“I understand,” Max went on. “It’s because of your terrible loss, for which you hold yourself responsible. It was not your fault the girl you loved died. A tragic accident. I pray you make your peace with it one day.” He smiled. “And change your mind…”
“I doubt it, my friend. But if it becomes necessary for me to become your children’s guardian, and I hope with every fiber of my being it doesn’t, I will carry out your instructions for them to the letter.”
Max placed a thin hand on Nicholas’s arm. “I know I can rely on you.” He stood. “I have had the documents drawn up for you to sign. Afterward, you must come and meet the children.”
The legalities completed, Max had introduced him to his pride and joy, Caroline, who held the promise of beauty at fourteen; a younger girl of eight, Arabella, with an impish smile; and a serious little boy a year younger, Jeremy, Max’s heir. Caring for these children was beyond Nicholas’s comprehension, but as he could not believe in his heart they would lose Max, he pushed the thought away. After all, doctors were not infallible.
As he departed Yorkshire for his home in Surrey, a small face appeared in his memory. Caroline, or Carrie, as her father called her. Why had she scowled so fiercely at him?
Chapter One
Early Spring, 1818
Elm Park, Surrey
NicholasMarquess of Pennington glanced up from his books as the coach, with two of the Pennington footmen accompanying the coachman, trundled past his library window on its way to the stables.
His whippet sat up in his basket, looking expectant. “No, Chester, you shan’t be accompanying me.” The dog settled down again with a sigh.
Nicholas finished the letters he’d been signing and left them for his secretary, Paul Williams. Steeling himself, he pushed back his chair and rose from the desk. Passing a mirror on the way to the door, Nicholas smoothed his dark hair and straightened his cravat. Would this put an end to the peace he valued? He had been on his own for so long, he’d grown accustomed to it and was entirely unsuited to family life. To keep his sanity, he must make it clear from the beginning, he was not to be disturbed while working in his library. He suspected it would be his last bastion of peace.
His butler met him in the corridor. “The ladies await you in the morning room, milord. I took the liberty of ordering the tea tray.”
“Good fellow.” Nicholas entered the room, expecting to find two young ladies. There was only one, whose freckled face beamed up at him, plus a dour-faced older female in black from head to foot—the governess.
“Uncle Nicholas!” The younger lady turned from the fireplace where she had been studying an oil painting and pranced coltishly over the carpet to him.
The governess cleared her throat.
“Oh.” As if her governess had struck a whip over her head, the auburn-haired sprite of some fourteen years fell into a low curtsey. “I forgot. But it issogood to see you again.”
Nicholas smiled. “And you, Arabella. But I am not your uncle,” he said, surprised she remembered him at all. Max had died almost a year ago.
Arabella and her sister, Caroline, had stayed with the vicar and his wife for the months following his death. Her mourning period over, Caroline was then to have gone straight to London, but the vicar wrote to him on her behalf. Because Arabella was so upset at losing her father, and then her sister leaving for London, and as it was still early in the Season, might Caroline spend a few weeks with them at Elm Park.
Nicholas had disliked the idea. A young woman of twenty living under his roof for even a short time would undoubtedly cause gossip in the village. But he agreed. Perhaps it would help ease the children into their new life.
“But you are our guardian, are you not?” Arabella asked. “And we are to live here with you. At least, I will.” Her green eyes clouded. “Carrie won’t, as she makes her Come-out next month, and Jeremy will only visit from Eton for the holidays.”
“You shall have much to occupy you here, Arabella,” Nicholas said hastily, fearing tears. He hated to see women of any age crying.
She tilted her head and gazed at him. “What might we call you?”
The governess coughed twice.
“Nicholas will do.”
It earned him a warm smile. “And you must call me Bella.”
He turned to the afflicted governess. “I’m sorry. How do you do, Miss…?” His secretary had supplied the lady’s name, but he’d forgotten it.
She sank into a low curtsey with a creaking of her limbs. “Miss Scotsdale, my lord.”
Bella came to seize the lady’s elbow. “Dear Scotty’s knees are not what they were.” She assisted an uncomplaining Scotty to the damask sofa. The lady lowered herself regally upon it. Bella sat beside her. “Scotty is a little weary, we’ve come quite a long way.”
“Yorkshire is a distance from Gloucestershire,” he agreed. “But tell me, Bella, where is your sister?”
“Carrie is still in Harrogate because she decided Mrs. Barns, that’s the vicar’s wife, has need of her. Their two children have the measles.”
