Florentia gave a quick curtsy and Rafe muttered, “How do?” in his pathetic attempt at a Yorkshire accent.
“Will you be performing the ceremony tomorrow?” Florentia asked.
“No,” Nicholas and Henry said at the same time.
Florentia stepped back. “Very well then. I was only asking.”
“The vicar is not feeling well,” Henry said, putting an arm about Rafe’s shoulders, which was rather awkward as Rafe was taller than he. “You and Nicholas have a chat while I show him to his room.”
“Good idea. Might we speak in the parlor?” Lady Florentia asked Nicholas.
Nicholas wanted nothing more than to go to bed. Climbing the stairs was an arduous task on the best days, and it would be even more so tonight. But Florentia would not have waited up if it was not important, and he had a sinking feeling it was something to do with Miss Blackstock. “Of course,” he said.
“Good night, Henry. Good night, vicar,” Florentia said.
“Good night,” Rafe said, forgetting his accent. Florentia’s brows wrinkled as she led Nicholas to the parlor. She had the fire banked, but the room was warm, and she poured Nicholas a glass of port. He sat on a couch, stretching his left leg out. He didn’t need to pretend he wasn’t in pain with Florentia. She sat in a chair across from him.
“That vicar looks oddly familiar,” she said. “Did he ever come home with you from school?”
“Probably,” Nicholas said. “But he is quite ill, so I suggest we all keep our distance. It might be catching.” He sipped the port. “What happened here while I was away?”
“Mama invited your betrothed and Mrs. Blackstock to dinner.”
Nicholas took another sip of port. A longer one. “Why?”
“Ostensibly as a gesture of good will to your future bride and her family.”
“What did she do instead?” he asked, setting the port on the table at his elbow.
“She insulted them both and accused Miss Blackstock of seducing you.”
Nicholas put a hand to the bridge of her nose where a headache was blooming. “Should I go first thing in the morning and apologize?”
Florentia shook her head, sipping her wine. “It’s bad luck to see the bride before the wedding.”
“If I don’t apologize, there may be no wedding.”
Florentia leaned forward. “I don’t think she’ll jilt you.”
Nicholas knew Miss Blackstock was desperate, but there might be a limit to what even a woman in her position was willing to tolerate. “Why not?”
“She stood up for you. She told Mama you were a war hero.”
Nicholas might have been pleased if he hadn’t known the only reason the mention of war would come up was with regard to his injury. It did not take him more than a few seconds to work out how the conversation had gone. “Mama did not think I was capable of seducing her.”
“More or less,” Florentia agreed. “But Miss Blackstock said the last time she checked, a man did not need his legs to kiss a woman.”
Nicholas smiled despite the pit of dread forming in his belly.
“And did Mama throw her soup bowl at her?”
“Oh, this was before dinner.”
Nicholas’s eyes widened.
“We never made it to dinner as Mrs. Blackstock said she would not allow her daughter to be treated like that and that she was ill and could not stay.” Florentia sipped more wine. “I did not think the lady had so much mettle in her. She looked pale and frail, but she is like a sapling.”
“She bends but doesn’t break,” Nicholas said.
“Exactly. I went after them, of course. Well, I told Mother she had behaved horribly and then I went after them. I apologized and Miss Blackstock said she would be here at eight in the morning.”
“I’m sure she only said it to avoid more confrontation.”
Florentia shook her head. “She meant it. I think she fancies you.”
Women, Nicholas thought, were always imagining some romance where there was none. He kept that sentiment to himself, though. “She doesn’t even know me. That kiss in the stable the other night really was all there was.”
Florentia shrugged her shoulder. “People marry every day who know each other far less well. My friend Lady Louisa was betrothed to her husband without ever meeting him. In a letter she received at school, her father told her who she was to marry, and she only met her betrothed a few days before the wedding.”
“And how has that gone for Lady Louisa?”
Florentia made a face. “She writes that he is tolerable. They have five children now, so I suppose they get on or at least stomach each other. My point is, at least you know the woman you are marrying, and I assume you like her, considering the way we found you.”
Nicholas wouldn’t allow any further speculation about a love match. “As a gentleman, I’m honor bound to protect her reputation.” He struggled to his feet. “This is more of a business arrangement than a marriage.”
“We’ll see,” Florentia said. “Now, I had better get to bed else I will look a fright in the morning. Good night, Nicholas.” She kissed his cheek.
“Good night.”
She left the door open when she went and Nicholas peered out, observing the rest of the household had gone to bed. Good. No servants to see him crawl his way up the stairs. He lifted his glass to finish his port before making the trek but started when Rafe stepped into the room.
“Was that Florentia?” Rafe asked, looking over his shoulder. “I haven’t seen her in ages.”
“What are you doing? You are supposed to be hiding in your chambers. If Florentia sees you, she’ll know you right away. She already commented that the vicar looked familiar.”
Rafe’s brows rose. “Really? I should think so. I was the first lad to kiss her.”
Nicholas started again. “You kissed my sister?”
Rafe waved a hand. “Years ago. She was not even fifteen, and it was a very innocent kiss.”
“If she was fifteen, how old were you?”
“I don’t know. Twelve?” He shrugged. “All in the past now. I haven’t even looked at another woman since I met Collette. Well, I suppose I have looked but not looked—”
“Rafe, if you want to get home to your wife and child, you should stay in hiding.”
“I would, but I’m famished. I can’t sleep on an empty stomach. I thought I would put you to bed then have a look about the kitchen.”
“Put me to bed?”
Rafe’s eyes, usually so animated and mischievous, went wide. “Did I say that? I wasn’t supposed to say that.”
“Why would I need help getting to bed?”
“No reason.”
Nicholas stared at him.
“Fine. Rowden mentioned you have a bit of trouble with the stairs. I thought I could lend a hand—or shoulder.”
“I don’t need help.”
“Fine,” Rafe said. “Point me in the direction of the kitchens then, if you don’t mind.”
Nicholas told him the fastest way to the kitchens then waited for him to leave before approaching the stairs. The problem with the stairs at Battle’s Peak was that they were wide and the marble slippery. The curving banister often meant he had to reach to obtain a good grip and his walking stick had slipped more than once on the stone. The only way he really felt safe ascending them was to sit on his backside and move up them that way.