to," he said softly. He paused. "I need to return and speak to my grandparents, though." He swallowed hard. He was not looking forward to that.

"I can come too," Bernadette offered, her brown eyes eager and gentle. He shook his head.

"It's all right, sweetling. Best if I go by myself," he said quickly. He knew his grandparents—there was no limit to their entitlement and high-handedness, and he didn't want her to hear them saying anything bad. "I would like to see you later too, though," he added longingly.

She smiled. "Perhaps we could go to a tea-house," she offered in a warm tone. "We never did that."

"You're right!" Nicholas beamed at her. "Let's do that, then. I'll come with the coach to fetch you at tea-time." His soul soared.

Bernadette giggled and he felt his heart thump. She was right—they had known each other for weeks now, and yet the simple things like taking tea together, they'd never really done. There was a world of experiences they had not had, and he couldn't wait to start embarking on them together.

"I'll see you at tea, then," she said warmly.

"You will," he insisted, grinning.

She giggled again and he took her hand, and they sat on the bench together and watched the crystal drops of water kiss the surface of the pond.

Nicholas escorted her back home after walking through the park and felt his stomach tie in a knot at the thought of confronting his grandparents. First, he stopped off at his home, changing into a suitable set of day clothes, and then took his coach with the Blackburne coat of arms on the side across town to Lockwood House.

"Good morning, my lord." The butler sounded uncomfortable, and Nicholas breathed in deeply. His grandparents' displeasure must be affecting everybody. "Lady Lockwood is in the drawing room."

"Thank you," Nicholas murmured. He went upstairs, sweat trickling down his wrists and shoulder-blades, damp and cold on his back. He couldn't help feeling nervous.

"Good morning," he greeted his grandfather, who he almost bumped into in the hallway.

"Good morning." His grandfather's tone was cold, as if Nicholas was a newspaper seller bothering him in the road. Nicholas stiffened.

"I need to speak with Grandmother and you," he said, voice tight and nervous.

"You may speak to your grandmother. I will not speak to you," Grandfather said tightly.

"If you choose not to, I will not argue," Nicholas said, forcing a lightness to his tone. He held his grandfather's gaze, amazed at his own boldness. The fellow could disinherit him, had threatened to before. But, Nicholas reasoned, it would hurt Lockwood far more than it would hurt Nicholas. For the first time ever, he realized he was not powerless before them.

His grandfather's gaze widened and then narrowed, and Nicholas thought he saw something in that gaze—a tension he'd never seen there before. He seemed to realize that his hold was broken.

Nicholas turned away and walked to the drawing room. In the doorway, he paused.

"Nicholas!" His grandmother greeted him. "Ah! My grandson."

Nicholas looked at her hard. Had she forgotten the previous night? She had confided something in him, a fact that had made him sure he could not trust her. Did she think he would just forget?

"Grandmother," he said tightly. "I came to tell you that I found Miss Rowland. She is safe. Through no work of your own," he added, letting his cold, hurt anger show in his gaze just a moment. She blinked.

"I did nothing to her," she began, but Nicholas interrupted.

"You made her believe I had chosen Emily. I can barely believe it. I would never, ever do that and I am angry that you would try to make it appear that I would. You hurt a young girl very seriously." He heard the hard tone of his own voice and held Grandmother's stare.

"I did not intend to hurt her," his grandmother said tightly. "If she was hurt, it was not my doing. She is utterly unsuitable, Nicholas. I only wanted what was best."

"She is a good, kind, clever woman, who sees me for who I am and loves me," Nicholas said with a hard look at her. "Those things make her more suitable than anyone else could be."

His grandmother blinked again, as though she was surprised that he would defy her. Slowly, he saw that same look as had been on his grandfather's face cross hers. She knew she could no longer rule his heart and mind.

"Nicholas..." she began. "I am sure you feel that way. But she is not a countess. A countess needs to be elegant, refined, fashionable, pretty and capable of comporting herself well in society. Miss Rowland is awkward and shy, and unfashionable, and she does not make a good impression on those around her."

"That is a matter of opinion," Nicholas countered immediately. "A society that would judge someone by their shyness or by the clothes they wear is not a society that interests me. You forget—I am not like everyone else is, either." He pointed to his face, then lifted up his hands, showing the thick, rope-like scars there.

His grandmother smiled. "Oh, but Nicholas! Those are just marks. You're a viscount, and an earl's son and everyone would accept you."

"But they don't," Nicholas cut in. "You forget, I have lived many years like this, Grandmother. I know how fickle society is."

His grandmother looked at him. "Oh, but people get used to it," she began, but he cut across.

"They don't. Emily never did. She said she did, but she lied. She preferred Quintus. And I will never forget that. She was one of those in society who judged me harshly. And yet you expected me to overlook that."

His grandmother looked at him a little desperately. "But Emily is refined and elegant! She's pretty and fashionable and a good conversationalist. You would do much better with her."

"If I lived only to be seen by the Ton, then maybe," Nicholas replied mildly. "But there is more to life, Grandmother. Balls and parties are only the tiniest part of it, and I am not fond of them as it is. There are far more hours spent at home, and there I would wish to be with someone I can love." He paused.

"Nicholas..." his grandmother began.

"Bernadette," he said, completing his thought. "I wish to be with Bernadette."

His grandmother looked at him helplessly. "You are strange, Nicholas," she said wearily. "You are very strange. I do not understand you—you do not think like the nobles around you."

"I think like a viscount," Nicholas interrupted, remembering something. "Your son was a viscount, and heir to this earldom." His heart ached as a memory of his father's soft tea-colored eyes filled his mind. "Yet he cared nothing for what other people thought of him. He said my scars were a blessing, because they would make it clear who had a good heart and who did not. And he was right. Bernadette has a good heart. Emily is interested only in society. I know what matters more to me."

His grandmother looked at him and he thought he saw something shift in her gaze. It wasn't remorse, but it was a kind of understanding.

"I see we have different ideas, Nicholas," she said softly. "And I cannot reason with you."

"That is so," Nicholas agreed. "And if it means we cannot speak with each other, I am sorry for that. I have always appreciated your counsel."

His grandmother looked at him sadly. "I cannot counsel you, grandson. My counsel is for those who share my world."

"Though I do not share it, I do not judge it," Nicholas replied gently. "And I believe you tried to help me, even though the way you did it was wrong."

"Believe what you will." Her tone was hard. Nicholas swallowed hard. In the past, he would have been tortured by that tone, but now he understood she was hurt, and wishing also to hurt him. He swallowed again.

"I will speak to you soon," he said as mildly as he could manage. "I wish you a good day, Grandmother. I will be going out later, but I will visit you again before too long."

She didn't say anything, and Nicholas turned around and went to the door. He hoped she would speak to him soon, but as he went out of the door and into the hallway, all he could feel was that a weight had been lifted from his shoulders. He had confronted her and tried to set matters right, and if she chose to settle things peacefully, he would be grateful.

He knew he had done his best, and that was all that mattered. He walked to the stairs and hurried down, his heart feeling lighter with every step.

Soon, he would be talking to Bernadette. That thought could only fill him with joy and anticipation and he hurried down the stairs to find the coach. In a few brief hours, he would be in her company again.