CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

Nicholas paced the length of the drawing room. He flexed his hands at his sides, clenching them into fists and unclenching them repeatedly.

Each time he turned to the windows; he felt a jolt of fury at what Clarissa must have witnessed. Henry now stood before him, his expression as grave as Nicholas had ever seen.

“You will wear a hole in the carpet, Bolton. Please, you must sit.” Henry attempted, but Nicholas was too agitated to be still.

His mind was a flurry of panicked images, each worse than the last. He could not get the images of Lady Wilde and himself out of his head. He kept seeing them together, as Miss Crompton might have done, from the aspect of the window. He imagined her shock, her despair—his betrayal.

He thought of the sleigh ride and the turbulence of his mind as he had tried to think how he would convince her that what she had seen was not the reality.

Then he had heard it—a deafening crack as the sleigh Miss Crompton was riding in hit a big stone. Coupled with the ice over the snow, the sleigh had skidded violently. He had turned in his seat as his aunt sat bolt upright. The blanket had fallen from her knees, and she had been half-standing before he had realized the impact of what had happened.

He had turned at the heart-stopping moment when Miss Crompton had been thrown from her seat. It had taken only a second for her to land, but it felt like an eternity. Nicholas had leaped from his sleigh before it had even stopped. His aunt and sister had called after him in alarm, but all he could think of was getting to Clarissa.

As he thundered through the snow, the depth of it slowing his movements, he prayed that she was safe, that she was not injured. As he reached her, he had been ready to confess his love right there in the snow, telling her she was the dearest thing in the world to him. But she was delirious, with a wound on her head and blood on her cheek. His heart had all but stopped in that moment.

He had carried her to the house, and she had not regained consciousness.

Lord and Lady Crompton were seated at the settee behind him, both rigid and tense. Lady Crompton was pale, her mouth puckered with pain as they waited for news.

The physician was with Clarissa now. Nicholas wanted to insist on staying with her, but he knew it would have been highly inappropriate. The room was heavy with tension. His aunt was seated near Lady Crompton, her face resolute and firm as always, but there was a bright quality to her eyes that he was not used to seeing.

“Please, Nicholas,” Henry implored quietly, laying a hand on his shoulder. “You must be seated; you will drive yourself mad with this.”

Suddenly, there was a cry from behind them, and Nicholas spun round only to see Lady Crompton fall sideways from her chair in a faint. Emily, Eleanor, and Rosemary rushed to her side.

“Nicholas, the smelling salts. Quickly! They are in the draw by the curtain.”

His aunt’s voice brooked no argument, and Nicholas went to the place, returning with the small vial and handing it to her. He watched helplessly as Lady Crompton slowly recovered herself and was helped to an armchair.

His aunt was a pillar of strength, speaking to her soothingly. Emily and Rosemary were in tears, and Nicholas felt he had no power over anything anymore. He longed to know that Clarissa was safe. He could barely breathe at the thought that she was mortally wounded. To have her reject him for his conduct was one thing; to have her gone from him forever was unthinkable.

Suddenly, the door opened, and the room seemed to freeze as the physician entered. He was a tall man with wiry white hair and spectacles balanced on his nose. His large grey eyes were watery and tired, but his expression seemed kind.

He walked into the centre of the room as Emily, Rosemary, and his aunt stood back. Lady Crompton had recovered enough to turn to face him.

“Miss Crompton has suffered minor injuries, and the cold has done her no good.” Lady Crompton clutched at her throat, paling again, and Emily clasped her hand, squeezing it between her fingers. “But she will recover. She needs rest, but her injuries are not severe.”

The entire room seemed to let out a collective sigh, and Nicholas felt Henry’s hand on his shoulder as he patted it reassuringly. Nicholas breathed a long breath, emptying his lungs as relief flooded him.

He turned and found himself face to face with Lord Crompton. The older man offered his hand.

“Thank you for what you did for Clarissa,” he said earnestly. “She would not have been back in the manor and so warm and well cared for without your diligence, my lord.”

Nicholas shook his hand but kept hold of it, watching Lord Crompton’s bushy eyebrows raise in surprise.

“May I have a private audience with you, sir? It will not take long.”

Lord Crompton’s frown did not ease, but he nodded. “Of course.”

Nicholas drew him away from the others.

He could not delay any longer. He knew, with a clarity he had never felt before, that he had to declare his intentions.

They walked to a private corner of the room, far from the rest of the party, and Nicholas began to speak.

“Lord Crompton,” he said resolutely as the other man’s eyes met his. “I am in love with your daughter.”

Lord Crompton’s eyebrows nearly rose up to his hairline at that confession, but Nicholas would not be stopped now that he had begun.

“I am painfully aware of how little I am worthy of her. These last weeks I have battled with myself as to my own history. You may know of my reputation, and it pains me to admit that much of it is true. I did not realise before meeting Miss Crompton how hollow and meaningless my life before her was. She has given me hope in the darkest of times. I had not even known how dark they were until I beheld her. She is the sweetest woman I have ever met; intelligent, wise, and certain in her ways.”

Lord Crompton was watching him patiently and not interrupting, so Nicholas continued.

“She has changed me for the better. For her and for myself, I would endeavour to be a better man. I wish to earn your respect and hers, but actions speak louder than words. If I can ever deserve her I will be the happiest man in the world. If you can give me this chance, I will spend my life proving it to you, my Lord, and to her. I would ask, therefore, for your permission to ask for your daughter’s hand in marriage.”

Nicholas stood with bated breath, waiting for his response. Up close, the man was rather intimidating, all bushy hair and an intense gaze that cut right through to his soul.

Robert Crompton said nothing for almost a full minute. He was still unsure how his intention would be received. Lord Crompton cleared his throat and finally replied.

“You have my permission, my Lord. Whatever your past mistakes, there should be more forgiveness for those who wish to change.” His eyes were sad as he said those words, and Nicholas wondered if he were thinking of his eldest daughter. “But I cannot give you the true answer you seek.” He held out his hand, and Nicholas shook it enthusiastically. “Only my Clary can tell you whether she believes you worthy, my boy,” he gave a faint smile. “I wish you luck.”

***

As evening fell, the drawing room slowly emptied, but Nicholas could not bring himself to rest. His aunt approached him with a slow step as though wary of coming too close. He looked up at her expression, which was a mixture of worry and understanding.

Nicholas was sitting in an armchair beside the fire and could not imagine rising from his position for several hours.

“Nicholas,” his aunt said gently, “you should get some rest.”

“I cannot rest until I know she is well,” he said darkly, the locket held tight in his closed fist.

“You will weary yourself,” she said softly.

“Well then, I shall be weary,” he said irritably. In answer, she simply kissed the top of his head and left him to his reverie.

The fire before him was banked high, and Nicholas was glad of it. The accursed snow was falling again. He would have had no argument with the softly falling snowflakes until he had seen Clarissa fly through the air as the sleigh slid on the ice.

Perhaps I shall take her to Italy for our honeymoon; he thought blithely before crippling doubt engulfed him again. He was not certain of her response to him and was terrified that every possible objection would be entirely justified.

The fire crackled before him, the hearth a myriad of patterned tiles, and he found himself lost in them as his thoughts circled around his head.

Robert’s words were paramount in his thoughts. He might have all the good intentions in the world and her father’s blessing, but it was still up to Miss Crompton to accept him. He found himself more concerned on that score than he would have been the day before.

Before Lady Wilde had approached him, he was fairly confident of Miss Crompton’s affections. Throughout the events during the Christmas festivities, he had felt her regard for him on many occasions. He had not been certain of it until the treasure hunt when they had spent all those glorious hours together, speaking of every topic imaginable. He had found they had much in common, and she was exceedingly pleasurable company.

He thought too of the moment when he had held her in his arms for the first time when she had almost tumbled from the ladder onto the floor. The memory of the kissing boughs and all the fantasies he had entertained over the preceding days of finally feeling her lips against his added yet more fuel to the fire.

As he contemplated the first time, he had seen her dark brown eyes across the ballroom, he recognized how much he had changed since that time.

In hindsight, he had descended those stairs as a jaded and unhappy individual. He had believed himself contented with his lot. Yet his sole requirement in seeing his aunt and setting foot in England was to see to his father’s estate, visit his sister, and leave as soon as possible.

Returning to that vacuous life now felt impossible. He had so many acquaintances abroad but no true friends. He had not been lying when he told his aunt that she and Rosemary were the only people he truly cared for. Henry could also be added to that list, but at the top of it, was Miss Crompton.

She had awakened a part of him that he thought long dead. Even three years on, his mind would often wander to Victoria throughout the day. He would remember her insincere smiles and her laughing nature. Now that his eyes were fully opened, he recognized that her smiles and laughter were at the expense of everyone else around her.

She had not been a kind or loving woman, and it had taken him a long time to realize how much he had wasted on her. Thinking of her against Miss Crompton was like comparing night and day.

Victoria was all jagged edges and hot-tempered arguments. Clarissa was quiet and still, yet with a sharpness of wit that he had never encountered in another.

If she agreed to give him the chance, he would spend his life proving himself to her. He would show her the depth and sincerity of his love above everything else.

As the night drew to a close and the brightness of dawn illuminated the horizon, Nicholas had not moved. The fire had burned down to embers in the grate, the glowing coals almost entirely extinguished as his eyelids began to droop.

Beyond anything else, he was resolved to tell her how he felt. He would lay everything bare for Miss Crompton, regardless of the consequences. If she rejected him, he knew he had done everything in his power to convince her. He knew that to trust him would be to take a risk, and she had lived through enough pain not to wish to take any more of those.

As sleep began to tug at his eyelids, he kept the locket clutched in his hand; his final thought was of her soft brown eyes turning to him with a look of love. He had to believe that it was possible.

Determined but exhausted, his head nodded to his chest. As dawn’s early light pierced the sky on Christmas Eve, sleep finally overcame him.