Chapter Three

Nick had been to Harstone Court once before, during the hunt years ago, and he had fallen in love with the countryside almost immediately. It looked just as he remembered, though perhaps a bit colder and browner, and he took to exploring the grounds as soon as he arrived, rather than going inside right away. It gave him a chance to truly take in the countryside and consider what his life would be like when he inherited Mr. Mackenzie's land.

Assuming he could keep up his end of the bargain.

There was something wild about this place, Nick thought as he crested a hill that overlooked the sprawling house. He could not see his future home from here, but he knew it was close and would have similar terrain. Not that he'd ever actually seen the estate up close, but this part of the country simply felt more real than London. It far surpassed the little home he had grown up in back in Derbyshire.

Nick breathed in the fresh air and let a smile play at his lips. Once he found himself a wife—one who wouldn't drive him mad—this could be home.

If he was lucky, he might even find himself a wife who already knew the area.

As it had for the last hour while he meandered, Nick's mind returned to the charming and beautiful woman he had met in Tutbury. She had surprised him, engaging him in conversation without first knowing who he was, and she had held her ground when he'd pushed the bounds of propriety. Not many young ladies did that, and she'd done so with a confident gentleness that had felt as contradictory as it was fascinating. That strength, combined with her beauty, had him enchanted.

He would have to ask Harstone if he knew her; his friend was a viscount and likely knew everyone in the surrounding area. Nobility had a habit of knowing more than they should, something that had always bothered Nick because they tended to use that power to their own advantage. Thankfully, Lord Alvaro Rowland, Viscount of Harstone, was nothing like that and had been a true friend to Nick since the day they'd met in London. Despite inheriting a prestigious title and an obscene amount of money, Harstone had never lost sight of his humbler beginnings. He and Lord Simon Calloway, a baron and Nick's only other close friend, were both of a good sort, their friendship something Nick had refused to lose over the years because it kept him from getting a big head.

It was one of the reasons Nick had been so eager to come to Harstone Court in the first place. If anyone could help him forget about the pomp and circumstance of London, Harstone could. The fact that Miss Barton had also been invited had nearly changed Nick's destination to Oxfordshire, but Calloway was too busy with his new wife to entertain a guest he, as of late, barely tolerated to begin with.

Why did Nick have only married friends? Were there no bachelors of thirty anymore? Surely the men in his extended social circle had enough sense to choose their partners wisely, take their time.

Nick sighed. Perhaps he was alone in wanting a perfect marriage and he would do better to lower his standards a bit so he was not the only lonely man in all of England.

"You may be that already," he told himself with a frown. It seemed everyone else of his acquaintance was either happily settled or cared little for the notion of finding a partner to keep through life.

As much as he wanted to admire the countryside for hours, the afternoon was quickly giving way to evening, and a chill had settled in the air. He would have to face Miss Barton again eventually, and he would prefer not to be frozen to the core when he did.

"Into battle, then," he muttered and pressed forward.

The butler opened the door just as Nick arrived and let him inside, and Nick offered up his hat and coat as he took in the expanse of his friend's house. It was just as grand as he remembered from six years earlier, though it had a different feel to it. Then Harstone had only just inherited, and the massive house had still felt like someone else's. It had had an air of majesty left behind by the previous Viscount Harstone, who had been as coldhearted as he was wealthy.

Now that the new Lord Harstone had lived in the house for more than half a decade, it felt more like a home and less like a castle dungeon. There was a warmth to the house that had nothing to do with the fire blazing in the parlor to Nick's right, and he smiled as he considered just how important a happy marriage was to a home. He liked knowing his theory was correct, even if it did complicate the matter of his inheritance.

"Forester!" Harstone's booming voice echoed in the entryway from the balcony above, making Nick grin even wider. For a man who had been entirely out of place when he first arrived in England, Harstone had never been one to play himself small. "I thought I would have to send out a search party, no?"

When Harstone reached the entryway, Nick clasped him in a tight embrace that was as much a testament to Harstone's cheerful disposition as it was to the closeness of their friendship. They didn't have the ability to see each other often, but Nick had considered Harstone one of his dearest friends from the beginning. Though they hadn't seen each other for several months, since the last time they were both in London during the Season, their relationship had not dimmed.

"You're looking well, Lord Harstone," Nick said when they broke apart. He emphasized the title, mostly because he knew his friend hated being esteemed above others when he had simply been born into it. Lord Calloway was the same way, and Nick—a mere mister—loved them for it. "I thought you'd look older."

Harstone glared at the unnecessary title, but a grin quickly replaced his displeasure as he examined Nick. "My girls keep me young. London does not do the same to you, I think."

"Tell me something I do not already know," he said with a sigh. Every day he seemed to have aged another year, and he certainly wasn't getting any younger. Before long his search would be entirely fruitless, and that prospect sounded grim indeed. He wanted a family. As big as he could get.

"Your Miss Barton was quite distraught when you disappeared upon arrival," Harstone replied. "My cousin was most worried for your fate."

Nick clenched his hands into fists and counted to five before he spoke, and even then he did so through gritted teeth. What might she have said when he was not there to temper her fantasies? "She is not mine, I assure you."

Harstone's eyes danced with laughter. "Have you told her that?"

"Many times." At least, he had given her no reason to think she had a chance of winning his affection. Perhaps he would finally have to be direct with the woman, but she was of a sweet enough disposition that he could imagine the hurt in her eyes when he told her they would never suit.

Wanting to avoid her tears hadn't done him any good at this point, however, so he would have to work up the courage, and soon.

"Mr. Mackenzie is here for dinner," Harstone said.

Nick straightened up. "Is he?" He had expected he would need to seek out the man who had been his patron since he was a boy, as he had important matters to discuss with the old man—the other reason he had come to Staffordshire—but if Mackenzie was here at Harstone Court, that would speed things up a bit. Nick had worried he would have to wait to have this conversation, one he was eager for.

If the man was so adamant about Nick finding himself a wife before inheriting, surely he could at least offer some assistance in procuring a good one. Nick's funds were dwindling, and he would not last through another Season's rent in Town without Mackenzie increasing his allowance. If he had to worry about only himself, that would be one thing, but his little allowance still had to pay the living expenses of his old housekeeper.

It wasn't Mrs. Murray's fault she was no longer needed when Nick's estate had fallen to ruin, and now she was too old to find a position elsewhere. She had no children to care for her and her husband was long gone, so Nick had stepped in. If only he could afford to do more.

"He is in the upstairs salon, if you care to see him after you change," Harstone said, referring to Mackenzie.

It was a not-so-subtle hint that Nick was an absolute mess after the incident with the carriage, but Nick knew he would only get more and more anxious if he didn't get right to it.

"Thank you," he told his friend and clapped a hand on his back. "It's good to see you, Harstone."

"And you."

Following Harstone's direction, Nick quickly made his way up to the salon, forming his arguments as he went. Mr. Mackenzie was a fair-minded old man, if a little odd, so Nick hoped he would at least listen. If all went well, the man would see reason and grant Nick his rightful fortune before he was reduced to begging. He needed to be firm. Confident. He needed to prove that he was worthy of inheriting Mr. Mackenzie's estate on his own. No other man had such ridiculous stipulations for receiving what was promised to him, and Nick clearly did not have the ability to follow through. If the past three years weren't enough time to prove that marriage simply wasn't an option, at least not in the near future, Nick wasn't certain the old man would ever believe him.

He was not opposed to begging, if it came to it, but he would rather keep his dignity intact if at all possible. There was enough talk about him in London as it was.

True, most of that was his own doing, but Nick could only control so many rumors. The fact that so many in the country knew how heartily he searched for a wife had always been a thorn in Nick's side, and no amount of storytelling could dissuade the Society tabbies from whispering about his future behind their fans as they threw their daughters in his direction.

If he had known how difficult his lies would make all of this, perhaps he wouldn't have hidden behind them for so long. Then again, creating a fake persona and life for himself had been the only thing he could think of in his desperation to protect the remainder of his broken heart after his engagement had fallen apart.

He found Mr. Mackenzie sitting in a well-stuffed chair by the fire, reading a letter, with his spectacles perched on the end of his nose. He looked up when Nick entered, and Nick felt a queasiness enter his stomach. He didn't know the old man well, despite being his heir, and Nick always found Mr. Mackenzie to be more than a little intimidating. The man's lands were prosperous and coveted, and his fortune was vast enough that it had sent swarms of ladies Nick's way when they'd learned he was to inherit the whole of it.

He still hadn't figured out how that information had gotten out in the first place.

Clearing his throat, Nick approached cautiously. "Good evening, sir."

Mr. Mackenzie scrutinized Nick, as if searching for something to criticize. He had never been a cruel man, but Nick had always felt lacking in his presence, though he wasn't sure why. Hadn't he given Mackenzie enough reason to be proud of him? Perhaps it was simply the mud that stained his clothes, and suddenly Nick wished he had followed Harstone's advice and changed before coming to the salon so he could be a little more presentable.

He shifted his weight between his feet, not sure how best to approach the subject. "Are you comfortable? Can I get you any—"

"Oh, stop pretending you care about my health, boy."

Nick drew back in surprise. "I care."

Mackenzie finally smiled, his eyes crinkling at the corners and making him look far more devious than any old man had a right to be. "The bare minimum, perhaps," he said. "But the sooner I die, the sooner you can contest my will and get your hands on my fortune."

Nick was about to say he had never planned on contesting the will, but his words stuck in his throat as his mind caught up to what the man had just said. Cocking his head to the side, he pondered that for a moment. "Why would I need to contest anything? I am to inherit, am I not?"

Mackenzie laughed, the sound deep in his chest, if a little rough. "That depends," he replied, which made Nick's blood run cold. What was that supposed to mean? "You do remember I have two granddaughters, don't you?"

Nick had to admit he had quite forgotten the second one. The elder had married Harstone and was now the viscountess, but the younger had never truly been anyone of consequence to Nick. As a woman, she would take only her dowry and a small yearly allowance when Mr. Mackenzie passed.

Or so Nick thought.

He sank into a chair, frowning as he processed this information. "You're telling me Miss Mackenzie is stealing my fortune?" he said warily. But that shouldn't be possible.

Mr. Mackenzie chuckled. "Technically, it is still my fortune, Forester. And no, she is not, no matter how determined she is to remain independent and care for the estate herself. You'll have your money if you keep your end of the bargain."

"So if I do not find myself a wife, you'll give everything to your granddaughter and leave me with nothing? I am already stretched thin as it is." He had been counting on this inheritance; he had gotten nothing from his own father, and Nick refused to imagine a future in which he was left entirely destitute.

True, if he had married before now, he would have no concerns, but that only complicated the matter.

"You could find an occupation," Mackenzie said.

"You owe me—"

"I owe you nothing, boy."

Nick flinched, surprised by the harsh tone of the old man's words. Mackenzie was right, though, and Nick had no reason to expect anything from him. If his own livelihood was the only one in jeopardy, he would be less reluctant to take up an occupation, but he had the security of Mrs. Murray to worry about. Where would she go without the quarterly funds he sent her?

Sighing deeply, Mr. Mackenzie pushed himself up to his feet and leaned heavily on his walking stick as he peered into Nick's eyes. He seemed to be searching for something, though Nick had no idea what that might be.

"I have known you since the day you were born, Nicholas Forester," Mackenzie said. "And I loved your father as if he were my own son. But if you are anything like your father, then I will see to it that you have someone with a good head on her shoulders who can keep you moving in the right direction when it comes to your finances. I will not have the Mackenzie fortune wasted on poor investments made on a whim."

Nick wanted to argue against such a blatant insult to his father, but the alarmingly small number that represented the worth of his assets was nothing less than full proof. Nick's father had been hasty when he came across an opportunity, and it had cost the Forester name everything. Without Mr. Mackenzie on his side, Nick possessed nothing but a profitless estate.

He thanked Providence that no one in London believed that part of his life, or he would have even more difficulty in securing a wife. He hated that his mistaken wealth proved both helpful and detrimental in his search. Without a fortune, no lady wanted him. Those who sought his fortune rarely cared about the man behind it.

How could he win?

"Sir." Nick let out his breath all at once as everything sank in, leaving him dizzy. He had been counting on this inheritance, and he had no plan beyond it. Even if he sold his land, losing his status as part of the landed gentry would far diminish any minuscule profits that may come from the sale. His father may have made a bad deal, but he'd been a gentleman through and through. Nick could only hope he could be the same and honor his name.

What would he do if he was cut off entirely? He stuffed his hands into his hair as anxiety sent his heart racing. What occupation could he possibly take up without besmirching the Forester name? There were only so many vocations that could be considered appropriate for a gentleman of his status, and among those only one or two Nick could actually do. None of his skills would give him what he needed.

He had gotten a good education at Cambridge alongside Calloway, but his studies had been general, and no education or intelligence could save his land at this point. Only money. The steward who had managed the lands until Nick came of age had told him there wasn't enough money to make repairs to the tenant cottages after several bouts of poor weather soon after his parents passed when he was twelve years old, and all his tenants had moved on over the years. With no income other than the small stipend Mr. Mackenzie had given him each year, Nick had had nothing to use to try to return the land to something profitable.

Had he told Mr. Mackenzie any of this? Of course not. He had felt guilty enough when he had to let all his staff go, especially Mrs. Murray. She had looked after him before he came of age, like a replacement mother after his had died. It was the very reason he paid for her living expenses, which hardly felt adequate to repay what she had done for him. This inheritance had felt precarious enough as it was, and he hadn't wanted the old man to think him incapable of managing the Mackenzie estate just because he hadn't had a chance to save his own.

It seemed pride would be his downfall.

"Why is it so hard for you to find yourself a woman to marry?" Mr. Mackenzie asked, still grinning with amusement as he returned to his seat. "From what I hear, there are women aplenty throwing themselves at you."

Slowly dropping his arms, Nick stared at Mackenzie and was horrified as he considered what gossip could have traveled this far north from London. Just how many people talked about the uncatchable Nicholas Forester? Perhaps Mackenzie had simply observed it all for himself when he was in London last summer. "Not every woman does a good wife make," Nick said warily. Surely the man understood that, at least.

As Mackenzie sipped tea from a cup that sat beside him, a chorus of childish shrieks filled the air above them. Nick looked up in alarm, but Mackenzie merely smiled. "My granddaughter certainly found herself a wonderful husband, did she not? Lord Harstone is a most doting father."

Harstone was the cause of all the screams of laughter? That didn't surprise Nick, and he found himself smiling despite the situation. "I have never known a man better than Alvaro Rowland," he said softly. Then he perked up. Mackenzie couldn't possibly fight this argument: "I only want what he has," he said. "A loving wife. A happy marriage. A good family. But I cannot have that if I am as poor as a church mouse."

Mackenzie made a face that was made up of both amusement and offense. "Who says money is the source of happiness?" he said, the words a bit rough. "You cannot possibly believe the only happy people in marriage are those with fortunes behind them. If anything, one might argue the opposite is true."

"Then, what of my parents?" Nick asked. His last argument had apparently failed after all, and now he was simply exhausted. He leaned his elbows on his knees as a headache built up behind his eyes. He had come into this room hoping to expedite his inheritance, and instead he had only succeeded in practically losing it. "Mother and Father were impossibly happy together, and they had a fortune to call their own." A fortune Nick would have had if Father hadn't been given poor advice and lost everything to that bad investment. That had begun a series of unfortunate events that had left Nick parentless and penniless.

Mackenzie huffed. "You cannot claim an exception as the rule, my boy. Your parents were lucky."

"And yet you will not allow me to find my own luck?"

"Do you think you could possibly be so lucky by the first of December?"

Nick's head snapped up. "Six weeks?" he gasped. "You're giving me only six weeks?" Surely he was not serious.

The old man chuckled again, unconcerned by the sheer panic in Nick's voice. "I have given you three years, Nicholas. A man of your quality should have found a wife long before now."

"But—"

"I told you this back in June, my boy. My decision has been made." Mackenzie spoke with finality, and he rose to his feet once more with some measure of difficulty. "The papers have already been drawn. If you have not made a respectable man of yourself and found a bride before December arrives, everything I possess will go to my younger granddaughter."