Nicholas pulled out his handkerchief and gently dabbed at her cheeks. “Sweetheart, why the tears? It’s over now. Bella and Jeremy are safe. Life can return to normal.”
“What is normal?”
“Well, you can continue to enjoy the rest of the Season.”
“And find a husband. I quite agree.” If she’d hoped to make him react, to show how much he disliked the idea, and beg her to stay and marry him, he betrayed no sign. His mind was made up, it seemed.
Carrie pushed to her feet. “I’d best tell them they may go for a walk. Their routine is topsy-turvy.”
“I must drive Lady Penelope home tomorrow.”
“She may not want to go. I think she’s enjoyed her stay here.”
“She is welcome to extend her visit, but you and I must leave for London on Friday.”
“You plan to take me?”
“Of course.”
“Why not leave it to Gwen?”
“She would have to come back for you, which would make her trip three hours longer. Besides, I would like to take you.”
“Why?” she demanded.
Nicholas shook his head. Despite his amused smile, his eyes looked strained and unhappy. “Because I will enjoy it.”
“You needn’t come. I will be perfectly safe and have Anna for company.”
He frowned. “Nevertheless, I shall take you, Carrie.”
She shrugged. “That is kind of you.”
“If you’ll forgive me, I must write some letters.” He flexed the fingers on his right hand. “I want one to go in tomorrow’s post.” Nicholas walked with her to the door. He opened it for her. “We’ll talk at dinner.”
Carrie nodded, firmed her trembling lips, and glided out, her chin held high.
She went upstairs, longing for a few moments to calm herself before she spoke to the children. It was just as well he didn’t want her. Nicholas would be a dictatorial husband, she thought with a frown. But she somehow couldn’t make herself believe it. Instead, she wanted to rush back and hug him and tell him her love would make him whole again. But he wasn’t hers. He never had been.
And maybe it wasn’t within her power to make him happy. Was Sylvia the cause of his retreat from love? She must have been a wonderful woman. Death had preserved her perfection forever. How could another woman compete with that? Least of all, she, with all her imperfections: her possessiveness, her impatience to live life the way she wished, and her soaring and plunging emotions?
Chapter Twenty-One
Nicholas stared after Carrie for several minutes after she’d gone. Then he slowly shut the door. With a muttered moan that made Chester sit up in his basket, he returned to his desk. He finished the letter to his footman’s father, which reminded him of the very real pain the boy’s death would cause his family. Not that Nicholas had forgotten, but for a moment, he’d wanted to deaden the cruelty of fate by imagining a life with Carrie was possible.
The letter signed, Nicholas sprinkled sand over it to dry the ink. He folded it, dripped candle wax onto it, and stamped his seal into the wax. Then he left it for the post in the morning. He would offer money to Alex’s father when he came to his son’s funeral to compensate for the family’s loss of income. However, it would not make up for losing a son.
He rose from the desk. “Coming, Chester?”
Nicholas walked out the front door with his dog into the sweet-smelling spring gardens, bathed in soft light as dusk approached. Chester took off after a squirrel. As fast as he was, the dog was not fast enough. While he barked madly at the base of the tree, the squirrel merely watched him from a branch well out of his reach.
“Life is full of frustrations, Chester,” Nicholas said, walking on.
The dog ran to join him, and they continued down to the ornamental lake set in the lawns below the house.
The peace and beauty helped him think clearly. Although Bella and Jeremy didn’t know the extent of what had occurred, and never would, Alex’s death had left them confused and unsettled. He would take them to London with him and Carrie in the coach. They could visit the Tower and Astley’s Amphitheater and eat ices at Gunter’s. And before Jeremy returned to school, the two of them would visit some Roman ruins. Nicholas sighed. If he thought the plan would make him feel more himself again, it failed. The hollow feeling near his heart seemed to have deepened. He assured himself once Carrie returned to the social whirl that was the London Season, his life would return to some semblance of normality.
Dinner was a quiet affair, with everyone subdued by what had transpired, except for Lady Penelope, who asked why no one called. “It is like a tomb here,” she remarked. “Don’t you invite people to dinner?”
