CHAPTER TWELVE

As the afternoon drew to a close the skating party made their way back to the manor. Nicholas was at the rear, having lingered overlong at removing his skates to prevent Lady Wilde from attaching herself to him again.

He was content to stroll without a companion, listening to the crunch of his shoes over the ice. He kept his eyes fixed on Clarissa’s retreating form as she walked beside Emily Crompton back to the house.

Nicholas still felt invigorated from their time together. She was an excellent skater, far and above the rest of the party in poise and elegance. He had felt utterly content as they had made their way around the pond.

When they were in relative solitude, she seemed to finally open up to him. He had caught her look many times as they had conversed easily. The picture she had conjured of sitting beside a fire, perhaps with a cup of tea, listening to a storm raging above her, had captured his imagination.

In his mind, they sat together, listening to the pattering rain and the rumble of thunder, alone and happy in each other's company.

He knew she would have been able to descend onto the ice easily without his help, but the chance to hold her hand had been too great to pass up. The vigorous exercise had, if possible, only improved her appearance. She had a glow about her from the reflections of the snow all around, a faint flush to her cheeks, and a nose beautifully reddened by the cold.

None of the women he had associated with since Victoria had ever held his attention for long. At first, it was due to his own heartache, and later, he simply saw through much of the falseness of the company he kept—men included. The world of high society was a nest of vipers who usually only worked to their own ends.

His eyes alighted on Henry. Perhaps there were some who were pure and good souls, but many were out for what they could achieve and how high they could climb. Nicholas had not met many women who were as open and kind as Miss Crompton.

He watched her walk beside Miss Emily. They were conversing quietly and gently. The rest of the party was more subdued than they had been, many tired from their exertions. Nicholas felt as though his mind was ablaze with questions and thoughts that he couldn’t pin down.

As they wound their way back to the house, the snow began to fall gently all about them. Nicholas watched Miss Crompton laugh at something his aunt had said, a pleasant feeling settling in his chest as he saw her so happy.

He followed the stragglers into the house, going up to his room to change for dinner. Hargreaves was again most gratified to see that Nicholas took particular care in his attire for the evening. He had a rather beautiful deep purple waistcoat with a damask overlay of gold. Hargreaves assisted him in putting it on, and Nicholas selected his finest pocket watch to complement it.

He was rather used to seeing himself in the same style day in and day out. Yet, in the last few days, his reflection had changed. He looked more like the man he had once imagined he would become.

He was looking like his father, who he had always had the greatest respect for. The late earl had possessed impeccable taste and decorum, and it had often crossed his mind over the last few years how little his father would have approved of Nicholas’s activities.

As he looked at his reflection, Hargreaves brushing down his shoulders as he did so, he looked upon a man quite different from the one who had left Europe. He was softer, somehow, his eyes less guarded, his posture relaxed.

The most marked change was his face, however. He often kept the corners of his lips slightly quirked. He did not wish to appear conceited, but he often found that it put people at ease that way. Now that look was gone, and he was observing a man he had not seen for years.

His time with Miss Crompton had healed something within him. With a dawning sense of apprehension and excitement, he realized that he felt whole again when he had forever believed a part of him to be shattered.

***

At dinner, Nicholas found himself seated at the opposite end of the table from Miss Crompton, which was more vexing than it should have been.

He engaged in the usual polite conversation, also missing the company of Miss Emily. She was always lively and amusing in equal measure.

“What was your favourite place that you visited, Lord Bolton?” Lady Wilde asked. She was sat to his left and had barely ceased asking him questions for the entirety of the first course.

“A difficult question, my Lady, but I would say that one of my favourite sojourns was in Rome.”

“Indeed, what was it about that city that captured you so?”

For once, her conversation had not led too heavily to flirtations, and Nicholas was glad of it. Constantly wearing his mask of charming interest was wearing on him with this woman.

“St Peter’s Basilica is one of the finest buildings I have ever seen. I could have spent many hours beneath its towering ceilings. The place has a reverence about it that was awe-inspiring.”

She tittered in a way that might have been intended as coquettish, but it only annoyed him further.

“I am so envious. My late husband and I travelled far and wide across the continent, but we were unable to visit Rome on our journey. It is my greatest wish to see it. Perhaps you and I might meet there in the future, Lord Bolton.”

Nicholas looked away so as not to engage with her fluttered eyes.

“I hope you will see it one day. It is a place everyone should visit if they have the ability and privilege in which to do so.”

“Alas, a woman travelling alone is not the same as a young man embarking on the Grand Tour, but I shall endeavour to keep my mind open to new possibilities.” Once more, her eye ran over him, and Nicholas found that he could not help shifting in his seat beneath the scrutiny.

How I wish to be seated beside Miss Crompton.

Upon looking at the head of the table, she was engaged in a lively conversation with Henry and Emily about some topic or other. Henry was smiling broadly as he teased Emily about a point she was making, and Miss Crompton’s eyes were warm as she defended her cousin, much to Henry’s mock outrage.

Nicholas felt the sharp sting of jealousy once more and wished he could unravel the many surprising feelings that Miss Crompton prompted within him. He wondered with a jolt of unease whether Henry might have designs upon Miss Crompton. They certainly seemed to get along very well, and Nicholas knew how friendly and affable Henry was as an acquaintance.

He clenched his jaw, stabbing at a potato on his plate with more vigour than he intended. It skipped away across the tablecloth, forcing him to make profuse apologies to Lord Wilde, who looked at the potato as though it were an alien creature. He was already rather far into his cups.

When everyone retired to the drawing room, Nicholas was determined to wrestle Miss Crompton away from his friend and have some time to speak with her again. He longed to talk to her about some new topics based on their conversation on the pond and walked across the room to do so.

Unfortunately, he was waylaid by Lady Bartholemew. She was an old acquaintance of his aunt’s and one of the most pompous women he had ever met. He still did not understand why his aunt insisted on inviting her to every occasion they held.

“You will agree with me, Lord Bolton,” she said without preamble, standing in his path and gesturing wildly to her friend. Lady Garriton was swaying on her feet and humming to herself. Nicholas rather imagined she had imbibed too much wine.

“I will agree with you on what, Lady Bartholemew?” he asked, tamping down his frustration as he heard Clarissa laughing again on the other side of the room.

He turned to the ladies, aware that he could not afford to be openly rude and simply pass them by—no matter how tempted he was.

“Lady Garriton is quite adamant that a period of mourning should be observed for a full two years,” she said, sounding scandalized.

Lady Garriton hiccuped before responding. “It shows proper respect if one has lost one’s husband. I was in mourning for two years together when my husband died, and I barely felt it.”

“I believe,” said Lady Bartholemew, “that a full year is sufficient. Lord Bolton you are a good deal earlier in your years. What would you say to the question?”

Nicholas, who had been listening with half an ear as he was observing Miss Crompton, cocked his head to one side to buy time as he attempted to recall what the question was.

“I believe both of your considerations have merit,” he said, aware of Lady Wilde not so far from him. She was watching for his response eagerly and he was nervous that she had only just come out of mourning herself. “It is true that tradition dictates two years to honour the memory of a beloved husband fully. However, the need for companionship and society’s ebullience cannot be overlooked. I believe it is a matter of personal choice; ultimately, the widow must decide what is best for her heart.”

The ladies were all aflutter with his response, but his eyes found Lady Wilde’s again, and he was discomforted by the arched eyebrows and conspiratorial look she threw his way.

His response had pleased her. I would be surprised if she made it through a full year of mourning, he thought bitterly.

He made his way through the room a little further and was waylaid again by Lord Robert Crompton who wished to ask him a trivial matter about his estate.

Nicholas became increasingly restless as Miss Crompton evaded him. He could not shake off her father’s attention without being seen as abominably rude.

Later, as he finally extricated himself from Lord Crompton, his aunt declared that they would be split up into separate tables where games would be played, and once more, he was obliged to be separate from her.

He played three games of Piquette with his aunt, losing in almost all of them as she guffawed with laughter. He was not sad to spend time with her, for she was a formidable and clever woman; however, as he sat at the card table, losing hand after hand, it occurred to him that his feelings for Miss Crompton were perhaps not so much confusing as intense beyond bearing.

He felt like a child who had been denied a piece of cake he desperately wanted. The fact that he could not converse with her was making him very irritable, and if he had been less consumed by it, he would have found his own behavior laughable.

Henry and Miss Emily Crompton joined them for a game, sitting opposite one another as a team and trouncing Nicholas and his aunt so thoroughly that much laughter was had by all.

Nicholas continued to play, trying to keep his expression neutral and not show the inner turmoil boiling within him. He was aware that he was treading a fine line with Miss Crompton and that despite his desire to associate with her, he would have to be mindful of what that association might mean.

His own reputation was blemished in the eyes of society. Certainly, men could brush off much of the scandals surrounding them when they were single and titled, but that did not mean that his interest in Miss Crompton would not lead to further gossip. Gossip that would cause her more pain.

He had his back to her for the entire evening and did not know to whom she was speaking or whether she was enjoying herself. Henry’s nervousness of his increasingly sour mood did not help.

Finally, as the evening drew to a close, everyone rose and prepared to leave the room.

Nicholas could finally watch Clarissa with her parents and cousin as she straightened her gown and prepared to leave. She was at the back of the party, which he was grateful for, and as she drew near, he stepped forward and bowed.

Surprised, she looked up at him, and her cheeks flushed beautifully as she curtsied in return.

“Good night, Miss Crompton,” he said as their eyes finally met, and Nicholas felt the same weightiness in the air and drumming of his heart that he had experienced before.

This time, her eyes were wary but happy as she looked at him, and it filled Nicholas with a sense of hope and determination that he had hitherto not allowed himself to feel.

It was over quickly, however, and he watched her leave the room as Henry and Rosemary followed behind.

Nicholas walked to his room some minutes later, listening to the bustle of the house about him. Servants were walking below stairs and there was the odd bang of a door, but otherwise, the house was deadened of the sound of the guests.

He wandered up the wide staircase, once again reveling in the solitude all about him. The window at the top of the stairs was barely illuminated and he watched the flurry of snowflakes falling against the already thick snow on the windowsill. The night outside was quiet, and on the lawn, he saw the shadow of a small animal skitter away beneath a bush as the moon came out from behind a cloud.

As he entered his bed-chamber, the fire crackling merrily in the grate and the same muffled silence all about him, Nicholas lamented his lack of time with Miss Crompton that evening. Following their time at charades and snapdragon, he had, in a very short time, grown accustomed to her company.

He truly wished her to see the gentleman beneath the rake and for his attentions to be welcomed rather than received with wariness. He was determined, therefore, to spend as much time as he could with her to show her the man he truly was.