Chapter Thirteen
Dinner was a very bad idea. Nick watched his mother descend the staircase with a feeling of doom.
“Nicholas, darling.” Lady Wintham stretched her hands toward him, but he took a quick step back and bowed.
“Mother. You look just as lovely as you did four years ago, when we met for luncheon.”
Her hands dropped to her sides, and two spots of color appeared high on her cheeks. Her eyes turned wet, but it was no less than she deserved. Did she think he would make this easy on her? By God, he would not.
“You did not meet me for luncheon,” Freesia admonished. She rose up on her toes and kissed his cheek. “But here you are at last, and I’m too happy to lecture. You won’t go away again, will you, Nick?”
“Never.” He grasped his sister’s elbows to return her kiss. He had visited her perhaps once a year since he turned sixteen—though never for more than an hour’s time. He was thankful for Freesia’s motto of asking for forgiveness rather than permission. She had never doubted him, and for that he was even more grateful.
“Has Alice arrived yet?” Nathaniel asked, looking about as though he expected her to appear from thin air.
“Not yet,” said his mother. “Come, shall we wait in the drawing room? Your father has opened a bottle of Madeira, and I fancy a drink before dinner.”
No sooner had the drinks been poured than Grimbly entered. “Viscount Westsea and his wife and daughters, my lady.”
“Oh, lovely.” She clapped her hands.
Lord Westsea entered the room with his wife. “Good evening, Wintham. Lady Wintham, thank you for inviting us.”
Then he stepped aside, revealing Adelaide. And Nick’s annoyance with his mother stuttered to a halt. Suddenly there was not enough air in the room. Why did they never open a window in this musty old house? It was a miracle Nathaniel had not died of a lung infection years ago—which they undoubtedly would have blamed on Nick.
“Miss Bursnell, you look lovely.” Nathaniel bowed while Nick was still gasping for breath. Then he turned to Alice. “Hello, love,” he said, too quietly for her mother’s ears to catch.
“Have a glass of madeira, Westsea,” Nick’s father said, pouring another drink. “How have you enjoyed London? Quite a change from the wilds of Northumberland.”
Westsea arched a brow. “Northumberland is wild, but not uncivilized. We leave that to the Scots. Thank you,” he said as he took the glass. “My wife is quite pleased with London, however. And Alice has taken me to her favorite spots—the Tower of London, of course, being one of them. She takes unholy delight in its gruesome history.”
“It is not so very gruesome, Father,” Alice protested. “Although Henry’s wives might disagree,” she added after a thoughtful pause.
There was true affection between father and daughter, Nick realized. He smiled and glanced at Adelaide. But she was not smiling. She was, in fact, near tears. Her lower lip quivered, and her eyes were suspiciously bright.
Perhaps she did not enjoy the Tower? But she liked Gothic tales. Although, to be sure, she might not have visited the Tower with her family. Westsea had spoken of his wife and Alice, but not of Adelaide.
He stepped in front of her, maneuvering their positions so that she was hidden behind the large frame of his body.
“Miss Bursnell, I believe we were discussing the unpleasantness of female novelists at the ball the other night, but we were interrupted by your untimely faint.”
She blinked up at him. They had not been discussing any such thing.
“Perhaps we could continue our conversation?” he suggested mildly. “You were saying something about the female mind being incapable of grasping proper sentence structure.” He smiled benignly at her.
Her eyes narrowed. “I most certainly did not say that. There are several novels, in fact, that would prove the opposite point.”
“Indeed?” He reached around her for the wine and poured a glass, which he offered to her. “Would you care to enlighten me, then?”
She stared at the glass of wine he pressed into her hand, his own hand still atop hers. Her fingers twitched beneath his. Her cheeks were flushed, but she no longer seemed in danger of crying.
“Fanny Burney is an excellent example,” she said. “Maria Edgeworth is another.”
“Which is your favorite?” he asked, releasing both her hand and the wine.
She looked up, her dark eyes searching his intently.
“Tell me,” he said quietly.
“Maria Edgeworth’s Belinda is lovely and brilliant. I cannot find a single fault with it, other than it changed so much from the first printing to the last.”
“What are you speaking of over there?” his mother’s voice cut in.
Nick turned, shifting his stance so Adelaide was no longer hidden. All eyes were now on them, except for Lord Westsea, who was studying his glass. “Books and things. Miss Bursnell is an avid reader.”
“Ah.” His mother regarded them thoughtfully. “Well, then. Shall we go in to dinner?”
Nick turned to Adelaide, but before he could speak, Nathaniel stepped forward, offering his arm. “May I see you in?”
Hell, no.
Nick did not care that rules of society dictated that the eldest son escort the eldest daughter. Such rules need not apply in their own home, especially with an engaged couple. Nick grabbed his brother by his coat tails and hauled him back a step. “That one is not yours,” he hissed in his ear.
Nathaniel shot him an amused look and shook his head. But he changed course and offered his arm to Alice, instead. “Perhaps we need not follow tradition? Our parents will understand that I wish to sit next to you at dinner. We are engaged, after all.”
Freesia tilted her head as she looked at Nathaniel and then Nick. “We are an uneven number. How dreadful. But perhaps, as Nate said, we should break with tradition. It is just family and there is no reason for us to follow every formality. You will not be shocked, then, if I offer you my arm, Miss Bursnell? We can escort each other in to dinner. I should like to sit next to you. And I must say, I am a most excellent dinner companion myself.”
Adelaide curtsied and took her arm. Her lashes were lowered to hide her eyes, but Nick saw her lips twitching with suppressed mirth. “You do me such an honor, Lady Freesia.”
“Indeed.”
The families entered the dining room in pairs, first Lord and Lady Wintham, then Lord and Lady Westsea, followed by Nathaniel and Alice and Freesia with Adelaide. Nick came last, and he came alone.
Naturally.
He glared at Freesia’s back as she rounded the elegant table with Adelaide. It should have been him escorting her, damn it. Instead, he took his seat next to Nathaniel, shifting his brother to the side in order to claim the chair directly across from Adelaide.
Bowls of steaming split pea soup were placed before them, and Nick sniffed the air appreciatively. Pea soup had been his favorite as a child.
He noticed Adelaide’s lips move in an inaudible expression of thanks as the footman served her. That was her way. No one was beneath her notice, not even a servant.
Beside him, Nathaniel wrinkled his nose as he stared in distaste at the bright green liquid in front of him. His brother, Nick suddenly remembered, had never been overly fond of pea soup.
“Shall we switch bowls?” he offered. “The heir to an earldom can never be too careful with his food.”
Nathaniel’s look of guilt was quickly followed by one of annoyance. “Don’t be ridiculous. You would never have been able to poison my soup without poisoning everyone else’s, as well.”
Nick arched a brow. “Of course I could.”
Nathaniel’s lips pressed into a thin line, but there was only one thing his brother could do to prove his faith in Nick. He had to eat every last bite of the much-loathed soup. Nick grinned widely when he proceeded to do just that.
Turning his attention to his own bowl, he dipped his spoon and raised it to his lips. And paused.
Adelaide was watching him.
No.
Not watching.
She was seeing him.
He felt flayed, as though she had stripped him of his skin and exposed the tender heart beneath. And what did she see there? Not the heart of a man, but a bitter child, one who sought to hurt others as he had been hurt. Yet there was no judgment in her dark eyes, no mockery twisting her lips.
She looked on him with only kindness.
For a moment he was almost overcome with the desire to throw himself at her feet and beg for salvation.
But that would not do.
So, instead, he ate his soup.