“Good day, Nick, darling. Randall.” She approached the table with a nonchalant air. “Have you a moment to conduct a bit of business with your mother?”
Nick’s eyes darted once more to the letters she held. He knew by the telltale cross embedded in the wax seal that the missives were more offerings from Evelyn, and suddenly Nick longed for a skin of wine, a tankard of ale—
A sharp blow to the head.
“Of course I have time for you, Mother,” he said as an idea came to him. “In fact, I have need of those.”
Randall cleared his throat. “I shall leave you to your privacy, my lord.”
“Hold, Randall,” Nick said, pulling the letters from a wide-eyed Genevieve. “I require your assistance as well.”
Nicholas walked to the small chest tucked away in a corner behind the table and knelt, unlocking the small clasp holding the lid closed. Inside the miniature trunk lay stacks of parchment, identical to the two squares he now held. Nick tossed the folded pages on top of the others and closed the lid, locking it once more. Then he rose, bringing the chest with him and holding it toward Randall.
“My lord?” Randall’s brow furrowed as he took the small container.
Nick returned to his chair with a satisfied grunt. “We leave for Obny within the hour. Summon Lady Simone at my request, then ready a score of men for the ride.” He waved a hand at the chest. “And burn those.”
“Nicholas,” Genevieve chastised. “Have you not even read one?”
Nick glanced at Randall, who hovered in the doorway. “That is all.”
Randall hesitated. “Shall I destroy the chest as well, my lord?”
Nick paused, his eyes roaming the hand-tooled leather. It had been a gift from Evelyn, more than two years past, when he’d inherited the barony upon his father’s passing. He grasped at his ring of keys, jerking the small heart-shaped one that unlocked the chest free, and tossed it to Randall.
“Burn it all.”
“Yea, Sire.” When the guard had quit the room, Nick turned to his mother, and her faded blue eyes revealed her hurt.
“Did she mean so little to you that you would destroy all memory of her?”
“Nay, Mother,” he sighed, his anger draining away. When he next spoke, his voice was low, controlled. “There is naught else for Evelyn and I to say to each other. ’Tis over.”
Genevieve stepped forward and opened her mouth as if to argue the point, but Nick silenced her by holding up a palm.
“Do you wish for my match with Simone to be agreeable?”
His mother tilted her head. “Of course I do, darling.”
“Then I must do what I must do.” Nick scrubbed a hand across his face. “I cannot help but suspect that I failed Evelyn in some way that she would refuse me as she did. If I am to be an effective liege to Obny, I must pretend that Evelyn is dead. Bring me no more of her missives, should any arrive.”
Genevieve swallowed and then nodded. “I understand. I love Evelyn as if she were my own, but I vow to you that I will go to whatever lengths necessary to encourage your and Lady Simone’s happiness.” She held out her hand with a melancholy smile and Nick took it.
Speaking—nay, eventhinking—of Evelyn had soured his humor, and ’twas no help that the task of visiting Obny lay still ahead. He sought to shake off his black mood before telling Simone of his overnight journey.
“Now, tell me,” Nick said, releasing Genevieve’s hand after a squeeze, “have you seen my rogue brother this day? I’d command he accompany me to Obny, since he is in my home and I outrank him by a league. I know how he adores taking orders from me.”
Genevieve laughed, the first sincere smile from her since she’d entered the chamber. “I have. And you may command him all you like, but you know ’twill mean naught to Tristan. He’ll do as he pleases, whether here or at Greanly.” Her voice carried more than a touch of pride, and Nicholas felt stung. When Nick did as he pleased, everyone frowned upon him.
But then Genevieve changed the subject. “Lady Simone, she isdifferent,is she not?”
“How do you mean, Mother?” Nick’s eyebrows lowered. “Simone has had a series of misfortunes befall her within the past year; she is in a foreign land, in a foreign hold filled to the very rafters with strangers, no family to speak of.” Nick waved a hand.
Genevieve nodded, but frowned. “There have been rumors—”
“Oh, Mother,” Nick groaned.
“Wait, wait,” Genevieve hastened. “Then, her arrival in the great hall yesterday…” Her eyes narrowed and she peered at Nick as she had when he’d been a troublesome lad. “What are you not telling me?”
