“I’m sure it will be beautiful,” he murmured, having little to contribute to conversations about a woman’s apparel. Carrie would look good in a potato sack, he thought, thanking the footman who placed a cup of coffee before him. One of his shirts perhaps, and nothing else. Where did that come from? He gulped the scalding coffee too fast and, swallowing hastily, pushed back his chair.
“What, no breakfast?” Gwen asked, surprised.
He selected a muffin from a plate piled with pastries on the sideboard. “Not very hungry. But thank you. I shall see you at the ball.”
Gwen frowned. “Won’t you come to dinner tonight? We should like your company. Wouldn’t we, Carrie?”
“Yes, please come.” Carrie had said little since he arrived. He found speculation in her eyes and wondered at it.
“Of course, delighted.”
Gwen rose. “I’ll see you to the door. There’s something I must tell you.”
“What is it?” Nicholas asked warily as the butler furnished him with his gloves, hat, and crop.
“You must lead Carrie out in the waltz. It matters not that she is almost twenty-one and older than most debutantes, for this is her first ball.”
“Her age won’t affect her chances of a good match. I’m sure her beauty will eclipse most of this year’s crop of debutantes. Unless there is a diamond among them I haven’t heard about. And Dominic would surely have mentioned her. Dear heaven, Gwen. What does it matter if she waltzes or not?”
“Hundreds of guests will attend the ball. It’s one of the most important of the Season. The waltz gives everyone a chance to see her, to admire her beauty and her grace.” Gwen took hold of his arm as he edged toward the door. “Surely you won’t let her down? It is important, Nick.”
Gwen used his nickname to great effect. Nicholas could only accept. He did so politely and went to retrieve his horse from the stable mews. He wanted to do his best for Carrie. But he expected waltzing with her would rouse some interest. He did not want his presence to dissuade men from pursuing her. Charles had mentioned word had already spread about Nicholas becoming guardian to Carrie’s sister and brother, so perhaps it would dampen any speculation. And after all, it was only a dance.
***
Gwen returned to the table and called for a fresh pot. “My brother is being difficult. I’m surprised. He is usually most obliging.”
Carrie buttered her toast. Did he not want to spend time with them? She had become too used to his attention, she supposed. After all, she had no claim on him. “Has he met no one he wished to marry?”
“Yes. A long time ago. She drowned.”
She dragged in a breath. “Oh, how sad!”
“Sylvia was very young. Her tragic death devastated him. Even now, I’m not sure he has gotten over it. After he’d finished his studies at Oxford, he joined the army. At the time, I feared he might not care if he lived or died, but when he returned, he was a different man. Calmer and more purposeful. He’d inherited the marquessate, and while grief-stricken at the further loss of his father and brother, he embraced it.”
“Like my father, Nicholas has a great knowledge of history. His research and writings take up a lot of his time. When I first met him, I sensed a deep sadness in him. But I wonder if writing books is enough to fill one’s life.”
Gwen patted her hand. “Nicholas believes it is. He has expressed his intention never to marry. But it’s my hope he might meet someone in London.”
Gwen was perceptive, Carrie thought. Had she given her feelings for him away?
“But I believe he is more content since the Leeming family came into his life,” Gwen said.
“I think that, too,” Carrie said. But was it just because of Bella and Jeremy? Or might Nicholas have a lady in mind? Her spirits sank. What if he married someone who demanded all his time? She suffered a bout of possessiveness as if Nicholas belonged to her and her siblings and no one else. While she admitted how unreasonable that was, she still worried. Would his wife become fond of Bella and Jeremy and treat them well? Or would she make their lives miserable?
***
The modiste’s elegant rooms, furnished with huge gilt-framed mirrors and swathes of royal blue velvet in the doorways, was a wonderful distraction from her thoughts. Her exquisite ballgown fitted her well, with only minor alterations required. She turned before the mirror. The embroidered muslin shimmered with silver thread, with a bow in front beneath the short bodice and dainty silk flowers around the hem. After fittings for a white and gold braided evening gown, a smart gray walking gown, and a sage brown pelisse, they left with the precious ballgown in its box, and purchased dancing slippers and accessories, a beaded reticule, evening wrap, and chicken-skin fan from the elegant shops in Regent Street.
They arrived home late in the afternoon, after lunching at Mivart’s hotel. While they sat in the morning room enjoying a cup of tea, Nicholas arrived, dressed in black trousers, a gray striped silk waistcoat, black coat, and top boots. How handsome he looked. A gentleman about Town. Here in London, he seemed like a different person. She smiled shyly up at him.
He joined them and, while pouring him a cup of tea, Gwen told him about their successful morning’s shopping.
He smiled at Carrie. “My curricle is outside. While it’s such good weather, a drive to Hyde Park might be pleasant.”
Gwen smiled. “Yes, do go, Carrie. I much prefer a well-earned rest.”
“Please accept my apology. I cannot take you up, Gwen,” Nicholas said. “I have brought my groom.”
