And then the war had come.
Henry was still looking at him, and Nicholas raised a brow in question. Although his earlier conversation had given him a good idea at what exactly his family might object to about Miss Blackstock, he wanted to hear their impressions for himself.
“I haven’t any experience with her personally,” Henry said. “But I have heard she is frequently at assembly balls without a chaperone.”
Nicholas waited for him to say more, but it seemed no more was forthcoming. “She seems of an age,” Nicholas said after a moment of silence. “She must be five and twenty.”
“But she is unmarried and thus should have a chaperone,” his mother said.
Nicholas wanted to roll his eyes at the absurd dictate, but he said nothing.
“And I have seen her in the tavern in the village,” Henry said. Nicholas was surprised at this statement. Henry was not the sort of man to frequent a village tavern. He was not a very social man, and he was very particular in his tastes. He bought his coats from Weston, his boots from Hoby, and his watch fob from Rundell and Bridge. When it had come time for him to marry, he’d had one condition: she must be the daughter of a duke. Henry was not the sort to rub elbows with farmers and laborers.
“You were in the village tavern?” Nicholas asked.
“Briefly,” his brother said, his lip curling to show his distaste. “And while I was there I observed Miss Blackstock and some of her friends laughing and chatting with some of the young men from the village.”
“Is that all?” Nicholas said. He knew from the lady’s own lips that was not all she had done, but if she was to become his wife, he would start protecting her name and reputation immediately.
“That is not all,” the dowager said. “As I told you, she has quite the wild reputation, and the proof of that is in her behavior tonight. Not only was she in our stable in the middle of the night, found in flagrante delicto—”
“A kiss is hardly in flagrante delicto.”
“—she insisted on walking home again alone. The woman is quite wild. I do worry for you, Nicholas. If only the Kentworths had not been present to see you with her, I would have found a way out of this!”
“I thank you for your concern, Mama,” Nicholas said, “but you needn’t worry for me. I’m sure I can manage one woman who has spent her entire life in Hungerford. And now that I will be married in a few days, you can go back to husband-hunting for Florentia.”
His mother blanched, which was exactly the response he’d wanted. Anything to take the attention away from him. “Florentia,” his mother all but wailed. “What am I to do about her? Two and thirty and not married. I despair of ever marrying her, and now that you will be wed, where will she go?”
Nicholas tried to add that she could stay right where she was. Battle’s Peak could comfortably house a troop and would not be crowded with the three of them, but his mother rose and continued bemoaning her spinster daughter until finally Henry offered to escort her to her chamber. He left with her on his arm, shooting Nicholas a dark look.
Finally, left alone, Nicholas heard the tall clock chime two. He rubbed a hand over his face, knowing he should go to sleep. It would be a long day tomorrow. They’d have to travel all the way to London and back, and that meant leaving at sunrise and returning late into the night. It also meant having to sit all day, which would be torture for his leg. He hadn’t liked sitting in a carriage for hours on end before the injury, but now he had no choice. He couldn’t ride.
The pain tomorrow would save him pain later, he told himself. He wouldn’t have to host a house party of debutantes. He wouldn’t have to endure the pity in their eyes. He wouldn’t have to argue with his mother, who seemed incapable of hearing him when he said he did not want to marry.
Now she would have her way, but so would he. Yes, he would marry, but it was on his terms. He would spare Miss Blackstock the disgust of seeing his injury, and he would spare himself from having to watch her grin and bear his attentions. The irony was on him, of course, because Miss Blackstock was the first woman in a long time that had actually drawn his interest. Yes, that was in part because she hadn’t looked at him with pity. But there was no denying he was also attracted to her. If he hadn’t been, he wouldn’t have kissed her.
Now he just had to find a way to forget that kiss because he’d all but ensured it wouldn’t happen again.
Five
Amelia hadn’t thought she would sleep at all. When she’d finally climbed into bed—well after three in the morning—her mind had been spinning with thoughts of how she would tell her mother she would marry in two days. She didn’t want to think past telling her mother to the actual wedding ceremony and marriage. But she did need to sort out how she would broach the topic. And that was her last thought before a soft voice roused her awake.
“Miss Blackstock, are you ill?”
Amelia opened her eyes, surprised to find her room bathed in pale sunlight that filtered through the drawn curtains. She sat up. “I must have overslept.”
Rose nodded. “You tired yourself out with dancing last night. Would you like me to bring you a tea tray?”
Amelia shook her head. “No. I know you have plenty to do. I’ll get my own.” She paused in the act of throwing the covers back. “How is my mother today?”
Rose smiled. “She seems a little better this morning. She is having tea and toast in the dining room.
A rare good day, and just when Amelia needed it. “I’ll join her.”
“Very good, miss.”
Amelia dressed quickly, pulling her hair into a long tail at the back of her neck and rushing down the stairs. Her mother was seated in the dining room, and she looked up when Amelia entered. Amelia tried not to show her concern, but sometimes when she saw her mother in the sunlight, it was difficult not to notice the changes in her. Once she had been a beautiful woman with hair the color of ripe wheat, eyes a lively green, and a smile almost too big for her face. Now that hair had faded and was streaked with gray. Her eyes were surrounded by lines of worry, and she hadn’t smiled in years. Amelia might have thought she’d imagined the woman she’d once known as her mother if there hadn’t been a portrait of her as a young woman in the drawing room.
“Good morning,” her mother said. “You slept so late I asked Rose to make sure you were well.”
“Too much dancing last night,” Amelia said. “But how are you? You look better today.”
“My megrim is gone.” She sipped from her tea.
“You should rest today to make sure it does not come back.” Until I tell you about my impending nuptials, Amelia thought.
“I would,” her mother said, “but I worry I put too much burden on you and Rose. I cannot place the management of the estate completely on your shoulders.”
“You managed it for years, Mama, and you showed me how to do everything. I don’t mind at all.”
“But I do. You are a young woman. You should go to dances and dinner parties. Enough of your life has been wasted in this place.” She gestured to the room, but Amelia knew she meant the cottage as a whole.
“I would never consider a single day spent with Papa or Grandmama a waste. I wouldn’t trade a single moment with them for even the grandest ball.”