Page 14 of Within the Hollow Heart

“Nickolas!”chirped the tall blond woman who met them in the grand entrance room at the Filmore estate.

Nickolas bowed deeply. “Lady Filmore. Lovely to see you again.”

She rushed forward and took his hand in hers before performing a dip that displayed bare arms and a great deal of silk taffeta skirt.

“Compliments on your gown, my lady.” He stepped back, but Lady Filmore gave him no distance, keeping hold of his hand while he gestured toward Jules where she stood with her bird. “May I introduce the lady”—he pressed his lips, giving Jules a wink to remind her of his carved-stone heart—“Jules.”

Jules dipped briefly. Lady Filmore stared blankly at the cage in Jules’s hand.

“And this is Frederick,” Nickolas said. “He ranks higher than a mere lord, I believe, though I’ve yet to gather his full heritage. Has the bearing for royalty. A prince at least.”

At his jest, Jules made a choked sound.

Lady Filmore only blinked.

It was progress, he supposed. Nickolas cleared his throat, giving Lady Filmore’s hand a little squeeze to remind her that she’d not let go and was not exactly welcoming her guest. “Allow me to extend my gratitude, again, for the favor your family has bestowed upon us today. I assure you that it is most appreciated and will not soon be forgotten.”

“Of course,” she replied automatically, evidently taking her eyes off the cage only so they might travel over Jules’s gown with a no-less-forgiving expression.

Nickolas pulled his hand from Lady Filmore’s grip then offered his arm to Jules. “The estate is lovely, as always, Lady Filmore. You must convey my admiration to your father. Such an esteemed property and kept so well by your family.”

Lady Filmore’s eyes met his, the woman finally taking up his reminders of civility. “Yes. It is lovely. Particularly this time of year. I hope you’ll join us for the annual gathering in the gardens, Lord Brigham.”

“You must” came another voice from the entrance to the room. Another Filmore sister, dressed nearly identical to the first. “Promise us now before the midsummer ball, where you might be swayed into more lofty pursuits. Rumor has it there will be a handful of all-too-intriguing visitors present. I do so hate to be overshadowed.”

“Lady Filmore.” Nickolas offered a bow. “We were just headed to the—”

“I know,” said the elder sister. “You must permit me to escort you.” She also made to reach for his hand, but one glance at Jules—and the cage—and the elder Lady Filmore called for the butler. “Take this contrivance away, please.” The sound she made could be classified as nothing but disgust.

Jules drew the cage closer. “Frederick stays with me.”

The butler, under direction from his employer by means of a less-than-subtle look, persisted. His hand closed over a bar. The bird drove its beak into the man’s fingers. Jules did not let go.

Nickolas moved forward, but neither of the pair spared him a glance. “Lady Filmore,” Nickolas said levelly, “kindly instruct your man to remove himself from my lady’s presence before I do it for him.”

The elder sister laughed, the sound too cheery and overloud in the open chamber. “My lord, surely you do not intend—”

At his look, she apparently understood hedidintend, because she called the butler down. The lot of them stood in the near silence for one long moment, broken only by the complaints of the aggrieved bird.

Nickolas adjusted his lapel then gave a sharp nod before tugging on Jules’s arm, submitting not a moment more to the sisters. Tension remained in Jules’s grip on the cage, then they were in the library and safely out of conflict’s way. It was the better part of an hour before either spoke another word, and when they did, it was not in regard to how she’d been treated.

“May I help you find whatever it is that you are looking for?” Nickolas finally asked as he watched Jules from where he leaned on a nearby set of shelves.

“I can’t—” she started, a tightening in her expression seeming to cut short the words. She shook her head. “I have to do it myself.”

He picked up a small ceramic container, halfheartedly examining the painted vines circling its lid. He was fairly certain it was imported, but he’d seen impressive enough imitations. Every summer, there was a little stall set up near the gate with one of the traveling markets, where a family of painters possessed a remarkable talent to mimic nearly any style. Nickolas had always marveled at the courtiers who passed by the youngest child’s original gems in favor of lesser works in a popular fashion. “And we are not to ask the Filmore—”

Jules shot him a look.

He could not help but bite back a smile. “Yes, you told me.” His fingers twisted at his lips before performing the act of throwing away an invisible key. “They must never know.”

Nickolas turned to the shelf, gaze blurring over a dozen embossed titles bound in leather. “It’s only that it seems more expeditious to use me. After all, I am here.”

Jules stopped in the motion of sliding a slim volume back into its spot to look at him. “Perhaps you should find a diversion to occupy your time.”

“Perhaps,” he said, chastened. Glancing about the room, he thought that there was not particularly anything more diverting than watching Jules at her work. The thought had him certain it was time to find an alternate occupation. He strode away from her, crossed to an entirely different section of books, drew one from the shelf at random, and took it to the far end of the room, where sunlight fell over a lovely trio of lounges.

He reclined onto one and opened the book. He managed more than an hour of reading before his eyes began to lift once more, catching on Jules where her search had progressed to shelves nearer to him. Restlessness beginning anew, he closed the book, wandered toward the window, then found himself seated at the pianoforte.

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