Chapter 5

The butler at Lockwood House, the London residence of the current Earl and Countess of Lockwood, opened the door to admit Nicholas.

"Your grandmother is in the drawing room," the butler told him politely. "Your grandfather is out on urgent business. He will return shortly."

"Thank you," Nicholas replied, and removed his coat and hat, handing them to the butler and walking into the marble-tiled entrance. It was a windy day outside, the spring clouds scudding across the sunny sky. It might rain soon; it was impossible to guess. All he knew was that it was cold, and he needed to get inside and get warm, and also to put his mind at ease.

He strode upstairs to the drawing room. As he reached the door, a low, feminine voice greeted him.

"Nicholas! Grandson. How lovely to see you. Come and sit down, do! It's cold out there."

His grandmother, Lady Lockwood, was remarkable. Almost the same age as Grandfather, she was nonetheless vital and vibrant in ways Grandfather, a former major in the Royal Cavalry, likely never was. She was also extremely poised and refined, her long gray silk dress and the circlet of silver at her neck effortlessly elegant. She leaned back on the wingback chair she sat in, her white hair arranged in an impeccable chignon.

"Good morning, Grandmother," he greeted her, bowing low and taking a seat opposite her at the table. She smiled, looking pleased. "I trust I find you well?" he asked as he came to join her.

"You do, Nicholas. You do find me well. My back pains me, but such trials are to be borne, yes?" She smiled, a thin, red-lipped smile, though she used no rouge to speak of. Nicholas nodded.

"I suppose," he said quietly. The mention of tribulations brought back the memory of what he wished to talk about. He drew a breath. "Is Grandfather very busy?"

"He's out discussing who knows what at the club. I don't trouble my head with matters of business." She smiled an impeccable grin, the gracious hostess.

Nicholas nodded. "Grandmother, may I ask you a question?"

"Why! Of course, Grandson. Please, ask away! There is nothing that I wouldn't tell you, should I be endowed with the right knowledge to do so."

"Thank you, Grandmother." Nicholas smiled. Ever gracious and elegant, Grandmother's way of putting things was always somewhat exaggerated. He knew her and appreciated it.

"Well? Nicholas?" she asked promptingly, pouring more tea for them both.

"Thank you," he murmured as she filled the cup in front of him. "It's about Grandfather and what he said yesterday when he requested a private talk with me. Would you know anything about what he told me then?"

His grandmother bit her lip, evidently thinking. She tilted her head. "It depends," she hedged. "I know it ought to have something to do with the future Lady Lockwood. But more than that, I cannot tell you, Grandson. I do not know."

"Oh." Nicholas felt his frown deepen. "I thank you," he added, grateful she had known that much and chosen to divulge that fact to him. "Grandfather hasn't...planned anything for me, has he? Anything big?" Nicholas tilted his head, thoughtfully. She frowned.

"Big? No, I don't think so." She leaned back in the chair, her lovely face suddenly more deeply lined as she frowned. Her eyes were grayish-brown, somewhere between the hazel of Father's and Grandfather's deep brown. She looked at Nicholas, a line between her brows as she thought. "No. Nothing I know of, Grandson," she said after a long moment. "I know he wants you to attend more parties."

"I know." Nicholas sighed. "He told me. I don't know what he wants from me." His hands twisted in his hair as he leaned forward. He felt desperate.

Grandmother smiled. "A fine young fellow like you should have no trouble with the ladies. A titled, noble young man with wealth and a fine reputation? You will bowl the ladies over at Almack's, I tell you that."

Nicholas smiled sadly. Even Grandmother hadn't said that he was handsome. In a way, he was reassured. He could believe what she said, since she was clearly not trying to comfort him.

"Mayhap, Grandmother. But precious few of them have been bowled over. And Grandfather is angry with me about it." He sighed again. It was not exactly fair. What was he supposed to do? Ladies were intimidated by his scar. He had to do twice as much work to secure dances at the Assembly than anyone else he knew, and even then, some women claimed their dance-card was full before he'd even had a chance to do more than introduce himself.

"Your grandfather has a temper." She shook her head, as if she was speaking of a minor, if annoying, fact like the day being too warm.

"He does," Nicholas agreed sorrowfully. He leaned back, his gaze moving around the drawing room.

"Do have some more tea, Nicholas, dear. And tell me about the ball. I want to hear all about it."

Footsteps in the hallway interrupted his stammered description of the ballroom and the guests. Nicholas turned round to see the butler in the doorway. The butler bowed, looking uncomfortable.

"My lady? My lord? The earl has returned from Town."

"Oh. Send him in, do!" Grandmother commented, giving a regal gesture with her hand. "Tell him Nicholas is here and wishes to talk with him." She turned to Nicholas. "That is so?"

Nicholas swallowed and nodded.

"Agatha?" Grandfather's voice called from in the hallway. "Grandson!" Grandfather strode in, his eyes wide and round in a look that meant either anger or surprise—Nicholas was never sure, though he'd seen it used for both eventualities often enough. "Why! Nicholas. This is unexpected."

"I wanted to speak with you, Grandfather."

"Well, that's a coincidence, because I wanted to speak with you as well." Grandfather inclined his head. Nicholas thought the look was surprise rather than anger.

"Rowell...let Nicholas drink tea," his grandmother interposed gently. "Then you two may speak as much as you like. I'll retire to my parlor to sew, and you may speak as freely as you wish."

"In a moment, Agatha," Grandfather grunted.

Nicholas drank his tea, watching his grandmother smile and talk about the theater. She could almost have been doing it to annoy Grandfather—he could see the older man becoming more red-faced and impatient with each second that she stayed there. But nobody could have said for sure whether she was deliberately annoying him or not.

"Well, excuse me," Grandmother said after a conversation about the latest performance of Hamlet at the Haymarket Theater. "I will go upstairs and rest. I'll see you soon for tea," she added to Nicholas, who inclined his head politely. Grandmother drifted out, leaving an awkward silence behind.

"So, Nicholas," Grandfather said after a moment, leaning back on the wingback chair to Nicholas' left. "I have some good news for you."

"What news, Grandfather?"

"I have found a lucky woman. Miss Rowland will be your new countess. You'll meet her tonight."

" What ?" Nicholas spluttered. He couldn't have heard correctly. Grandfather couldn't have meant it. He must mean he wanted Nicholas to meet his new countess soon. He didn't mean...what Nicholas had thought he meant. "What did you say?"

"I shouldn't need to repeat things," Grandfather said, irascibly. "Especially when it's good news. Your new countess is chosen."

"No. Grandfather, listen." Nicholas spoke swiftly. His words were sharp and angry, even in his own ears, and just a little scared. "You're not allowed to do that. You're not my guardian. I have legal majority. I..."

"Stop!" Grandfather said. He didn't shout, but Nicholas froze.

"Grandfather..."

"Nicholas. Stop trying to defy me. I have arranged it. Do not argue with me on this matter. It is arranged." His voice was hard.

Nicholas shook his head. "It can't be." His heart was thudding. He couldn't let Grandfather do it. "You don't have..."

"Nicholas, please," Grandfather said, his voice hard and unsympathetic. "You are eight-and-twenty. You can't expect me to wait around forever. I want to see my heirs. And you will do as I request. You will, or I will disinherit you."

"What?" Nicholas gaped. His grandfather had never threatened him. His father had made sure in his testament that he had Blackburne, the townhouse where he lived. He had his courtesy title and the allowance that Father had left him. Could Grandfather really take that away?

"Don't think to try my temper, boy." Grandfather scowled. "I was commanding men when you were not yet born."

"Grandfather," Nicholas said, feeling his spine tense. "You have no legal right to do this. I will speak with..." He was about to say that he would consult with Mr. Brookley, his London attorney, but Grandfather spoke loudly, silencing him.

"Nicholas, I can disinherit you. I am the earl and I hold the titles you will one day obtain. All of them, even the viscountcy, are mine. I wish for you to do this thing and you will do it. You will smile and visit Baron Rothendale tonight and you will make them think well of us both. You will."

"Tonight? I... what ?" He demanded. Terror held his spine rigid. Heights and waterfalls and other things that scared many other men had little effect on him. But meeting new people—women in particular—was terrifying to him. The heights or cataracts were minor in comparison. They could only hurt his body, but the snide comments and horrified stares cut at his soul.

"I spoke to the baron, and he agreed with me that we should meet at dinner," Grandfather explained, with unexpected patience in his tone. "Allow the girl to meet you. It's only polite, I suppose." Grandfather frowned. "Besides, then you'll see she's not all that bad."

"It's not..." Nicholas gaped. "I don't care what she looks like! It's not about what she looks like. It's about my life!" He protested. "This is my decision. I..."

"Silence." Grandfather demanded. His voice was loud and brooked no argument. "You could have made a decision years ago, and you did not. You wasted your time studying history at Cambridge when you could have been advancing in society. Now you want me to sit and waste my own time while you fritter away the next few years as well? Not likely."

Nicholas just stared. He endured his grandfather's tyranny in other matters, simply because he had respect for the old fellow and didn't wish to upset him. But this—threats, and meddling in areas of Nicholas' life where nobody should think to meddle? This was too far.

"I know you will come around to it," his grandfather said lightly, as if he'd invited Nicholas to a boring event. "You'll come along to dinner tonight and have a fine time and then it'll be settled."

"No, Grandfather," Nicholas muttered.

"You'll come with me," his grandfather repeated. "And you'll find that you're pleased with my decision. She's respectable, good-mannered and has an excellent dowry. What more could anyone wish for? You'll be pleased." He tilted his head thoughtfully and looked at him as though Nicholas would have to be a fool not to see things as he did.

Nicholas breathed in. He needed to rein in his anger. How could his grandfather not think of the fact that he needed more than money and refinement? He needed someone who would be able to look past his disfigurement, or at worst ignore it and not tease him or be repelled by him. There were precious few such women. Money! Manners! What use were those in comparison to care and kindness?

"I will meet her," Nicholas said after a long moment. "But I assure you, I will not be thankful for your decision."

Grandfather made a huffing noise but seemed pleased.

Nicholas stood up, excusing himself and marching to the door. He hurried down the hallway to the front door, donned hat and coat, then opened the door and shut it behind him, standing on the front terrace. He stared out at the road and the rainy weather. He couldn't really see any of it; it was just a blur before his wide, unfocused eyes. He was in shock.

He had to do something. He could not allow Grandfather to sell his life for the price of a few good connections and an inheritance. He had to do something. He just had to think of how he could resolve it. He had to do something soon. He only had one day to combat the decision.