CHAPTER TWENTY

Nicholas paced before the fire in his room. He was frustrated and angry, attempting to calm himself before he went down to dinner.

Whenever he felt he was growing closer to Miss Crompton, he was thwarted somehow. He knew he needed to prove to her that he was a different man from the one she had been told of. But how was he to convince her when he was constantly dogged by Lady Wilde?

She was beautiful, to be sure, but it had been many days since he had looked at her twice in the same instance. She had a shrewdness and a meanness in her character that he had seen many times. When she believed the company were engaged elsewhere, she criticised everything.

He did not like her and liked even less that she seemed to think she had some kind of claim on him. She was so familiar with him—as though they had known one another all their lives. His irritation at her interruption in the gardens had almost undone him. He had been seconds from telling her to leave them alone. Yet he knew it would have caused Clarissa great embarrassment if he had done so.

Henry’s advice had been useful in its way, but Nicholas was at a loss as to how to proceed. He recognized that he needed real advice from someone who truly knew him. Someone who, despite his reputation, still believed him to be the good man he was beneath the rake.

He left his room, walking quickly through the corridors of the house, ignoring any of the guests that he saw. He avoided eye contact with anyone as he passed them and set his expression as one of agitation so as to dissuade the Lady Bartholemews of the world from interrupting him.

He found Lady Eleanor in her private sitting room working on her embroidery. She looked up as he entered, and the smile on her face was telling. He was convinced she had expected him to seek her out. She was a devilishly clever woman, and she knew him well. If she had not seen his regard for Miss Crompton, no one would have.

“Good evening, aunt,” he said as he closed the door.

“Good evening, Nicholas. To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit?”

Nicholas walked to the fireplace, putting his hand on the mantel as he stared into the flames. Then he walked to the window, then back to the fireplace. His aunt was entirely still as he did so, her eyes on her embroidery, waiting for him to speak.

After a pause, the damn broke, and Nicholas found himself confessing it all.

“I believe I have formed an attachment,” he said quietly. “I am aware that you have warned me against such a thing with Miss Crompton, but I have found I am unable to stay away from her. She has the sweetest temperament of any woman alive. She is intelligent, witty, and vibrant. I cannot think of another lady I have admired so much.”

He sighed, running his fingers through his hair. “You know of my past, aunt. You have admonished me many times over the years, both in person and in your letters, about my conduct. I know I have not always done as I should, and I allowed myself liberties out of the excuse of a heart I believed to be broken.

“But I would urgently welcome your advice on this matter. I do not wish to cause Miss Crompton any more pain than she has already suffered. I know what she must think of me. Yet I dare to hope that she might find it in herself to see through to the man I truly am. Who I should have been long ago. I deeply regret my past actions and wish to convey my feelings to her. I cannot continue to wear the mask that I have perfected over the years. I have defended my heart to the point of pain, never forming any real attachment to anyone. Henry, Rosemary and you were the only people truly dear to me. Until today.”

He covered his face with his hands, running his fingers over his cheeks and heaving a great sigh. It was a relief to get it out in the open, to speak it aloud to someone who knew him so well. But he was terrified that his aunt would tell him that all was lost, that his reputation was beyond repair, and that he would never be acceptable to someone like Clarissa.

He turned to her for her judgment.

His aunt had not put down her embroidery throughout his speech, but now she did. Her eyes held her usual cold, steely gaze, but it was calculating. She stood up, coming to stand before him. Before she said a word, she straightened his collar and brushed down his shoulders.

Having done so, she took his hand and levelled him with a firm stare.

“My dear Nicholas,” she squeezed his fingers. “I have noticed the change in you these last few days, and I have been happy to see it. Miss Crompton has had a great effect on you; I noticed it from the start, even at the ball.” Nicholas could only stare at her in astonishment. “She has brought out a side of you I have not seen in years. A side of you that was a cherished thing to me before you were so poorly used by that woman.”

Eleanor never said Victoria’s name. She had been incensed by her conduct at the time and her ire had never wavered, not even all these years later.

“I had, in truth, feared that that side of you was lost. You are right; your reputation is not favourable,” Nicholas’s heart clenched at her words. “A lady would have every reason to be wary of you. But nothing in this world says a man may not change if he chooses to. The influence of a good woman has done greater things than that to many men of my acquaintance. My advice, my dear boy, is to show her who you truly are through action. She will have heard the rumours and they alone might deter her, but your choices in life and the actions you take will trump them all.”

She gripped both his hands and brought them up between them, her gaze narrowing as she looked at him.

“You must show Miss Crompton your true self through consistent, honourable behaviour. That is the only way she will ever believe you to have changed. Your father was a gentleman, and I have always seen his potential in you. You are a good man who was slighted by a cruel woman. But that does not mean she should define you for the remainder of your life. You are better than the man you were becoming—that you have recognized that is my greatest joy. You deserve happiness, Nicholas. You will find it; you merely have to be yourself. Dispense with any mask that you believed you might have needed. You are enough as you are.”

Nicholas was deeply moved by her faith in him. It was not often that they spoke like this together. She often scolded him or grew angry with him for neglecting his duties, but she rarely spoke of what she admired in him.

It became clear as his aunt spoke that he was not pursuing Clarissa for her affection anymore. He was pursuing her, hoping to uncover the parts of himself that had been buried for too long. His aunt’s words gave him a sense of purpose he had not felt before.

“Now,” Eleanor continued, letting him go and walking to a small side table in her room. It was made of deep red wood with gold edging around the drawers, exactly the exquisite taste that the rest of the house possessed. Eleanor opened the drawer and drew out a small box, which she brought back to him.

He looked down at it with a frown.

As Eleanor opened it, he recognized the contents instantly. Inside was a small silver locker, no larger than a shilling, intricately decorated with filigree engraving. It had been his mother's, and he had not seen it since her death.

“When the time is right,” Eleanor said, her voice catching with emotion. “I believe you should show Miss Crompton the depth of your feelings with this. If you are serious about forming this attachment—”

“I am.”

“—then your mother would wish for her to have it. Take it and do with it as you must. But do not act unless you are certain.”

“You would approve the match?”

Eleanor smiled fondly. “I have known the Cromptons a long time. Clarissa Crompton has done nothing to warrant the behaviour with which society has treated her. Her sister was a foolish girl who followed her heart, but she ruined their family as a consequence. It was part of the reason I invited them here. I have always liked them, her mother in particular. Clarissa does not deserve to be tainted by scandal forever.” Her eyes grew sharp as she looked up at him. “Clarissa is a sensible, beautiful and intelligent woman. I believe she would be the making of you. Ensure you deserve her.”

Nicholas left his aunt’s room with a lightness in his heart and the same sense of fierce determination in his soul.

As he walked back to his rooms, he began to form a plan of how he could show Miss Crompton and everyone around him his reformed character. He clutched the box in his hand, his fingers smoothing over the rim incessantly.

I will prove to her I am worthy—I will become the man my aunt believes me capable of being.