Chapter 9

Nine

T he carriage rattled over the cobblestones. The scent of coal smoke and horses hung heavy in the air, a stark contrast to the crisp country breeze Nicolas had left behind. With each turn of the wheels, Emily’s face flashed before him—her sparkling eyes, her gentle smile. A sharp pang of regret knotted in his chest.

She had haunted him from the moment he rode away from her estate three days past. He arrived at his bachelor flat late last night, then attempted to drink himself into a deep slumber, only to dream of her.

He should not have left her. Running a hand through his hair, he cursed himself. Not without so much as a goodbye. Emily deserved better. But he did not have time for regrets now. Not when Joslyn needed him.

Nicolas barely waited for the carriage to stop when it pulled up in front of his family’s townhouse before leaping out, his long legs carrying him swiftly to the door. He raised the brass knocker, his heart pounding with anticipation and worry.

The door swung open, and a blur of auburn hair and cream silk rushed toward him.

“Nicolas,” Joslyn cried, flinging herself into his arms. “Oh, thank heavens you are here. I was so worried.”

He embraced his sister, feeling her trembling against him. “Joslyn, my dear,” he said, his voice soft with concern. “What has happened? Your letter was so vague. Tell me you have not agreed to Forge’s proposal.”

“I most certainly have not.” She pulled back, her eyes shimmering with tears. “It was a dreadful mess, Nicolas. I have been such a fool.” She gripped his arms, her slender fingers digging into the fabric of his coat. “But where have you been? I expected you days ago.”

A flash of guilt crossed his face. “I was delayed south of Luton. There was a terrible storm.” Emily and the time they had spent together flashed through his mind. “Forgive me, Jos. I came as quickly as I could.”

Joslyn’s brow furrowed. “Luton? It is scarcely a town at all. What on earth were you doing there? I thought you were at Lord Blackwood’s estate?”

Nicolas hesitated, torn between confiding in his sister and focusing on her predicament. “It is... a very long story,” he said, managing a wry smile. “One best saved for another time. For now, tell me what has happened to you.”

As Joslyn spoke, Nicolas guided her into the house. The warm air greeted them, scented with beeswax and lavender, a familiar comfort. He closed the door, shutting out the world beyond. Yet even as he listened to his sister’s words, his mind could not help but wander back to Emily, wondering if he had made the right choice in leaving her like he had.

As Joslyn opened her mouth to respond, the sound of approaching footsteps echoed through the marble-floored entry hall. Nicolas turned, his heart swelling with warmth as he saw his parents enter.

“Mother, Father.” A genuine smile spread across his face at the sight of them.

Lady Quinton rushed forward, her silk skirts rustling as she enveloped Nicolas in a tight embrace. “My darling boy.” She held him close, her voice thick with emotion. “How we have missed you.”

Nicolas returned the embrace, taking comfort in the familiar scent of rose water that always clung to his mother’s clothes. “And I you, Mother.”

As they parted, the Earl of Quinton approached, clasping Nicolas’s shoulder with a firm hand. “Welcome home, son,” he said, his deep voice resonating with affection.

Nicolas inclined his head. “Thank you, Father. It is good to be back.”

The earl grinned, his gaze dancing. “I trust your journey was pleasant? Though I daresay something unpleasant must have happened to delay you.”

“A blizzard. And a tumble from my mount. I was injured and became sick, but I assure you I am fully recovered from the ordeal.”

“How terrible,” Mother said, her hand going to her bosom.

“Oh Nicolas,” Joslyn said, resting her hand on his arm. “What you must have endured. And to think it could have been avoided if only I had made better choices.”

“Do not fret, Jos. A kind lady took me in and saw me well.”

“I should like to thank her,” Mother said, moving to stand beside Father.

“Indeed, we shall,” Father said, meeting Nicolas’s gaze. “What was the lady’s name, son?”

Nicolas’s breath caught, a sudden rush of memories flooding back, tightening his chest with both longing and guilt. He struggled to maintain his composure, acutely aware of his family’s curious gazes upon him.

“Lady Emily Fairchild,” he managed, striving for nonchalance. “She was... most kind during my stay.”

“We are acquainted with Lady Fairchild.” The earl nodded with approval. “I am not surprised she aided you. She has quite a reputation for her caring nature. A credit to her family, that one.”

Nicolas nodded, though his mind was far from the conversation. He swallowed hard against the memories of Emily’s gentle smile and warm gaze flooding his mind. The ache in his chest, which had momentarily subsided in the joy of reuniting with his family, returned with renewed force.

“Indeed,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. “She is... quite remarkable.”

As his family continued to chat around him, he found himself lost in thoughts of Emily. The longing to see her again, to hear her laugh and feel the soft touch of her hand, was almost overwhelming. He had never felt like this before—never regretted leaving. Never formed attachments to the women he spent time with. What the devil was wrong with him?

With effort, he dragged his attention back to the present, forcing a smile as he turned to his sister. “Enough about me. Now, Joslyn,” he said, his voice steadier than he felt, “tell me everything.”

“I shall, but first let us move to the parlor so that we might be more comfortable.”

Mother nodded her approval. “I will have tea and biscuits brought in.”

A few minutes later, Nicolas settled into a wingback chair. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, his gaze fixed on Joslyn.

“What exactly happened with Lord Forge?” he asked, his voice low and tinged with concern. “I need to know every detail.”

Joslyn sank into the settee across from him, her slender fingers twisting nervously in her lap. She took a deep breath, her gaze meeting his with a mix of embarrassment and distress.

“Oh, Nic,” she began, her voice trembling. “I was such a fool. Lord Forge... he invited me to view his art collection. I thought nothing of it—he had been so charming, so attentive… and you know how I adore art.”

Nicolas felt his jaw clench, but he remained silent, allowing his sister to continue.

“When I arrived, he led me to a secluded room. Before I knew what was happening, he... he pulled me close and kissed me.” Her cheeks flushed with the memory. “And then, as if on cue, his valet burst in, feigning shock at the scene. He caused such a commotion that others came running, arriving in time to see me wrapped in his arms.”

“That scoundrel,” Nicolas exclaimed, leaping to his feet. His hands clenched into fists at his sides, his body thrumming with anger. “He planned it. To compromise you and force a marriage. It is no secret he needs a dowery, and yours is substantial.”

Joslyn nodded miserably. “I realized it too late. He smiled at me then, Nicolas. It was... it was chilling. He said he would marry me at once to save me from ruin.”

Nicolas paced the room, his mind racing. How dare that cur take advantage of his sweet sister? The urge to protect Joslyn, to defend her honor, surged through him like a tidal wave.

“I will kill him,” he seethed, danger flashing in his eye. “I will challenge him to a duel. That way, I can look him in the eye as I run him through.”

“Nicolas, no.” Joslyn took hold of his arm. “You cannot. It is too dangerous and all together unnecessary. What if?—”

But Nicolas was beyond reason. His protective instincts, honed by years of looking after Joslyn, had taken over. He gently removed her hand from his arm, his voice softening as he addressed her.

“Do not worry, Jos. He will not get away with this. I swear it.” His fists clenched at his sides, rage simmering beneath the surface. He would make Forge pay, no matter the cost. “And you will not be marring him,” Nicolas growled the last words.

As he studied his sister’s worried face, he could not help but think of Emily. What would she say if she could see him now, ready to risk everything in a duel? The thought gave him pause, but only for a moment. Some things were worth fighting for, and his sister’s honor was certainly one of them.

Joslyn’s eyes widened, a mix of alarm and determination flashing across her face. She stepped in front of him, blocking his path to the door.

“Nicolas, wait,” she called after him, her voice trembling with urgency. “There is something else you must know.”

He halted, his brow furrowing. “What is it?”

She took a deep breath, her slender fingers fidgeting with the lace at her wrists. “I... I have already taken matters into my own hands. You see, I am married now. To the Duke of Langley.”

Mother reached out and patted Nicolas’s hand. “See dear, all is well.” She turned toward the door. “And look, here is our tea. Do sit, and cease this talk of duels.”

“Indeed, your sister is Duchess Langley, now.” Father beamed at her before returning his attention to Nicolas. “No lasting harm has been done.”

Nicolas blinked, his mouth falling open in shock. “Married? To Rafe? But how... when?”

“It happened rather quickly,” Joslyn said, her cheeks flushing. “Rafe learned of Lord Forge’s scheme and offered to help. We married three days ago, in a private ceremony.”

Nicolas’s mind reeled. Relief surged through him, followed by gratitude—an unexpected reprieve from the chaos. His sister was safe, her future secured. He sank into a nearby chair, running a hand through his tousled hair. He had questions—lots of questions—but they could wait for now.

“Good God, Jos.” He shook his head. “You have certainly been busy while I’ve been away.”

A small smile tugged at her lips. “I could not wait for you to rescue me this time, dear brother. I had to act quickly.”

He nodded, his heart swelling with pride and affection for his clever sister. “And Rafe? He truly did this to protect you?”

“He did,” Joslyn confirmed, her lips curving into a soft smile. “He is a true friend, and now, a devoted husband.”

Nicolas stood, embracing his sister tightly. “Then I owe him a great debt of gratitude. Where is he now? I must thank him properly for safeguarding you when I could not.”

Lady Quinton watched her son as the conversation about Joslyn’s marriage wound down. She noted the slight slump of his shoulders, the faraway look in his gaze. Something was amiss with her youngest, and she was determined to uncover it.

“Nicolas, darling.” She moved to sit beside him on the chaise. “While we are all overjoyed about Joslyn’s fortunate match, I cannot help but notice you seem... distracted. Is something the matter?”

Nicolas startled, his fingers drumming an uneven rhythm on his thigh. He swallowed hard, his gaze darting around the room before settling on his mother’s concerned face. The weight of his emotions, held in check for so long, suddenly felt unbearable.

“I...” he began, his voice low and laced with sorrow. He cleared his throat and tried again. “Mother, I fear I have made a terrible mistake.”

Mother placed a comforting hand on his arm. “What is it, my dear?”

He closed his eyes, Emily’s face swimming before him. Her warm gaze, the gentle curve of her smile, the way her chestnut hair caught the sunlight, and his heart clenched painfully.

“I think I have fallen in love.” The words spilled out before he could stop them, as if saying them made the feeling all the more real. “With Lady Emily Fairchild. And I left her behind, thinking... oh, I do not know what I was thinking.” He blew out a frustrated breath. “I did not even say goodbye.”

A collective gasp echoed through the room, and Nicolas opened his eyes to find his family staring at him in varying degrees of surprise and delight.

“Nicolas, that is wonderful news.” Joslyn clapped her hands together. “Except for the part about leaving with such haste. But I am certain she will forgive you.”

Father chuckled. “Well, well. It seems our boy has finally been tamed. And by such a wonderful lady. She will be a credit to our family as well.”

Nicolas swallowed, the weight of his family’s expectations settling over him. Could he be the man Emily deserved? He exhaled a slow breath.

“I fear you have gotten ahead of yourselves.” Nicolas shook his head, a rueful smile playing at his lips. “Tamed? Hardly. But changed, certainly. Emily... she is unlike anyone I have ever known. Her kindness, her strength, her ability to find joy even in the face of adversity... she is remarkable.”

Mother squeezed his hand. “Oh, my darling boy. I can see how deeply you care for her. Yet you look so forlorn. Surely this is cause for celebration?”

Nicolas sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I fear I may have ruined everything when I left her as I did, and now... well, I am uncertain she will have me.”

“Nonsense,” his father interjected, his voice firm but kind. “Lady Fairchild is every bit as remarkable as you say. She will understand your haste to aid your sister. And if she truly returns your feelings, she will welcome you back with open arms.”

Joslyn nodded enthusiastically. “Father’s right, Nic. You must not lose hope. Tell us more about your time with her—I want to know everything about how she captured my brother’s elusive heart.”

As he spoke of Emily—her kindness, her spirit—he realized how deeply she had burrowed into his heart. How every small thing she did had slowly unraveled the man he had been, leaving him bare before her.

He described her charitable works and her gentle spirit, the way she cared for him and befriended him, and he felt a weight lift from his shoulders. The love and support of his family surrounded him, buoying his spirits and kindling his hope for a future with Emily by his side.

A future he had not even known he’d wanted until now. He was a bloody halfwit, to be sure—a rake who most defiantly did not deserve Emily, but one who was selfish enough to pursue her despite it.

Nicolas paced the length of the parlor, his fingers tracing the spine of a book he’d plucked from the shelf. The warmth of the crackling fire did little to quell the restlessness in his heart.

“I cannot stop thinking about her,” he confessed, his voice barely above a whisper. “Every moment we spent together, every laugh we shared... it is all etched in my memory.”

His mother leaned forward, her gaze soft with understanding. “What is it about Emily that captivates you so?”

He paused, a wistful smile playing at his lips. “It is the way she sees the world, Mother. Despite the hardships she has faced, there is a light in her that refuses to dim. When she speaks of her charitable works, her eyes shine with such passion...”

“You truly are in love,” Joslyn said, her voice tinged with excitement. “But brother, what do you intend to do now?”

Nicolas’s grip tightened on the book, his knuckles whitening. “I must return to her. I have been a fool. If there is any chance she might forgive me…” His voice faltered, but his resolve hardened. He had to try. “I must fight for her. For my chance at happiness.”

His father nodded with approval. “That’s the spirit, my boy. A love like this is worth fighting for.”

“I had hoped to keep you here for Christmas,” Mother said. “Your brother is due home in two days’ time and I was so looking forward to spending the holiday with all of my children. But there is not time to spare. You must go to Lady Fairchild at once.”

As the family continued to discuss his plans, Nicolas could almost see Emily, standing in the parlor of her country estate, the soft winter sunlight streaming through the leaded-glass windows and catching in her hair. The thought of holding her again, of confessing his true feelings, sent a thrill of anticipation through him.

“I will leave for Luton at first light,” he said, his decision crystallizing. “I only hope I am not too late.” The thought of never holding her again, of never making things right, clawed at his chest.

The path ahead was uncertain, but he knew with an unwavering conviction that Emily was worth any risk.