Blackwood's Lady
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Gail Whitiker
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Chapter One
‘So, my boy, are the rumours true?’ a beaming Sir Giles Chapman enquired of the younger gentleman sitting across from him. ‘Have you really decided to do it or is the story nothing more than hearsay spread on the lips of fools?’
A brief flicker of amusement lit the silvery blue eyes of David Penscott, fifth Marquis of Blackwood, as he settled back into the comfort of the deeply padded armchair and reached for the glass of brandy his uncle’s manservant had just refilled. ‘I’m afraid you’re going to have to be more specific than that if I am to give you an intelligent answer, Uncle Giles, since I’ve no idea which rumours you’re referring to.’
‘No idea! My dear boy, I am referring to the ones that have you marrying the Earl of Wyndham’s daughter. Everyone knows how loath you are to enter the wedded state, and given that the lady is something of a mystery to Society circles the subject is generating considerable interest. So, I am asking you straight out. Are the rumours true?’
David raised the cut-crystal glass to his lips and smiled at his uncle over the rim. ‘That depends. Does your interest stem from the fact that you’ve money riding on my answer or from a genuine interest in my welfare?’
‘Money riding on my— Egods, sir, you wound me!’ Sir Giles cried, clasping his hand over his heart as though he had been grievously injured. ‘You know I don’t wager on my family.’
‘I know that you have been warned not to,’ David replied, his smile broadening, ‘but I wasn’t sure how seriously you were taking the threat.’
‘I am taking it very seriously indeed, considering that it was levied by your aunt Hortensia. That meddlesome woman has threatened to sell off my entire collection of snuff boxes if I so much as look at another betting book. And she’d do it too,’ Sir Giles muttered, the tips of his silvery moustache bristling with indignation as he thought about his eldest sister and her much publicized campaign to reform his character. ‘Hence, I fear I must consider myself cured of the dreaded vice. But, as regards these rumours, I do admit to being curious. I never thought to see you brought to heel by a woman, David, and certainly not by a dark horse like the Lady Nicola Wyndham.’
‘I hardly call making the decision to marry at four-and-thirty being brought to heel, Uncle,’ David replied, choosing for a moment to ignore the latter part of his uncle’s comment. ‘It simply suits my purposes, that is all.’
‘I see. Then is it indeed the Lady Nicola upon whom you have set your heart?’
‘It is, though I fail to see why you would doubt one part of the rumour if you believed the other.’
‘Because I would doubt anything that was being hailed as the truth by the likes of Humphrey O’Donnell and his cronies.’
‘O’Donnell!’ David’s smile faded as an image of the handsome but far too cocky young dandy appeared in his mind. ‘I am surprised that young scapegrace would trouble himself over my affairs. He has been overheard to say that no intelligent woman would be foolish enough to take me on.’
‘Yes, and so he would once he’d learned that the lady in question was the Earl of Wyndham’s daughter. Are you not aware that O’Donnell has been casting after Lady Nicola himself these past few weeks?’
David frowned. ‘As a matter of fact I was not.’
‘No, I thought not. I hate to sound like an interfering old busybody, David, but you really should pay more mind to what goes on in the drawing rooms of London if you are at all serious about this marriage business,’ Sir Giles advised. ‘The hunting fields can wait.’
‘I am very serious about this marriage business, as you call it, Uncle Giles, but no man could possibly be expected to keep up with all the rumours drifting through London’s drawing rooms,’ David objected. ‘As for the hunting fields, I take leave to tell you that this proposed alliance with Lady Nicola may well have been forged through the very sport you now decry.’
‘Really? I was not aware Lady Nicola rode to hounds.’
‘She doesn’t, but her father does, and I thought perchance the number of times he and I have hunted together might have made him look more favourably upon my suit.’
‘More favourably? My dear boy, an offer of marriage from the Marquis of Blackwood would be viewed as exceptional even for the daughter of an earl. Especially one who, at five-and-twenty, is—’ Sir Giles broke off in mid-sentence and stared at his nephew. ‘Tell me that you are at least aware of the lady’s age?’
A glimmer of mirth danced in David’s eyes. ‘I am well aware of the lady’s age, Uncle, and I considered it a point in her favour, rather than against it.’
‘You did?’
‘Most assuredly. At five-and-twenty, Lady Nicola is far more likely to possess the qualities I seek than any of the simpering young ladies making their bows at court. And, while I know that it is well past time I settled down, having had it pointed out to me time without number, and by people whose opinions I value, that does not mean I intend to plunge into the situation with my eyes closed. Marriage is far too important a decision to make based solely upon the feelings of the heart.’
Sir Giles couldn’t help smiling. ‘Some gentlemen consider it the only way to make this particular decision, David.’
‘Possibly, but I am not one of them. I can think of nothing worse than leg-shackling myself to a vapid young woman whose head is filled with silly romantic nonsense and little else.’
‘I see. Then what kind of wife do you seek?’
‘I seek a competent hostess and a loyal companion,’ David replied, without hesitation. ‘A woman who will be a good mother to my children, and who will discharge her role as Marchioness of Blackwood with dignity and style, as my mother did. And I believe Lady Nicola to be precisely that type of female.’
‘She also happens to be a remarkably beautiful young woman,’ Sir Giles remarked idly. ‘Or had you taken time to notice that during your rather clinical assessment of her many other fine attributes?’
‘I have most certainly taken note of the fact that Lady Nicola is an exceedingly lovely young woman, but more important to me than her beauty is the fact that she has been raised in a nobleman’s house—an upbringing which will have equipped her with the knowledge and refinement necessary to take her place in mine.’
‘Knowledge and refinement. Dear me.’ Sir Giles regarded the only child of his much loved younger sister, Jane—who, sadly, had succumbed to a virulent lung infection eight years ago—with an expression akin to pity. ‘Is that all you can say about the woman you intend to marry?’
‘Is that not enough?’
‘Have you spoken to the young lady?’
‘Of course. I accompanied her on the pianoforte at Lady Rutherford’s musicale last month, and we danced twice at Lady Dunbarton’s ball just a few weeks ago.’
‘And you feel that to be a sufficient foundation upon which to make a decision that will affect the rest of your life?’
David’s brows drew together in a dark line. ‘I take it you do not.’
Sir Giles shrugged eloquently. ‘Doesn’t matter what I think, David; I’m not marrying the girl. I simply thought you might have…well, taken time to get to know her before offering for her hand.’ Then, seeing the look which appeared on his nephew’s face, Sir Giles chuckled. ‘Forgive me. I thought love and marriage went hand in hand.’
‘Only in penny romances,’ David retorted dryly. ‘I am not looking to fall head over heels like some moonstruck young cub, Uncle, or to cast away duty and obligation in the name of undying love, as my father did.’
‘Your father did nothing of the sort,’ Sir Giles replied mildly, having had this conversation with his nephew before. ‘Richard was as respectful of the title as you are, and he was well aware of the obligation he owed to the family. But when he met Stephanie de Charbier nothing else mattered to him except that they be together.’
David stiffened as he always did at the mention of his father’s second wife. ‘I do not care to discuss her.’
‘I know, but I will not have you accusing my brother-in-law of shunning his responsibilities. Your father was a lonely man, David. Jane had been dead for over four years, and not once in all that time did Richard so much as look at another woman. Until he met Stephanie—’
‘I said, I don’t want to hear—’
‘But you will hear it, sir,’ Sir Giles said, with more firmness than he usually employed when in conversation with his favourite nephew. ‘Stephanie brought happiness and joy back into your father’s life. The family didn’t approve of her and neither did you, but she stood by him regardless. Even you can’t deny how much her love changed him.’
‘No, I can’t deny it,’ David agreed, the bitterness evident in his voice. ‘Because it was that same love that turned his life upside down and eventually killed him.’
Sir Giles shook his head sadly. ‘Love didn’t kill your father, David. Grief did. Surely you understand that now? He never recovered from the shock of losing her.’
‘What I understand is that he locked himself away in a room refusing to eat or drink, until there was nothing left of him,’ David said woodenly. ‘And all in the name of love. Well, if that is what passion does to a man, you can keep it. I have neither the time nor the inclination for such foolishness.’
‘Then why bother to marry at all?’ Sir Giles asked quietly. ‘You say you are content as a bachelor. And as your cousin Arabella is happy enough to act the part of your hostess when you do trouble yourself to entertain, why spoil such an amicable arrangement by bringing in a wife?’
‘Because there is the matter of progeny,’ David said, his brief spurt of anger deserting him as the melancholy he had never quite been able to overcome moved in to take its place. ‘It is my duty to marry and produce the requisite heir, and I can’t very well do that with Arabella, even if I were of a mind to.’
‘No, I dare say there would be those who would take exception. First cousin?’
‘Second, but it is of no consequence. Belle’s always been like a sister to me.’
Pity she’s never thought of you as a brother, Sir Giles was tempted to say, but then thought better of it. If David wasn’t aware of his beautiful cousin’s affection, perhaps it was just as well.
‘Well, then, all things considered, I suppose there is nothing for it but to marry,’ Sir Giles said at length. ‘So, when does the courtship begin?’
‘There isn’t going to be a formal courtship,’ David informed him. ‘I am expected at Wyndham Hall tomorrow afternoon, at which time I shall set forth my offer of marriage. I have already secured the Earl’s blessing.’
‘Yes, and why would you not?’ Sir Giles said fondly. ‘You are considered a splendid catch, my boy, and I wager there will be many a broken-hearted young lady moping about Town when news of your betrothal appears in The Times.’
‘Perhaps, but, as there are an equal number of gallant young gentlemen to console them, I doubt anyone is in fear of losing sleep over it. Besides,’ David said, lifting his impeccably clad shoulders in an eloquent shrug, ‘it may be the Lady Nicola for whom you should be reserving your sympathies. I am not as dashing as some of the young bucks parading around Town, and I have never been known for my gay outlook on life.’
‘No, but what you lack in spontaneity is more than made up for by your cutting wit and rapier-sharp mind.’
One corner of David’s mouth lifted in a smile that could almost have been called wistful. ‘I hardly think wit and intelligence will endear me to a lady unless she happens to be something of a scholar herself. And I don’t know that I am predisposed to spending the rest of my life with a bluestocking.’
‘Rest assured, Lady Nicola has a fine mind and a lively sense of humour, but she is no bluestocking,’ Sir Giles assured his nephew. ‘In fact, I believe the only reason she is still unwed is as a result of her having been in mourning for so long.’
‘Yes, what a tragic set of circumstances,’ David observed soberly. ‘First her maternal aunt and uncle killed in that freak carriage accident, and, then less than a year later, her mother in a riding mishap. And then her paternal uncle, most unexpectedly.’
‘Tragic indeed,’ Sir Giles agreed. ‘Especially considering how close Lady Nicola was to her mother. But she has come through it all, and now Lord Wyndham is anxious that she marry and start a family of her own. And, given her devotion to him, I dare say she would marry you just to please him.’
‘Not the most flattering of reasons for accepting a man’s offer of marriage—’
‘But acceptable enough under the circumstances,’ Sir Giles pointed out sagely. ‘After all, you were the one who said that love was not a consideration in the asking, David, so why should the lack of it be a consideration in the acceptance?’
‘Why indeed?’ David agreed ruefully, admiring the finesse with which his uncle had just swung the argument in his favour. ‘And, with that in mind, I shall propose to Lady Nicola tomorrow afternoon in the hopes of achieving two goals. One, that she will accept my suit and agree to become my wife. And, two, that we may put an end to this matrimonial fussing once and for all!’
‘Alistair, you really are becoming quite impossible!’ Nicola scolded gently. ‘How do you expect to win Father over if you keep on misbehaving like this?’
The eyes gazing up at Lady Nicola Wyndham—while unquestionably bright and endearing—were patently devoid of contrition, and, recognizing that, Nicola shook her head in resignation. ‘Very well. I can see that I am not making any headway with you, so I’ll not waste my breath further. It would break my heart if we were to be separated, but we both know that Father will turn you out in a trice if your behaviour does not improve. Now, be a good boy and do not try to escape again.’
Fine words, Nicola thought ironically. A lot of good they were going to do a fox!
Picking up the wooden bucket, Nicola tipped fresh water into Alistair’s drinking bowl, shut the cage door and locked it, and then stood back to watch him. It was hard to believe that this glossy, bright-eyed creature was the same pathetic, shivering animal she had found close to death in the woods last year, his front leg having been cruelly broken in a trap. Now, after Nicola’s faithful ministering, the leg was all but healed. Even the fur had grown back, though for some strange reason it had come back white, serving as a permanent reminder of his injury.
Unfortunately, Alistair—as Nicola had affectionately named the cub—was showing no signs at all of wishing to return to his life in the wild. Rather, the little imp had become quite adept at getting out of his cage and turning up in the gardens near the back of the house—a situation which could only bode ill for both of them. After all, it was perfectly understandable that, as an avid hunter, Lord Wyndham believed the only place for a healthy fox was in the field. And, while he had long since resigned himself to the endless stream of small birds and injured animals she was forever bringing home, he had tried to draw the line at a fox cub—until Nicola had reminded him that her mother had never turned away any animal in need.
At that point, the argument had been as good as lost. Lord Wyndham had adored his beautiful wife, and had denied her nothing. Nor, it seemed, could he deny his only daughter, who was showing definite signs of having inherited both her mother’s affinity for, and skill with, animals.
‘Now, be a good boy, Alistair, and perhaps I shall come and see you again before I go riding this afternoon,’ Nicola told the young fox as she collected her supplies and made ready to return to the house. ‘No doubt I shall be in need of a diversion after my visit from the Marquis of Blackwood.’
Giving the fox’s silky ears an affectionate tweak, Nicola started back towards the house, her mind drifting ahead to the upcoming meeting with Lord Blackwood. She knew why he was coming, of course. Her father had already hinted at the marquis’s intentions, and, all things considered, she was not opposed to the match. She had always longed for a home and children of her own, and at her age she had almost given up hope of such things coming to pass.
But to think that the Marquis of Blackwood might actually be the man to make them happen…well, it was all but unthinkable. As a nonpareil and pink of the ton, Blackwood could have had his pick of any number of younger and—to Nicola’s way of thinking—eminently more suitable girls than herself. Why, then, would he choose to wed the countrified daughter of a widowed earl, who spent far more time in the country than she did in Town?
And what would the exceedingly correct marquis say, Nicola wondered, if he were to discover that his future wife was tending a menagerie of wounded animals, which at the moment included two silky black puppies she had found half drowned by the edge of the river, an assortment of injured birds—including a falcon with a broken wing—and a wily fox named Alistair? Somehow, she could not imagine him being pleased.
Wives of the nobility simply do not indulge in such pastimes, Nicola could almost hear her stodgy old governess saying.
Well, maybe they didn’t, but, if an alliance between the two of them was what he wished for, Nicola would certainly listen to his proposal. Her father seemed favourably disposed towards the match, and Nicola knew that he would never approve of a suitor who was not acceptable in every way. Clearly, Lord Blackwood had earned her father’s approval.
Now, all he had to do was earn hers!
David set out upon his mission of matrimony in a spirit of amiable resignation. Resignation because, to him, marriage was a necessity of life—an obligation one undertook for the good of the family. And to David Penscott, Marquis of Blackwood, Earl of Winsmore and Viscount Huntley, obligation was a duty that went before all.
His feelings of amiability stemmed from the fact that he believed his selection of Lady Nicola Wyndham to be a judicious one. Her past was unblemished, and if she had spent somewhat more time in the country than most young ladies of her class it did not seem to have affected her adversely. Certainly her manners were all that he could have wished. She neither laughed too much, nor too loud, she was lovely enough to suit his rather exacting standards, and, by all accounts, she was not prone to vapours. If these were qualities to be gained by sacrificing the first blush of youth, it was a sacrifice David was more than willing to make.
Reaching Wyndham Hall just before three o’clock, David was greeted at the door by the steadfast Trethewy—an elderly retainer who had been with the Wyndham family for over forty-five years—and relieved of his hat, gloves and whip. From there, he was shown into the spacious green salon where, as expected, Nicola’s father was waiting to greet him.
‘Ah, Blackwood, good to see you again,’ Lord Wyndham said in a rich voice that carried easily to every corner of the room. ‘Ready to do the deed?’
‘I am, my lord, though I admit to being somewhat anxious as to your daughter’s reply.’
‘Anxious? Good Lord, man, there’s no need for apprehension. Nicola didn’t seem at all unhappy when I informed her of your intentions. Once she had recovered from her surprise, that is.’
Surprise? David wondered ruefully. Or shock?
‘Now, before Nicola joins us, might I interest you in a glass of wine? I have just received a shipment from France and I would welcome your opinion on this particular Bordeaux.’
Already familiar with the size and quality of the earl’s cellar, David nodded in anticipation of a rare treat. ‘I should be pleased to, thank you.’
‘Splendid. I’ve not a bad nose for wine, but it doesn’t hold a candle to a connoisseur’s like yours,’ Wyndham said as he poured out two glasses. ‘Right, then, your good health, Blackwood.’
‘And yours, my lord.’
The wine proved to be of excellent vintage, and David was persuaded to enjoy another glass before Lord Wyndham resumed the conversation.
‘No, my Nicki’s not at all like those other flibbertigibbets at court. She’s a sensible lass, always has been. Takes after her mother in that regard. There were always rumours about her, of course, but I never paid them any mind.’
‘Rumours?’ David repeated cautiously.
‘Aye. Superstitious fools. Thought she was a witch.’
‘Lady Nicola?’
‘Nicola?’ Lord Wyndham frowned. ‘Good Lord, no. Nicola’s not been bothered by any rumours in that regard. At least, not yet.’
David cast a surreptitious glance at the older man. Yet?
‘No, I was referring to Elizabeth. Personally, I could never understand what all the fuss was about,’ the earl continued blithely. ‘Just because the parson’s wife saw Elizabeth feeding a wild buck at the edge of the common was hardly reason to think her odd.’
David’s hand stopped the glass halfway to his lips. ‘A buck?’
‘Aye. Magnificent beast. Twelve pointer, as I recall.’
‘And you say that Lady Wyndham was feeding it…by hand?’
‘As though she were holding out crusts of bread to a lamb. Amazing woman,’ Lord Wyndham said in a tone of mild bewilderment. ‘But a witch? Rubbish! And so I told them, for all the good it did me. Thick-headed bunch,’ he muttered as he crossed to the bell pull and gave it a tug. ‘Still, no point in standing here reminiscing; you’ve important business to get on with. Ah, Trethewy, there you are. Would you tell Lady Nicola that Lord Blackwood is here and ask her to join us?’
‘Very good, m’lord.’
When the butler had gone, Wyndham gruffly cleared his throat. ‘Sorry about that, Blackwood, didn’t mean to ramble on about my wife. It’s just that Elizabeth was very special to me. We were blessed, the two of us, and not a day goes by that I don’t miss her. But then, I’m sure you can understand what I’m talking about, given your father’s second marriage to Madame de Charbier. Now there was a love match if ever.’
The proffered statement—well intentioned as David felt sure it was meant to be—caused the words of condolence he had been about to offer Lord Wyndham to die on his lips, and he turned towards the window, fighting down his resentment. Stephanie de Charbier had been a beautiful young Frenchwoman who had come to England shortly after Napoleon’s banishment to Elba. The widow of an influential Parisian diplomat, she had been left a wealthy young woman, and had purchased a charming house on Green Street, where, along with a small staff brought with her from Paris, she had set about re-establishing her life.
Stephanie had been twenty years younger than his father, but her age had made no difference to either of them. They had met quite by chance at the Royal Art Gallery and had fallen in love almost immediately. They had been married a mere three weeks later.
To be fair, David had no doubt that Stephanie de Charbier had loved his father. She had not been deceitful by nature, and, given her great beauty and genteel background, he knew that she could have had her choice of any number of titled English gentlemen. Certainly enough of them had danced attendance upon her.
But it was Richard Penscott whom she had chosen. And that he’d loved her in return, David did not doubt either. One had only needed to listen to the sound of his father’s voice to know that he’d adored his beautiful French émigré. But what David had never been able to come to terms with was the fact that his father—whom he had loved and respected more than anyone else in the world—had perished because of that love. That on the day Stephanie de Charbier had died from a raging fever Richard Penscott had died too. By simply refusing to go on. By giving up on life.
That David could never forgive the young Frenchwoman for. Not even in death.
Moments later, blissfully unaware of her visitor’s agitation, Nicola walked into the room and hurried to her father’s side. ‘Good afternoon, Papa. I am so sorry to have kept you waiting, but I stayed rather longer at the stables than I meant to.’
‘You did not keep us waiting, my dear,’ Lord Wyndham assured her. ‘Lord Blackwood and I were just discussing your dear mother.’
‘Ah, then I dare say it is a good thing I came when I did, for it is a subject upon which you could converse for hours,’ Nicola said, a silvery ripple of laughter accompanying her words. ‘Good afternoon, Lord Blackwood, how very nice to see—’
The rest of the greeting came to an abrupt halt as Lord Blackwood turned and Nicola was given a glimpse of eyes that were so black, so…distant that they froze the laughter in her throat and caused her to take an involuntary step backwards. Good Lord, whatever could have happened to make him so angry? The tension was etched into his handsome face like lines carved into granite, and even under the impeccably fitted jacket Nicola could sense the rigidity of his broad shoulders.
A swift glance in her father’s direction provided no clue as to Lord Blackwood’s state. If anything, her father seemed blissfully unaware that anything was wrong. What, then, was the cause of it? Was the marquis unhappy about the deed he had come to enact today? Or was he—as a stickler for propriety and punctuality—displeased by her own tardy arrival?
‘Lord Blackwood, pray…forgive my delay in arriving,’ Nicola apologized uncertainly. ‘I fear I…lost track of the time.’
Her apprehension was palpable and, recognizing that he was the cause of it, David swore softly under his breath. How stupid of him to have allowed his emotions to get the upper hand, especially in front of her.
He quickly forced a smile to his lips and bowed over her hand. ‘On the contrary, it is I who should be offering you an apology, Lady Nicola. I did not give you a great deal of notice as regards my intention to call this afternoon.’
His words were all that were polite, but Nicola was not convinced that he had recovered from his anger. Whatever had caused his anger in the first place must yet be lingering in his mind. Still, he was obviously making an effort to be civil, which meant that the least she could do was to accommodate him. Her mother’s training had been too deeply instilled to be ignored.
‘Thank you, my lord, but certainly no great notice was ever required. I am always at home and happy to receive visitors. And you did advise my father of your intention to call, so I am not at all put out.’
It was a most gracious acceptance of his apology, and David bowed again, admiring the finesse with which she had handled his momentary lack of civility.
Here, then, was the woman he hoped to marry, the lady his uncle had referred to as a dark horse, and whom society deemed a mystery. How ridiculous, he thought contemptuously. There was nothing in the least dark or mysterious about Nicola Wyndham. She was unaffectedly gracious and warm, yet possessed of a lively good nature which would make for the kind of companion David could imagine spending the rest of his life with. And, most assuredly, in the fetching silk gown which suited her complexion and richly coloured hair to perfection, she was as lovely as he could have wished.
‘Well, now that the pleasantries have been exchanged, I shall leave the two of you alone,’ Lord Wyndham announced into the silence. ‘Don’t need me at a time like this, eh, what?’
Impulsively, Nicola reached up to press an affectionate kiss to her father’s cheek. ‘On the contrary, I shall always need you, Papa.’
The earl’s eyes softened as they rested on his daughter’s face and he reached out to stroke a shiny lock of her hair. Then, giving her an encouraging wink, he turned on his heel and walked out of the salon.
Left alone with her guest, Nicola offered him a tentative smile. ‘May I offer you some refreshments, Lord Blackwood?’
‘Thank you, Lady Nicola, but no. I have just enjoyed a glass of your father’s most excellent wine.’
‘Then, will you sit down?’
Her voice was pleasantly low-pitched, with a slightly husky overtone that settled well on David’s ear. It made a welcome change from the high-pitched giggles and titters that seemed all too prevalent in the drawing rooms of London.
‘Actually, I should prefer to stand given the nature of what I am about to say. You, however, may wish to be seated.’
‘As you like.’
With an unhurried movement, Nicola settled herself on the rose-coloured sofa and smoothed the skirts of her gown around her. She had taken a little longer with her toilette this afternoon and was glad that she had, if for no other reason than to lend herself extra confidence. She knew that the gown of Pomona green silk was the most flattering she owned, and that it became her very well. Even the thick, russet-coloured hair, which was so often the bane of her existence, toned perfectly with the shade. ‘I am listening, Lord Blackwood.’
‘Thank you, Lady Nicola. I suppose I should begin by saying that, even though our acquaintance has been of relatively short duration, and our time spent in conversation even shorter, I have come to admire you greatly. Your ease in social situations, your manners, and your sense of dignity, are all qualities I am looking for in a…lady.’
Nicola allowed herself a brief smile at his hesitation. It seemed that the word wife did not come easily to the tongue of the bachelor Marquis of Blackwood. ‘Thank you, my lord.’
‘As for myself, I fear I may not be as…entertaining as some of the gentlemen with whom you have been keeping company—’
‘I have not been keeping the company of gentlemen,’ Nicola felt obliged to point out. ‘Having observed an extended period of mourning for…members of my family, I have been removed from Society these past two years.’
There wasn’t a trace of self-pity in her voice and, knowing how hard her mother’s death had been for her, David’s admiration for the young lady rose. ‘It is never easy to lose a parent,’ he agreed sympathetically.
Nicola sighed. ‘No, but then, I am sure you know how that feels. I understand that you were very close to both your mother and your father, Lord Blackwood.’
By this time, David had his emotions fully under control, and he was able to respond to her in a calm and steady voice. ‘I was indeed. But life goes on, and we must make the best of it. My father would have wished me to marry and start a family of my own, and I know that Lord Wyndham is hopeful that you will do the same. And that is why I have come to see you today.’ David cleared his throat and took a deep breath. ‘I have already spoken to your father and received his blessing. And so I should now like to ask you to do me the very great honour…of becoming…my wife.’
It was hardly a romantic proposal, Nicola reflected. Yet how could it be when they had spoken to each other only a few times over the past two months?
‘My lord, before I answer that, perhaps you would be so good as to explain why you wish to marry me.’
There was a very brief, but very meaningful pause. ‘I…beg your pardon?’
‘Well, as I am no doubt older than the ladies with whom you would have been keeping company, I simply wondered why you would not have asked a younger lady to be your wife. At five-and-twenty, most would say that I am on the shelf and have been for some time.’ Nicola raised questioning eyes to his. ‘Would you not agree?’
Her candour startled him. As did the deep, emerald-green of her eyes. David could not recall having seen such a remarkable shade before. And was that, possibly…a freckle on the tip of her daintily rounded nose?
He quickly marshalled his thoughts and returned to the matter at hand. ‘I wish to marry you, Lady Nicola, because I have no desire to tie myself to a green girl fresh from the school room. I cannot imagine that we would have anything in common, nor have I any intention of wasting time trying to find out if we had. What I seek is a woman of breeding. A woman who knows how to conduct herself in Society, and how to manage a household effectively. Several households, in fact. And I hardly think an eighteen-year-old Bath Miss is likely to possess the degree of maturity necessary.’
‘Is not the vitality of youth suitable recompense?’
David shook his head. ‘Not to me. With youth comes giddiness, frivolity and a tendency towards unacceptable behaviour. Conduct I cannot condone in the future Marchioness of Blackwood. I have a duty to my family. To my name.’
‘Ah, I see.’
Well, he was certainly setting it out plainly enough, Nicola reflected. Whosoever married the Marquis of Blackwood would be doing so with her eyes wide open. There would be no misunderstandings, no false expectations, and no grand delusions of love. Not exactly the type of proposal she had been dreaming of all her life, Nicola acknowledged wryly.
‘In return, the lady who becomes my wife will wear the coronet of a marchioness,’ David continued. ‘She will be the mistress of two of the finest country homes in England, as well as an elegant town house in London, and will have jewels, carriages and servants at her disposal. She will enjoy the respect due to her position in Society, and will want for nothing.’
Nicola knew she shouldn’t have, but she could not prevent a tiny smile from lifting the corners of her mouth. ‘Is that all, my lord?’
‘Is that all?’ David looked down at her in astonishment. ‘Is that not enough? Surely I have offered you all that is good in life?’
‘Well, yes, you have, but—’
‘But what?’
Nicola risked a quick glance upwards, about to explain to Lord Blackwood exactly what was lacking in his proposal, when the look on his face stayed the words on her lips and gave her the answer she was looking for.
No, love was clearly not a requirement in the marquis’s choice of a wife. It would be too…unpredictable, too quixotic an emotion. It would spawn erratic behaviour and, instinctively, Nicola knew that such spontaneity would have no place in the life of the very proper Marquis of Blackwood. Or in that of the marquis’s very proper wife.
‘I take it my proposal is not to your liking, Lady Nicola?’ David asked, as the silence between them lengthened.
‘On the contrary, it is a very flattering one indeed,’ she said, regretting that he had misinterpreted her hesitation. ‘It is just that I am somewhat…surprised by the manner in which it was delivered.’
‘Ah, yes.’ David smiled sardonically. ‘You were expecting something more romantic, perhaps. A proposal inspired by the honeyed words of Byron himself.’
‘Not at all. I do not expect you to profess love where you feel none. That would be hypocritical indeed.’
‘Then perhaps it is myself you find lacking,’ David countered, trying to determine the source of her indecision. ‘I have not led a very domestic existence to this point, nor will I try to make you believe that I have. But you need not fear that you will be making a dreadful mistake by marrying me. You will be given a free hand with regard to the running of my homes and be treated with the respect that is your due. And, in time, hopefully there will be children for you to care for.’ David stopped and glanced at her quickly. ‘You do like children, Lady Nicola?’
Nicola’s face lit up. ‘Oh, yes, of course, I adore them. Don’t you?’
‘To be honest, I have never given it much thought. I’ve always considered it my duty to assure the continuation of the line, of course—’
Nicola’s feathery brows rose in surprise. ‘Is that how you look upon children, my lord? As a duty?’
‘I suppose that is how I look upon a number of things,’ David replied slowly. ‘In a position such as mine, freedom of choice must often be compromised for the good of the family. Surely you understand that?’
Nicola shifted her gaze and focused it on the painting behind Lord Blackwood’s head. ‘Yes, I understand,’ she said softly. And she did. She understood that the most important thing in Blackwood’s life was his duty. Duty to his name and to his family. He would put that before everything—including love. That explained why there had not even been a pretence of affection in his proposal. And since he had chosen her to be his wife he obviously believed that she could deal with his offer on those same terms. But could she? Hadn’t she, like most young women, harboured dreams of being loved for all the right reasons? Of being told that she was the only woman in the world who could make him happy?
Of course she had, and Nicola knew that she would be a fool indeed if that was what she believed she was being offered here. What she was being offered was a life of supreme comfort, in exchange for her presence at the head of his table and her willingness to fill his nursery with children. That was what the Marquis of Blackwood was offering. And, just as Nicola was about to tell him that it simply wasn’t good enough, Blackwood himself threw her into confusion.
‘Forgive me, Lady Nicola. I don’t seem to be doing a very good job of this,’ he admitted as he sank down onto the sofa beside her. ‘Perhaps because I have always believed marriage to be such…a serious business.’
The unexpected admission, humbly offered, caught Nicola totally unawares and she faltered. ‘Well, yes, of course marriage is a serious business. But surely there can be reasons besides duty and obligation for wishing to marry someone.’
‘I would like to think that there are, but I also think that you and I are mature enough to understand that none of those more…sentimental reasons come into play here,’ David said quietly. ‘Like you, I do not look for shallow declarations of love simply because they are expected. I believe that such a great depth of emotion can only develop over time, as two people come to know and to understand each other. But I would hope that we could deal intelligently with each other, and perhaps with affection. Most importantly, I will honour, respect and revere you, Lady Nicola,’ David said softly. ‘That much I can promise you, from this day forward.’
David wasn’t sure who was more surprised by his admission—Lady Nicola, or himself. He couldn’t remember ever having spoken so openly to anyone before. But she wasn’t to know that he had been suffering pangs of conscience ever since she had asked him if he liked children, and his answer had made him sound like an insensitive boor. Of course he liked children; he always had. Why, then, had he made it sound as if it was only duty that made him consider having them?
David studied the lovely face beside him, and offered her a game smile. ‘Well, I think that is all I have to say. Perhaps you would like some time to think it over? A few more days before I call again for your answer? Unless…you are sure of your answer now.’
Nicola lifted her head to look at him, and marvelled at how fickle the human heart could be. She had just received a proposal of marriage from one of the most eligible gentlemen in London—one whom most would have accepted before his final words were out—and now he was offering her time to consider an answer which, until a few short moments ago, would have been the same in a week’s time as it would have been today.
Until a few short moments ago…
‘No, I do not need more time, Lord Blackwood,’ Nicola replied. ‘What more could a lady ask than to be given the assurance that she will be well taken care of, and blessed with a family to love and to care for? Yes, I will marry you.’
David stared at her. ‘You will?’
‘Yes. And I thank you for asking.’
It was not until that moment that David realized how much he had been hoping that Nicola would agree to his proposal. So much so that, when he smiled, Nicola caught her breath at the change it wrought in his appearance. It made him appear younger, and so much more…approachable. She was hardly to know that it was a smile which only a few close friends and family members were ever privileged enough to see.
‘I think it is I who should be thanking you… Nicola,’ David whispered. He leaned forward to brush a kiss against her cheek, and noticed, for the first time, how very sweet was the fragrance that surrounded her. ‘You have made me a very happy man. And now shall we call your father back in and give him the news?’
‘Wait…before you do, there is…something I should like to ask you.’
‘You may ask of me anything you wish, my dear.’
The endearment caused the strangest flutter in the pit of Nicola’s stomach, but she forced herself to concentrate on what she had to say. ‘My lord, I was wondering…how do you feel about…animals?’
