Nash resettled the reins and scrubbed his face with one hand. Queen Charlotte had never been subtle before. Why would she be so secretive now? The monarch had said he and the lovely ladies would have plenty of time to reacquaint themselves, but with a special license being obtained,plenty of timetook on quite the abbreviated meaning. Perhaps Lady Rydleshire would be good enough to enlighten him, since it was obvious that his future wife would rather spit in his eye than speak to him.
A hearty chuckle rumbled free of him. He had always loved a challenge.
The carriage’s slower pace pulled him from his thoughts. They were nowhere near Mayfair, where the queen’s secretary had earlier informed him that the ladies resided. Now that he knew who they were, he recalled Lady Rydleshire once mentioning a townhouse on Curzon Street when he had trained at her academy in Calais. Since the woman and her husband were renowned spies, he had considered it an honor and a privilege to receive such exemplary training at the behest of Queen Charlotte as a reward for his father recovering three of her little dogs when they escaped her coach. The queen hadbeen quite impressed when his sire refused a reward of gold. His father had informed the queen it was his honor to be of service to his monarch. Determined to express her gratitude, she had sponsored Nash’s training at Lady Rydleshire’s elite school, which was anything but affordable to a family of his father’s means.
He closed the distance between his mount and the carriage, rounding it to discover a broken-down wagon in the middle of the road. “Driver—stay alert.”
The man nodded and drew out a firearm.
The queen had said to keep the ladies safe. That meant danger could come from anywhere. Nash edged his mount closer to the side of the coach and spoke to them through the window. “A wagon blocks the road. We shall have to take another route. Secure the door on the other side and draw those shades. I shall remain on this side.”
Lady Rydleshire nodded and hurried to do as he requested. Sophie glared at him, then pulled a pistol out from the compartment beneath the seat opposite her and her mother.
“Let them come,” she said, in a fearless tone that should have angered him but instead stirred his admiration and much more.
Well, admiration or not, they would discuss her behavior in the future. He would keep the lady safe whether she wished him to or not. That part of their relationship was not negotiable.
The remainder of the trip proved uneventful, but Nash neither relaxed nor secured his weapon until the ladies ascended the front steps of the residence and disappeared inside. He relinquished his mount to the groom and watched as the carriage and his horse disappeared around the corner to the mews behind the townhouse.
With a last quick glance up and down the street of the upper-class area, he bounded up the steps and entered as if he ownedthe place. A rueful smile came to him. According to Her Majesty, he soon would.
A tall, stern-faced man of some years increased his long-legged stride to meet Nash in the entryway. With a curt tip of his gray head, he held out his hand. “I am Thornton, sir. The butler here at Rydleshire House. May I take your things?”
“Thank you, Thornton.” Nash handed over his hat, gloves, and greatcoat. “I am Sir Nash Bromley, by the way.”
“Yes, sir. We are aware that you are soon to be the new master of the house. Welcome to Rydleshire. Her ladyship awaits you in the parlor, if you would be good enough to follow me.”
“Well, the lady wasted no time,” Nash said under his breath as he followed the butler. He was quite certain it was Lady Rydleshire waiting for him. His lovely swan had probably retired to her rooms to plot his demise. As he entered the decidedly feminine sitting room done in delicate shades of rose and pale blue, Lady Rydleshire turned away from the window and faced him.
She offered him a somewhat unhappy smile. “Welcome to your townhouse, my lord. I took the liberty of ordering tea, along with a decanter of brandy that originated from a lovely area near your holdings in France. I thought it appropriate, considering today’s events.”
A sense of guilt flooded him even though he wasn’t quite certain why. “Lady Rydleshire—please know I had absolutely no knowledge of the queen’s intentions when she summoned me to her cottage.” He offered what he hoped was a compassionate demeanor. “And I am not lord of the manor yet. I am simplyNash. Your most grateful student who has always held you in the highest esteem.”
Her gracious nod did little to ease the uncomfortably stifling sensation of the unfairness of it all. She seated herself and tippeda hand toward a nearby chair. “Please. Sit. I am sure you have more than a few questions.”
He chose a different chair. One that did not make him vulnerable by placing his back to the door. He noticed the countess’s amused look. “Forgive me, my lady. Old habits and your lessons, actually. Never sit with your back to the door, remember?”
“I do, indeed.” Her smile appeared to come easier to her. “And I am honored you continue to take the lessons to heart.”
He eyed the doorway. “Will Lady Sophie be joining us?”
The dowager’s amusement disappeared with a long-suffering sigh. “Lady Sophie felt the need to take refuge in her workroom.” She tightened her mouth as if tasting something tart. “It is probably for the best—at least for now.”
“Probably so.” Nash pulled in a deep breath and decided to barrel forward with complete candor. “I fear Lady Sophie still harbors ill feelings about my thoughtless behavior when we were both much younger and far less mature.”
“A young girl longing to be noticed and treated like a woman is easily wounded. Those wounds sometimes never heal.” Lady Rydleshire startled and jerked her focus to the doorway. “Ah…tea. At last.”
Nash pondered the dowager’s nervousness. He hadn’t recalled her as being a lady inclined toward jumpiness, but it had been an uncomfortably surprising day.
The butler hurried in, his footsteps silenced by the lush Turkish rug of the sitting area. “Shall I pour, my lady?”
“Please do, Thornton.”
The man turned to Nash. “Tea or brandy, sir?”
“Tea for now. No sugar, lemon, or milk, thank you.” He would forgo alcohol until later. One’s wits must be kept sharp. He accepted the cup and waited for the butler to leave before resuming the conversation. “While I make no excuses for mythoughtless behavior toward Lady Sophie when we were both so young, it is my hope she and I can somehow achieve harmony now that we are both older and wiser.”
“That is my hope as well.”
