CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

Nicholas opened his eyes to a bright, cold morning.

Today was the day when they would all be taking part in a sleigh ride. Some of the party had returned home to their families, but many remained for the event.

He was alive with desire and excitement. Finally, his mind was clear about what it wanted. He would stay with Miss Crompton for as long as she would have him and if she agreed to be with him forever, he would be the happiest man alive.

The familiar nervousness in his gut remained, but it was overpowered by his feelings of excitement. As he rose, he made the final decision to find time with Miss Crompton—Clarissa—alone and make his feelings known.

As Hargreaves helped him to dress, he selected his very finest attire for the occasion. The locket was a comforting weight in his pocket as he pictured giving it to Miss Crompton. Silver would look beautiful against her porcelain skin, and he could imagine her eyes lighting up at the gift.

At breakfast, his gaze was continuously drawn to her. Her eyes were bright, and her cheeks flushed with the excitement of the day. She was discussing the sleigh ride’s location with Henry and Emily. Henry was explaining the height of the hill he had been sleighing down since he was a boy.

“Lord Bolton,” Nicholas looked across at Lord Crompton, who was slathering his bread with almost an inch of butter. “I wondered if I might discuss with you the matter of my steward.”

“Of course, my Lord, how can I help?”

“I am in need of a replacement. My man is lately married and is moving away from the estate fifty miles to the North. I would be grateful if you have any recommendations. I know you have many estates across the country, and I am sure they are excellently managed.”

“Indeed, my Lord, I will speak to Perkins, my aunt’s steward directly. He is a good man and has many contacts across England. I am sure he can recommend someone for you.”

“Capital, capital. Thank you.”

“You are most welcome.” Please would you allow me to marry your daughter. “Are you joining us for the sleigh ride today, my Lord?

“I am, against my will. I have never been comfortable moving at speed behind anything that does not have wheels and a team of four.”

Nicholas chuckled and, out of the corner of his eye, noticed that Miss Crompton was observing them. He did not catch her eye, however, endeavouring to steel himself for the events to come. His nerves felt like knives in his stomach now, piercing at him angrily.

He would have loved to believe that Clarissa was so taken with him that he could guarantee her answer. But he was in no way assured of it. He wanted her to accept him, but he also understood if she did not. It was a conundrum. He caught his aunt’s eye, and she gave him a reassuring smile.

He longed to speak with Clarissa immediately and to get it over with. The breakfast room was a bustle of lively chatter, servants, plates being moved and handed about. He could not imagine a less opportune time to grab her attention. He would have to wait. He could wait.

As the remaining party members went to gather their warm clothing for the sleigh ride, Nicholas took a private moment to himself. He walked out of the drawing room and onto the terrace. Steps on the right-hand side led down to the gardens, and stone pillars surrounded the edge. The space was not overly large, but it backed onto the high windows of the drawing room.

He looked out at the beautiful scenes before him. The hills of the English countryside lay out like a patchwork quilt. Dotted lines of white separated the fields where the hedges stood, the dark shapes of the trees slicing up the white ground into neat little squares.

As he stood, longing for a glass of something to settle his nerves, he thought about what he might say to Miss Crompton. Perhaps he would begin by expressing his regard for her, but that always sounded incredibly trite when his friends told him of their proposals.

Should he focus on her eyes, perhaps? They were the most beautiful eyes he had ever seen, but he did not think she would be the sort of woman who would lack for compliments.

How could he make himself stand out from the others? Had she ever had another suitor, he wondered. The idea was not a pleasant one. He did not like the thought that her head had ever been turned by someone else. Maybe she had had another man who she smiled at just as much as she smiled at him.

Nicholas swallowed, doubts pouring into his mind. Their acquaintance had been so brief; had he misinterpreted her feelings? Perhaps he had entirely imagined them.

As his nerves built and his resolve faltered, he heard footsteps approaching him along the terrace. He turned, expecting his aunt, but felt irritated beyond bearing when he saw Lady Wilde approaching him.

Too late, he realized that he was in the corner of the terrace, unable to move past her without physically pushing her out of the way. It was clearly by design, for Lady Wilde came up to him, far too close to be proper, and smiled her winning smile.

“My Lord Bolton, I am surprised to see you out here alone. Are you not accompanying us to the sleigh ride today?”

“Most assuredly, I was merely taking in the beauty of the view,” he answered as evenly as possible.

She fluttered her eyelashes and looked up at him coyly. He imagined it was a look that would stir many men to disgrace, but it left him cold.

“And how do you like the view now, my Lord?” she asked. It was so bold a question that Nicholas found himself momentarily unable to speak. “I know what game it is you are playing, and I have been thoroughly entertained these last few days. But I believe if you are to declare your intentions, you should do so. We could have a great future together. The alignment of our houses would be most advantageous. Far more so than other connections you may have entertained.”

Nicholas felt a flare of anger now. He was no longer irritated; he was furious. His expression would have deterred anyone else, but Lady Wilde, it seemed, was not to be deterred.

He sucked in a breath as she laid a hand against his chest, leaning into him. Her floral scent surrounded him, and he wished he could leap over the side of the terrace and run full pelt toward Clarissa.

“You toy with me, I know. But I have no objection to a game. All games have their place, but I believe you and I must become a pair to win this one.”

She smiled again, and this time, the lascivious nature of it revolted him. It was not just her forward manner that he disliked; it was the assumptions she had made about his character.

He had gone out of his way to put her off, yet it seemed she did not need a syllable of encouragement to set her sights on what she wanted.

His chest tensed as he leaned away from her, her fingers stroking over his chest alluringly. But enough was enough.

Nicholas gripped her wrist firmly but gently and stood up to his full height. He leaned forward, using his bulk to push her gently back from him, and glowered at her with the full force of his fury. He could not miss her meaning that their family alliance was more advantageous than with the Crompton’s. Clarissa’s family were still wealthy, and her father was a gentleman, but their status left much to be desired.

I could not care a jot about any of it. I would rather have Clarissa than any woman on this Earth.

Lady Wilde stepped back, looking shocked. Her wrist was still held firmly between his fingers, and he did not release her until he had given her his response.

“Lady Wilde,” he said sternly, “you flatter me with your attentions.” She opened her mouth as though to speak, and he continued more forcefully. “But you are mistaken, my Lady. I am not, nor have I ever been playing any games with you. I would abhor the very thought of leading any woman on. If you, by some quirk of chance, have believed me to be interested in you and shown you affection, I am deeply sorry for it. I can say wholeheartedly that you are a most beautiful woman who deserves happiness in life. But that happiness will not be found with me. My heart belongs to another, and for that, I would never have entertained what you insinuate.”

He released her, and she stepped back, those coquettish eyes hardening into something that appeared very different. The mask that she wore, just as he wore his, slipped away from her face, and he saw the rage rise as she glared at him.

“I will have no more part in this; I hope I have been plain in that,” he finished firmly.

He turned away from her, the nausea that had arisen at her touch subsiding as he thought of seeing Miss Crompton again. He walked toward the drawing room windows to return to the party, only to see Miss Crompton’s retreating figure running from the room.

***

Nicholas cursed under his breath, sprinting after Miss Crompton as fast as he was able.

He ran through the drawing room and into the hallway, skidding to a stop and startling Lady Bartholomew and Lady Garriton. He looked about him frantically, ignorant as to where Miss Crompton had run to and desperate to find her.

He walked to the library hastily, trying to keep his steps as brisk as possible. Upon entering, there was no one to be seen, and he began to despair.

What did she see? If she had entered at the wrong moment, she would either have seen his violent denial of his affections, or Lady Wilde’s hand upon his chest. He closed his eyes, wishing he had pushed her away immediately, but he had been too paralysed with shock.

Show her in your actions…

His aunt’s words floated through his mind, and he almost groaned aloud. If nothing else, this would convince Miss Crompton of her suspicions. That he was a rake, that his old ways were returning, that he would be more interested in a widow with fortune than a young, beautiful woman who had faced scandal.

If he had been a different man, he would have run his fist into the wall in his frustration.

There was a bustle of voices from outside, and he left the library, tugging on his coat to head outside immediately.

He emerged from the house to find the sleighs had been lined up. Eleanor had ordered three, all pulled by a single horse each. They were ornate, with gold across the edges, deep red, and very fitting with the season. Each horse was a different colour, one pure white with a long shimmering mane that matched the white countryside behind it.

He looked around frantically at the many faces of the crowd, but there suddenly seemed too many people to count and he could not see Clarissa’s amongst them.

“Nicholas!” his aunt called. She was seated in her sleigh with Rosemary and Henry, and she waved at him. There was nothing for it. He could not go back into the house to search for Miss Crompton without embarrassing his aunt in front of all of her guests.

He forced a smile, keeping his eyes roaming over all the faces, but Clarissa was nowhere to be seen. He climbed into the sleigh, receiving the blanket over his knees from his sister, and attempted a smile.

“What is the matter?” Rosemary asked with concern. Nicholas looked at her and then at Henry, seeing the obvious query in their eyes.

“All is well,” he murmured, feeling as though the world were opening beneath his feet and he had fallen into a deep and endless cavern.

As they set off, he took one last look behind him. If he could just ascertain which carriage she was in perhaps he could contrive to swap if they stopped.

He was anxious to speak with her and to explain. He had not seen her face, but the way she had run from the room suggested she had seen the worst. All of her suspicions would have been confirmed. He barely saw the beautiful countryside around him or listened to his sister’s rapturous excitement at the event.

He had never regretted his decisions or the life he had led more completely than he did at that moment.

Curse Madeline Wilde for her misdeeds.