“Delighted, Your Grace. I have two that might suit. Perhaps the…”
Nellie suffered a stab of remorse as he elaborated at length about his poetry. This was not like her. She detested conniving and underhanded behavior. But it was not enough to change her mind. She offered him another warm smile. “That will be perfect. The salon is to be held on Wednesday in the music room at Shewsbury Court.”
While Walsh enthused in his lilting Irish tenor voice, which lent an air to his poems, Nellie searched for Charles. She found him with Jason. As they talked, Charles watched her with a stony expression. Her pulse thudded, and she turned another brilliant smile on the poet.
“I have sorely missed our exhilarating discussions, Your Grace.” Walsh’s hand tightened around hers. She should rebuke him but secretly hoped Charles would be jealous. After all, what was good for the gander…
“I hope to fill the room with devotees of the literary arts, Mr. Walsh,” she said, wishing the dance would end. “And entice Wordsworth to come. And hopefully, Byron.”
He smiled thinly. “How agreeable.”
*
Jason frowned. “Issomething wrong, Charles? You look like you’ve lost a shilling and found a sixpence.”
Charles drew his gaze away from Nellie. “I grow tired of these celebratory affairs.”
“Don’t we all? I shall be glad to leave London tomorrow.”
“You are to return to Dorset?”
“We go first to Shewsbury Park.” Jason smiled. “Beverly is with child.”
“I say!” Charles slapped his brother on the back. “That is excellent news. I trust Beverly is in good health. She didn’t wish to come tonight?”
“No, she was a little tired from preparing for our departure.”
“Mother will be pleased to see you both.”
“We’ll spend a month or so with her before returning home. Shall we see you there?”
“Matters in the House and royal demands keep me in the city,” Charles said. “I’ve been too long away from the estate. I dislike depending on staff. Without overseeing the work they do, things can go amiss. I’m keen to see my additions to the flock, and the bailiff has a thorny matter to deal with.”
Jason smiled wryly. “You worry too much, Chas.”
The Prince of Wales beckoned to Charles from where he sat with his lackeys and fawning acolytes among the visiting dignitaries.
“I must go. Have a safe journey, Jas. I hope we will see you at Shewsbury Park very soon.”
“And I, my poor fellow,” Jason said. “I will tell Nellie the news before I leave.” He cocked an eyebrow. “You two seem to be avoiding each other.”
“Not at all. Such is the way of these affairs,” Charles said casually. Jason was too astute; it was just as well that he was leaving London.
The waltz ended, and as Charles crossed the floor to the prince, Nellie promenaded from the dance floor on Walsh’s arm. Her throaty laugh at some aside from the Irishman reached Charles’s ears as if he was especially attuned to her voice. He clamped his jaw, doubting the poet deserved such a response.
The Irish were born with a heavy sense of tragedy, which in Walsh’s case, infused his poetry with gloom. Charles had taken the time only recently to glance through Walsh’s latest published work. His poems lacked the passion of Byron or the intellect of Wordsworth, or the heartfelt tug of emotion Keats inspired. He was damned if he knew what Nellie saw in the fellow.
Nellie was often in the Irishman’s company. Might she care for him? Could they have been in love once, and her father sent him packing? Charles scowled. He disliked the direction of his thoughts. He gazed their way again. Nellie did look wonderful tonight. He approved of that crimson gown. It was cleverly designed, one could not criticize it for being indecorous, yet he found it quite sensual the way the material moved and clung to Nellie’s curves beneath the sheer silvery overdress. He glanced around the ballroom. Several ladies wore a similar design tonight, and red was popular among the married ladies. Pride in her warmed him, but despair quickly followed. How he missed her smiles, her affection, her sense of humor, and especially their lovemaking.
How long would they continue to behave like strangers? Would she listen to reason? After all, Angelique had finally accepted their affair was at an end, and Drusilla, although present tonight, had not even smiled at him, he noted with relief.
Chapter Twenty
When Jason relatedtheir news to Nellie, she felt so happy for them. She would write to Beverly at Shewsbury Park. It also made her a little sad, for the chance for her and Charles to have a baby seemed to diminish every day unless things could change between them. If she couldn’t find a way to mend the hurt between them, would she send him into another woman’s arms? But how could she when he seemed so distant and unfriendly?
On the carriage ride home, Charles sat opposite her. His gaze rested on her, his brows drawn together in a frown. “Your flirting with that undistinguished poet must be viewed by thetonwith some considerable mirth.”
His harsh criticism made her gasp, and she opened her mouth to rebuke him. But then she recognized a note of jealousy in his bitter tone and smiled to herself. A spark of hope for their future together warmed her. Where there was jealousy, there was caring and need. She glanced down at her hands so that he might not see the smile in her eyes. “I don’t intend to quarrel with you over Walsh. He has no claim on my heart.”
