Why had her father chosen him? Papa could have asked Aunt Penelope, although Carrie understood why he hadn’t. She almost shivered at the prospect of living with her aunt, whose rheumatism made her rather sharp-tongued and demanding.
If only he were married, his wife would have made this so much easier. But as there was no one else to take them. She must accept her father’s wishes.
Carrie looked up to find his eyes on her from where he sat opposite, his long legs stretched out over the carpet. His feet in the leather shoes were much larger than her father’s. It shouldn’t have caught her attention, and yet somehow did, because they reminded her of his masculinity and the authority he would hold over their lives.
She turned away and smiled at her sister. “How is Scotty? Does she like it here?”
“She does,” Bella replied. “Scotty loves Leeming Hall, but this house is much newer, the floors don’t creak, and the draft doesn’t seep through the cracks around the window frames.” Bella cast another apologetic glance at Nicholas, whose lips twitched as if he fought a smile. “Scotty would come back with us to Leeming in a heartbeat.” Bella heaved an enormous sigh. “But she says that when I make my debut, she will go to live with her sister in Kent.”
Carrie smiled reassuringly at her sister because Bella’s eyes had grown anxious. “Everything will be all right after she leaves. And we must let her go, dearest, and wish her well when the time comes.”
With a quick glance at Nicholas, she found a thoughtful expression in his eyes which she suspected missed little. She nervously toyed with a curl, dislodging it from its pins. It was a dreadful nervous habit. She really must stop. He watched her with faint amusement. Unreasonably annoyed with him, Carrie flushed and tucked the lock behind her ear. She wanted to persuade him to change his mind about the harp, which was important to Bella. But she wasn’t confident of success. There was a hint of steel behind his affable manner, which might come from ordering a company of men during the war. The way ahead seemed daunting. Her shoulders drooped.
“You will be fatigued after your journey.” He stood. “I’ll leave you to settle in. Until dinner, ladies.” He crossed the carpet with long, graceful strides and left the room. He had a natural grace, aided by clothes fashioned by the best tailors. Nicholas made her feel travel-soiled and drab. It was because she was tired. A thorough wash and a change of clothes would see her to rights. But she wished she were more confident of the future.
Bella turned to Carrie, her eyes shining. “Well, what do you make of my guardian? I think he’s splendid.”
Carrie stared at the closed door. “Splendid?” He certainly was in appearance, as was his home. She looked around at the pretty room, the delicate Italian chandelier, the wallpaper in the Chinese style, the silk curtains, and damask sofas, the afternoon sun streaming in through the long windows and spreading warm fingers across the blue and gold carpet. She hadn’t noticed how fine it was because Nicholas’s presence seemed to fill the room.
“… and he acts a little gruff at times,” Bella continued. “But that is because he feels he should.” Bella paused, looking for a response. “I believe he’ll be pleased to share his home with Jeremy and me, don’t you agree?”
“I’m sure he will,” Carrie rushed to reassure her. But she distrusted Bella’s opinion and was slightly unnerved at her rowdy brother living here in this well-ordered estate.
Bella jumped up and tugged on Carrie’s arm. “Come and see your bedchamber. You are so fortunate, Carrie. It overlooks the rose arbor, and you can make out the lake when the sun shines on the water.”
“I shan’t be here for long, dearest,” Carrie felt obliged to remind her as they climbed the marble staircase, crushingly aware of how unhappy Bella would be when she left.
“I know,” Bella said in a mournful tone. “But Nicholas has promised he will take us to London to visit you.”
Carrie paused on a step and stared at Bella. “Do you think he meant it?”
“I think so.” Bella frowned. “Don’t you like him, Carrie?”
“I certainly don’t dislike him,” Carrie said hastily. “I have yet to form an opinion.”
Had Nicholas offered just to appease her sister? Bella had probably prodded him into a declaration. But the House of Lords would require several trips to the city. And surely he would visit his sister, Lady Genevieve, in her Mayfair townhouse. Carrie couldn’t see why he couldn’t bring Bella and Jeremy with him. A little relieved, she continued up the stairs.
Later, when Bella had returned to the schoolroom, Carrie waited for her maid to come and unpack her clothes in her pretty bedchamber decorated in floral, rose pink wallpaper. Whether Nicholas came to see her in London or not was hardly important. She expected to be entirely too busy to notice.
Chapter Four
Candlelight from the silver candelabrum softened the dining room walls papered in dull red and gold chinoiserie. From his position at the end of the table, Nicholas considered the room greatly improved by the additions to his household: Bella in white and Carrie in a flattering gown of primrose with a low neckline. He gave serious attention to his napkin as Abercrombie served the wine.
Nicholas held the crystal glass up to the light. “This wine is corked, Abercrombie. Replace it, will you?”
“I shall attend to it, my lord.” His butler whisked the carafe from the table and left the room.
Nicholas grimaced. He should not have been short with Abercrombie. His butler’s eyesight wasn’t as good as it used to be, and even worse at night. He’d declined the offer of a handsome pension, and Nicholas saw no reason he should retire, although he made sure Abercrombie had few duties to perform after dark.
Bella talked about a puzzle she’d discovered among the books and toys in the schoolroom. “We assembled it as children,” she said. “I wondered why you would have it, Nicholas.”
“My sister’s young son, Bartholomew, stays here occasionally. He’s a cheeky young fellow.” Nicholas was fond of the child. He knew where he was with a five-year-old boy. Youngsters made their thoughts and feelings known.
After the footman served the first course, Nicholas put down his spoon with a sigh. “Trouble in the kitchen, Abercrombie,” he said when his butler appeared with another carafe of wine. “The soup appears to be cold.”
“Take it away,” Abercrombie ordered the footman. “I am sorry, my lord. The chef has had another argument with one of the kitchen staff.”
“Again? Dear heaven. I would expect better service in the army,” Nicholas said. “It serves me right for employing the French chef the Prince of Wales recommended.”
