CHAPTER TWO

Lord Nicholas Bolton looked out of the window, frowning at the snow, hoping his ire might melt it all away. He was only back in England for two weeks and already missing the heat of southern Europe.

He had quite forgotten how chilly England could become at this time of year.

It was beautiful, though. The trees were hunkered down as though tucked under a great white sheet; their limbs outlined in silver frost contrasting against their dark trunks.

The gardener had yet to clear the pathways around Lady Eleanor’s gardens, and they were peaceful, still, and calm.

Nicholas had no time for such things.

He harrumphed good-naturedly, drumming his fingers against the polished wood of the windowsill, imagining he was back in the south of France beside the sea again. For the tenth time that morning, he reminded himself that he could not abandon his duties indefinitely and that it was just those duties and obligations that had necessitated his return.

A sharp knock at the door pulled him out of his melancholy, and he turned as his younger sister entered the room. She looked somewhat perplexed, her freckled face part joyful and part curious.

As soon as her wide blue eyes alighted on him, however, the joy eclipsed everything else, and she ran at him with such force that she almost knocked the air from his lungs.

“Good Lord, Rosemary, you have the strength of a mountain!” he said, chuckling at her as she looked up at him. She had grown in the two years he had been away, and his throat tightened as he thought of everything he had missed.

“I cannot believe you are really here,” Rosemary said, finally releasing him and stepping back. “When Aunt Eleanor told me you would be back for Christmas, I did not believe her.”

“And why not? I gave her my word, and I never break my promises.” His sister scoffed, and Nicholas gave a sharp laugh. “I have already told you I did not promise to bring you back a rocking horse, only that they have beautiful examples of them in Spain.”

“You should not write such descriptive passages about things you cannot bring home for me, then,” she said with a disgruntled frown. “I fell in love with them from your letters.”

Her nose crinkled disapprovingly at him. It was an expression he had never been able to resist when she was younger and now was no different.

“You are far too old for a rocking horse, Rosemary.”

“I would not have ridden it,” she protested. “I merely wished to admire it.”

She was now twenty years old. He could not believe that the baby he had once held in his arms was out in society. At two and thirty, he felt ancient in comparison and wondered whether they would enjoy the same easy relationship they had once had now that she was a woman in her own right.

“Well, speaking of things one should not take onto a ship,” he said, unleashing his roguish smile, “a man I met did bring something very unusual aboard on my return journey to London.”

Rosemary rolled her eyes at him, knowing he was changing the subject, but her curiosity was peaked.

“What was it?” she asked eagerly.

“A magnificent parrot.”

Her eyes widened, and then she giggled prettily. “Nicholas, pray, do be serious.”

“I am quite sincere, I assure you. This parrot perched upon his shoulder at the dinner table each evening, a most splendid creature.”

Rosemary was staring at him now, flabbergasted. “But how?”

“Did I mention it could recite poetry?” He grinned, knowing she was captivated. “He informed me it was an extraordinary specimen, a rarity he could not bear to leave unattended in his cabin. He insisted on taking it with him wherever he went.”

“You are a fool if you think I shall believe such folly.”

“I ought to have penned a letter to describe its brilliance. I assure you, every word is true.”

She snorted in a most unladylike fashion and came to lean against the windowsill with him, looping her arm in his. He felt a flicker of guilt as he looked down at her sad expression and squeezed her arm gently. If she had missed him half as much as he had missed her, she had every reason to be unhappy he had stayed away so long.

They stood in companionable silence for some minutes, Nicholas simply enjoying the touch of one another. He had missed casual touches on his travels.

He had certainly not been without companionship—indeed, he had developed quite a reputation in certain circles—but real affection had been lacking. As he contemplated the top of his sister’s dark hair and wondered if she had finished growing yet, the door to the room opened to admit his Aunt Eleanor.

Nicholas straightened, noticing the familiar stern expression on her face. His aunt had been a wonderful guardian and a great companion to Rosemary, but she did have a rather waspish countenance when she was displeased. She could also be exceedingly elegant, but right at the moment, she was advancing on him like a knight about to tackle a dragon.

“Good morning, Aunt,” he hazarded, “you are looking so well these days.”

“None of that,” she said, waving him off and brushing a disapproving hand over Rosemary’s shoulder. “What are you wearing, child?” she asked as Rosemary looked down at herself rather self-consciously. “I have told you countless times that these ruffles are out of fashion. Is this not your dress from last season?”

“It is from last month, Aunt. The seamstress assured me that they were back in fashion.”

“Frivolity!” she said, although her tone was almost affectionate. “None of these modern ladies know how to dress if you ask me.”

Her green eyes swiveled to Nicholas, and he reminded himself he was two and thirty, not five years old anymore.

“You look like a fop,” she said, narrowing her eyes at his waistcoat. It was actually one of the more modest garments in his collection. His valet constantly bemoaned the colours he wore for evening occasions, and Nicholas rather enjoyed gently riling his aunt with his choices.

“Thank you, aunt,” he replied. She sucked in a breath and stuck a bony finger in his face.

“You are not yet too advanced in years to be taken to task over my knee, young man,” she proclaimed and seemed all the more furious when Nicholas chuckled.

“Over a waistcoat?”

“Over your conduct!” Nicholas’s smile quickly dimmed. “You have been exceedingly lax in your duties, both as my nephew and the heir apparent. I shall not hear another word of you gallivanting off to Europe for a second time in two weeks no less! It is high time you took up your father’s duties and found a suitable wife.”

Rosemary’s fingers clutched tightly to his arm in a silent show of support, and he was grateful for that.

She knew very well how Nicholas felt about marriage. However, before he could reply to his aunt, she had stalked across the room and sat down firmly on the chaise.

She flicked a hand at them, and they both dutifully sat opposite her. She was an exceedingly dapper woman, even in her dotage, and Nicholas could not help but admire how poised she was. The dark red gown she wore perfectly complimented her hair. Despite having exceedingly dark brown hair that often looked almost black, she was still without the grey streaks that her peers were sporting.

“My dear aunt, you know how I feel about settling down.”

Her shoulders remained stiff, her back straight as she eyed him carefully. “I have known of that for many years, my boy, and you have done nothing to persuade me otherwise. However, you are the next Earl of Bernewood. Do you intend to remain unmarried forever?”

If only I could, he thought bitterly.

“I do not wish to displease you, but I have greatly enjoyed my travels. I am in England for two weeks only, and I shall continue to manage things from Europe as I have been.”

“There have been delays throughout the last two years, and many matters of the estate need your attention.”

“I shall endeavour to see to them while I am here, aunt,” he said, flashing a smile. It usually could charm anyone, but his aunt’s face was deeply unimpressed.

It was almost worse when she sighed, her shoulders drooping as she stared at the carpet beneath her feet. He did not wish to evoke such a reaction in anyone, let alone a woman whose opinion he valued so highly.

“Nicholas,” Eleanor began with forced patience. “You are a wonderful man, with excellent prospects. I do not understand why you are so against the idea of matrimony. Would you not like a companion with whom you can share your fortune? Would you not wish to raise children of your own someday?”

Nicholas’s throat tightened at her words. They were so ordinary, yet they invoked a tremor of anxiety in his heart.

Yes, that is precisely what most men in my station would wish for. And I had it. I believed I had everything I wished for in the world in the palm of my hand, only to have it cruelly snatched away.

“Perhaps, one day,” he managed, “but, as it is, I enjoy my freedom. The estate would tie me to one place for too long, and I cannot think of anyone in society whom I admire enough to marry. I would wish for nothing more than to make you happy, Aunt Eleanor, you know that. But I cannot rush into these things.” He raised a hand as she opened her mouth. “I know you feel I have already taken too long about it, but I believe there is much I can learn on my travels to make me a better husband in the long run.”

Her eyes softened, and the familiar affection reappeared on her face. She sighed.

“Very well, then,” she shifted in her seat. “Do not take me for a fool. I know very well of your charm, Nicholas, and you will not unleash it upon me.”

Nicholas chuckled. “I would not dream of it,” he answered, breaking out his most ravishing smile to emphasize the point.

Eleanor closed her eyes as though praying for patience. “I expect you to be on your best behaviour for my Christmas house party,” she continued sternly. “I shall expect the Earl to be present, not my troublesome nephew.”

“Are they perhaps not one and the same?” he asked as she fixed him with a knowing glare.

“Best behaviour.”

“Of course, Aunt. I would never disgrace you,” he insisted merrily.

Finally, she chuckled, relaxing a little in her seat. Rosemary quickly asked her who she had invited to the party, and the conversation turned to the exclusive guest list.

Nicholas knew his sister was attempting to save him from more questions and accusations, and he was grateful to her for that.

However, despite his attempts to listen to what they were discussing, his mind lingered on the past. His aunt's insistence upon him finding a bride always led to memories of Victoria. The same pain stuttered through his chest as he remembered her beautiful face and the dark depths into which he had fallen because of it.

He glanced at the window, surprised to see that the snow was falling again. He had always loved their country seat, but the house did bear unhappy memories. His eyes strayed to the portrait above the fireplace, his father’s steady gaze looking back at him.

Memories flooded to the front of his mind once again, as he recalled the fateful night he had come to the Bernewood Estate after receiving the doctor’s urgent missive.

It had been mere hours after his arrival that he had lost his beloved father. The shock had been immense.

At five and twenty, Nicholas was thrown into the whirlwind of duties that came with the title of Earl of Bernewood. He had been in no way ready for the responsibilities that suddenly weighed upon his shoulders. Society's expectations were crushing enough, but the sheer number of decisions and choices he had had to make in the intervening weeks and months had almost overwhelmed him.

It had been a terrible time, and the bright, shining light that had emerged from the darkness had been Victoria.

He had believed her to be perfect for him in every way. A tall, willowy woman with striking red hair, who captured his heart almost immediately from across the floor. They had danced together in every ballroom that season. She was intelligent, witty, startlingly direct, and exactly what he thought he needed in a wife.

Then, an innocent wrong turn at the final ball of the season had him walking in upon her in a compromising position with another man. Nicholas had stood frozen in the doorway in utter disbelief as Victoria had slowly lowered her leg from the man’s groping fingers and turned to him in surprise.

She had laughed at him—joked with him about his affections. She had been cruel and heartless and had made it exceedingly clear that his love had been one-sided.

He closed his eyes as he recalled the desperate letters he had sent her after the event, insisting all would be forgiven and that they could still be together. The foolishness of youth.

Yet despite his own position and wealth, Victoria had chosen a Duke as her husband. She barely gave a second thought to the earl she had humiliated in the process.

Nicholas had not been able to bear it. He had chosen to go to Europe to escape the wretched reality of his broken heart and had abandoned his family at the same time.

He opened his eyes again, and his gaze moved to his sister. Her pretty countenance was alive with excitement as she discussed the party with her aunt. It had been a betrayal for him to leave her.

He had known it at the time but had been too focused on his own selfish pain to heed her pleas for him to stay. He had been gone for far too long, and although he could not agree to remain in England just yet, he knew that his next trip to Europe would be his last.

Another year or two. He promised himself. Then, I will fulfill her wishes and become the earl she wishes me to be.

“Nicholas!”

He was pulled from his thoughts by the realization that Rosemary and his aunt were looking at him expectantly.

“I told you he was not listening,” Rosemary said wearily.

“My apologies. I was considering how I might impress the guests. Perhaps I could learn to juggle? Or I could perform some sort of dance for them?” Despite her disapproval at his tone, his aunt could not entirely mask her smile.

“I was asking,” Rosemary continued, “if you remembered my friend Clarissa Crompton. Do you recall her?”

“I cannot say I do, although the name is familiar.”

“She has accepted our invitation!” Rosemary said, with great animation. “I have not seen her for so long. I was unsure if they would come at all. The scandal was so fresh the last time that I saw her. Thank you for inviting her family, aunt. I believe this will do them all good.”

“I agree; it is too cruel that they have been ostracized for so long,” his aunt said kindly, a slight frown across her brow.

“Now that they are attending, I cannot wait to see her,” Rosemary said excitedly. “She was so dear to me, and I can only hope that this will mean many more visits in the future.”

“Quiet, my dear,” Eleanor said easily. “I was not sure if they would come myself, but I have missed Lord and Lady Crompton’s company.”

Nicholas tried to recall these names being bandied about but came up with nothing. The Crompton name did stir something in the back of his mind, perhaps a scandal about a sister? He had heard it through a friend of a friend. But he had been abroad at the time it broke. London’s scandals were not so very important to him then.

As Rosemary and his aunt began to enthuse over the arrangements, he felt uncertain at the prospect of the upcoming party. It was a selective guest list, so at least he would not have to socialize with dozens of people. Yet, he would prefer it was just the three of them for Christmas.

He did not like socializing with people who saw him for his title and reputation alone. He had enjoyed freedoms in Europe that he could never have cultivated in England, but he was not naive enough to believe his exploits would not have reached English shores.

He had cultivated a carefree and open persona on the continent. Some might even call him a rake, but he did not regret losing himself to pleasure and vice. It had been a difficult time, and his freer proclivities had enabled him to move past the heartache—it had felt like a necessary evil. No, he did not regret it, but he was not proud of it.

The thought of packing his rakish ways into a box to become the man everyone expected him to be was not a fulfilling prospect.

He shifted in his seat, schooling his expression into neutral amusement. The easy-going man he presented to the world was not who he truly was. He was loathe to remind himself of who he had once been—the loving, dutiful fool Victoria had destroyed without hesitation.

He did not relish losing the life he had carefully built for himself, and yet a small part of him wondered whether that might not be for the best. Perhaps this Christmas would herald some changes.

One cannot persist on a lie forever.