Chapter 30

30

A fter being jostled awake for a thorough prodding by the physician, Nicholas couldn’t list a confrontation with his mother as an activity he wished to undertake. Nonetheless , as the physician departed his bedchamber, pronouncing him in seemingly good health and instructing him to take nourishing broths until his strength returned, the figure who appeared in the doorway after mere seconds elapsed was none other than the dowager marchioness herself.

“ Yes ?” Nicholas sat up straighter in bed, unable to keep the irritation from his voice. He wanted Phoebe . Alone . Between the repose he’d taken with Emily and the doctor’s visit, he still hadn’t been able to speak with her, and the anticipation was beginning to make his skin prick.

The dowager either didn’t notice his impatience or didn’t care—the latter, most likely—for she held tight to her cane, using it to cross the floor to his bedside.

“ You needn’t get yourself in a huff.” She shot him a wry look, lowering herself into the chair where Phoebe had sat—which, consequently, was the very thing to increase his huffiness. “ I don’t plan to stay long.”

“ I’ll hold you to that,” he grumbled, watching as she took an absurd amount of time positioning her cane against his bedside table and then smoothing her skirts. He folded his arms across his chest, waiting—not patiently—in stony silence for her to say what she intended and be done with it.

“ I …” She paused in a rare moment of tentativeness. Cleared her throat. Opened her mouth to speak and then closed it again before finally saying, “ I wanted to ensure that you are suffering no ill effects after what happened.”

For someone grazed by a bullet and struck in the head, I feel bloody wonderful. His jaw tightened, and he couldn’t help but glance at the doorway. “ I am not.”

She nodded. Brought her gaze to the window. Turned back to him with her lips curled in distaste. “ I still cannot believe the gall of that Ambrose Windham . We’ll see if he feels so confident once he stands trial.”

Nicholas’s shoulder gave an answering throb. “ Trial ?”

“ Why , of course.” Her features darkened, her gnarled fingers clenching as if they closed around the man in question’s neck. “ Not only was he fool enough to put his challenge in writing, but he fired his pistol early in full view of a duke and a Bow Street runner. A conviction of attempted murder would be the least he deserves.”

Fragments of the morning on Primrose Hill flashed through his head. The rustle in the trees. Phoebe’s scream. The gunshot. She hadn’t been alone .

He shifted against the pillows behind his back, letting the news settle. If his mother expected him to rejoice in the revelation, she’d find herself disappointed, for it paled in comparison to, say, not having the blight of Ambrose Windham cast upon him in the first place. Yet given the circumstances, he supposed it was as good an outcome as any. And Phoebe had helped bring it about. She’d wanted to protect him.

“ As for Letitia Burville .” The dowager scowled, uttering the name venomously and then hesitating again. Putting to rest any question he had over whether she was aware of Lady Burville’s involvement in Sir Ambrose’s challenge. “ There’s another creature who possesses too much nerve for her own good.”

“ Yes ,” he agreed, his tone dry as sandpaper, “one would hate to associate with a lady possessing such deficiency of character.”

The quip gave her pause but only for an instant, for it seemed that she’d suddenly regained her voice. “ One gentleman enjoys associating with her, in any case. You’ll not believe what I read in The Times this morning.”

The dowager didn’t often trouble herself with mundane gossip, but judging by the way she tilted toward him, her eyes widening intently, she was about to make an exception. “ Lady Letitia Burville wed Charles Drummond , the Baron Copley , just yesterday by special license. Can you believe? A whirlwind courtship if ever there was one. No doubt the baron’s vast estate in Derbyshire played a role.”

Nicholas pursed his lips, unable to drum up any larger of a reaction. Frankly , he didn’t care where Lady Burville made her home or with whom. His association with her was over and the resultant damage done. Behind him. Another woman filled his head, and this inane chatter was doing nothing but keeping him from her.

Again , his mother remained oblivious to his indifference, for she kept going, her voice lowering a shade and her mouth twisting into a sneer. “ That’s not the full story, though. I’ve heard rumors the baron’s wealth is merely a facade. That his lands haven’t turned a profit in close to a decade and his list of debts is a mile long. If that’s the case, dear Letitia may find herself regretting her haste. But I suppose some lessons must be learned the hard way.”

“ Indeed .” Nicholas arched a brow. Such as the pitfalls of playing matchmaker when one’s interference isn’t wanted .

His mother, who’d promised to make her visit brief, was doing no end of skirting around the issue at hand. Like she had something in mind to say but wouldn’t voice it.

Well , he was tired of discussing people who wasted space in his thoughts, and if she wouldn’t come out with it, he’d take the lead instead. After suffering the consequences of her meddling, he was now going to use the situation to his advantage.

“ On that note,” he said, “ I’m ready to put the matter of Letitia Burville , Ambrose Windham , and that asinine duel behind me.” Which includes your role in bringing Lady Burville into the house and giving her false expectations . He didn’t speak the words aloud but narrowed his eyes to indicate as much. “ I have other things on which to focus. Namely , I’m going to ask Miss Windham to marry me.”

His mother’s spine snapped upright, and a pinkish hue spread over her face. The quiet that followed was heavy, tentative, for the cords in her throat tightened, giving a slight quiver as she readied herself to release an irate deluge.

“ And ,” he added before that happened, “you are not going to utter a single word of protest.”

Her parted lips snapped closed, although her eyes flashed in a way that could make one think hell was covered in ice, not fire.

Lucky for him, he’d seen so many of her glowers over the years that the look didn’t even cause him to blink. All that mattered was the silence, which gave him the freedom to lay out everything he intended to make clear. “ I will not expect a jubilant celebration on your part. However , should Miss Windham do me the honor of becoming my wife, you are going to treat her with the courtesy befitting of the new Marchioness of Rockliffe . It may happen that certain things come to pass that you do not agree with. There’s apt to be gossip amongst the ton, and we’d best anticipate another scandal involving our family name. Be that as it may, you are going to accept the marriage, and should you ever feel the urge to do otherwise, you will kindly keep the sentiments concealed while reminding yourself of the detriments that arise when you interfere.”

The dowager, to her credit, didn’t shout or argue. She listened , her blue eyes wide and fixed upon him, the ice in them melting away. And when at last she spoke, it was only to pose a question. “ You’re very certain this is what you want?”

“ Yes .” Unequivocally .

Her jaw twitched, and a strange flicker passed over her features—no doubt from the myriad opinions she struggled to keep contained. In the end, though, the only thing to emerge was a long, resigned sigh. “ There’s nothing further to discuss, then. I’m not of a mind to argue with such obstinacy.”

He clenched his teeth to hold back a bark of laughter. What was that saying regarding a pot and a kettle?

Ultimately , it didn’t matter. As he’d long recognized, his mother wasn’t the sort to admit fault or to do anything so uncouth as apologize; indeed, he’d end up in the grave before receiving her words of remorse. Yet in making this concession—however offhandedly and begrudgingly—she’d given just that: an apology.

Should he take that to mean she wouldn’t involve herself in his choice of bride for once? Trust remained a shaky entity between them. However , his thoughts trickled back to the Beaumont dower house when she’d given him the clue, without question, to Adolphus Clare’s whereabouts. The day when he’d looked at her and hadn’t seen cunning but … softness.

Come to think of it, a shadow of the same expression had returned to her face now. The lines around her mouth and eyes as she peered at him stayed a shade tight, perhaps, but not hard. The look was familiar, akin to one that, God knew, had creased his own features too many times to count. A look of a parent concerned for their child.

Hmm . Perhaps she did only want what was best for her family—the thought poked at his chest—even if she had a damn awful way of showing it sometimes.

As the situation drew parallels to that in the dower house sitting room, the same response suddenly felt appropriate. A word he’d articulated to her once so could surely utter again. “ Thank you.”

She sat up a little straighter, extending her arm, and for a moment, he thought she was going to reach for him. Ultimately , though, her hand stopped at her cane, her fingers curling around the silver tip. “ As promised, Rockliffe , I’m keeping my visit brief.” She pushed herself upward, drawing her spine tall in a picture of perfect, composed elegance. “ There’s someone else eager to come in and see you, and it seems the feeling is mutual.”

Was … was that another concession ? The realization caused him to gape. He could feel his mouth hanging, knew he looked ridiculous, but there was nothing he could do to prevent it.

She stood looking down on him, as regal and unapproachable as a queen. However , against the backdrop of the oversized furniture that graced the marquess’s chamber, she also appeared … small. Still subdued. Enough that, when he looked at her, he didn’t see only an adversary. He saw his mother . The bane of his existence. The cause of his existence.

“ Thank you,” he repeated under his breath as she began hobbling across the carpet and toward the doorway. Too low to reach her, but it felt right to say it, nonetheless.

Perhaps she intended for her muttered words to remain out of his earshot as well. Be that as it may, they traveled back to him, a quiet hum he could just decipher before she disappeared into the corridor and nothing remained but the echo of her cane. “ I’m glad you’re well, Nicholas .”