Wistfulness showed in the depths of her wide blue eyes. “May…may I call you ‘Mother’? I’ve never had a mother of my own, and I’ve always wanted one.”
Her face transformed by joy, Mrs. Turner said, “Nothing would make me happier, my dear.” She stepped forward and hugged her new daughter.
Nicole was edging her way toward Philip when the newcomers belatedly realized that there were strangers present. After introductions and handshakes all around, Nicole and Philip drove off down the lane. Nicole’s last glance over her shoulder showed the Turners going into the cottage, Robert in the middle with one arm around his mother and the other around his wife.
Nicole felt a prickle of bittersweet tears. She did so love a happy ending. There wouldn’t be one for her, but she didn’t doubt that the three Turners would be happy.
* * *
Philip was silent during the seven-mile drive to Winstead Hall, but not because the familiar road required all of his attention. Instead he found himself thinking of the young woman sitting quietly by his side.
In the day and a half he’d known her, he had seen her many different ways: as a pretty little tart, as a gallant waif, as an uncomplaining traveler, as a young woman with warmth and kindness for everyone. She was lovely, desirable, intelligent, and agreeable. Everything, in fact, that a man would want in a wife. No dowry, of course, but he could afford to marry for love.
But he didn’t want a wife! Moreover, he couldn’t possibly be in love with a girl he’d just met. Could he?
The more Philip thought, the more confused he became. He’d never been in love, apart from one or two infatuations when he was younger. Yet even at his most infatuated he’d known that what he felt was passing madness, not true love.
His feelings for Nicole were different from anything he’d experienced before. He liked the idea of having her around all the time, day and night. Definitely at night, but equally definitely during the day. He liked talking with her, and listening to her, and he couldn’t imagine ever growing tired of having her around. Was that love?
He had not reached any conclusions when they arrived at Winstead. As they drove up the sweeping entrance road, Nicole drew her breath in sharply.
Her reaction made Philip see his home as if for the first time. Winstead Hall was only a few decades old, built for comfort rather than defense. It was also quite beautiful, a triumph of the Palladian style.
As Philip drew the curricle to a halt in front of the portico, he tried to visualize Nicole coming down the stairs as mistress of Winstead. It was surprisingly easy to conjure up the image.
A groom came to take the reins of the curricle, and Philip helped Nicole down. She was very silent as she accepted the cat basket and accompanied him up the stairs and into the hall. She had the same nervous expression that Mrs. Turner and Georgette had worn when they met, and for the same reason.
Philip gave his guest a reassuring smile, knowing that his mother would quickly put her at her ease. Even as the thought crossed his mind, Lady Selbourne came floating down the stairs. She was a remarkably youthful-looking woman, with dark hair and a face marked by a lifetime of laughter.
She did raise her brows at the sight of the appalling scarlet cloak, but made no comment. She’d always been hard to perturb, even the time Philip had led his pony into the vestibule with the intention of having it to tea.
Giving her unexpected visitor a friendly smile, Lady Selbourne said, “Philip, I’m so glad to see you. I was beginning to fear that you might not be back in time for Christmas. Did the weather cause you trouble?”
“A bit. We had a minor accident near Blisworth and had to spend the night, but it was nothing serious.” After kissing his mother’s smooth cheek, Philip ushered the two women into the drawing room. “Mother, this is Miss Nicole Chambord.”
Her dark eyes bright with curiosity, her ladyship said, “I’m pleased to meet you, Miss Chambord. Let me ring for some tea. You must both be chilled from the drive.”
Philip’s gaze went to Nicole. Her hands were clenched around the handle of the cat basket, and she looked as if she were riding in the tumbril to the guillotine. Yet her head was high and she had a grave dignity that touched him in ways he couldn’t explain.
Wanting to relieve her anxiety, he said, “Miss Chambord is a distant relation of Masterson’s and in need of a situation. I thought we had a position here that would suit her.”
Lady Selbourne nodded with understanding. “I see. You were thinking she could be a companion for me?”
“Perhaps.” Philip looked into Nicole’s enchanting, expressive brown eyes, and pure madness struck. “Or if she’s interested, there’s another position available. As my wife.”
A bomb thrown into the drawing room couldn’t have struck with greater impact. Both women stared at him with identical expressions of shock. Nicole almost dropped Merkle’s basket.
Philip hastily took it and released the cat. As he did, the silence was broken by his mother going into gales of laughter as she looked first at her son, then at the young woman she had just met.
“Oh, Philip, my only and adored son!” her ladyship gasped when she could speak again. “Have you learned nothing of Frenchsavoir fairefrom me? This is not the way to offer a young lady a proposal of marriage!”
Face scarlet, Nicole blurted out, “The situation is much worse than that, Lady Selbourne, for I am not a young lady. My only relationship to Lord Masterson was that he hired me to spend the night with your son as a…a Christmas present.” She blinked hard. “If Sir Philip really meant what he said, it is only because he wants to save me from ruination.”
Lady Selbourne’s laughter ceased and she plumped down on a velvet-covered chair rather quickly. After a long, alarming silence broken only by the ticking of the mantel clock, she said, “It sounds as if you are already ruined.”
Aiming a gimlet gaze at her son, she said in a dangerously reasonable tone, “I have trouble believing that you would bring a doxy to Winstead. Am I wrong, Philip?”
Philip winced, realizing that he couldn’t have handled the matter more badly if he had tried. “I did meet Nicole in an irregular manner,” he admitted, “but she’s not a doxy. As an orphaned émigré, she was forced to earn her living as a seamstress. Several days ago she was unjustly discharged, so she accepted Masterson’s offer because she was penniless and totally without prospects.
