Page 115 of Lessons for Marquesses
Not until then did Georgiana brave a glance at Nicholas between the silver epergne. The new staff had found the forgotten piece, polished it, and stuck it with a fortune full of candles and a profusion of roses and irises.
A formidable resolve had come over Nicholas. She suspected that the smile he tipped toward her was to convey affection, but in his eyes was nothing short of a warrior fantasizing on bloody combat.
Julian dragged his glowering gaze from Kitty. “Will you return before the ball?” he asked Nicholas.
“I will return within the week,” Nicholas said.
“It will be unforgettable,” Anthony replied with a smirk. “Wouldn’t want you to miss it.”
“I wager it will be more memorable than Montacute’s ball,” Julian observed. “Except this time, my sister won’t leave engaged to a viscount.”
Nicholas barreled a look to Oliver who stabbed his roast.
Nicholas reeled at Julian’s off-handed remark on the Montacute’s ball and Caroline’s engagement to Tufton. He bid his time through dinner but unable to stomach furtherconversation over port, he quit the dining room as soon as the women had departed.
Now Caroline was at the salon door leading to his room.
He opened the door, dispassionately noting the cane she little required and the flowing silk dressing gown. The latter was an exquisite piece of artifice and far more beautiful than the woman wearing it.
How could he have ever taken pleasure from her? Thought she was beautiful? Compared Georgiana to this petty, selfish being? He hated himself for it, more than he did Caroline.
He had threatened to strike the teeth from her mouth if she ever called Georgiana a whore again. And he had meant it. He never wanted to see her again and soon, he’d have his wish.
“Nicholas, please do not be angry with me,” she said. “I will apologize to Georgiana. Anything to please you.”
“You should apologize because you know it was wrong,” he said, escorting her back to her own door. “What home were you sent to in the country after my brother was killed?”
“What does it matter?”
“I want to know. That is what matters.”
“Willoughby. Near Wantage.”
“Interesting. The Montacute’s ball was held in St. James. What is that, eighty miles away?”
She dropped her cane.
He picked it up and forced her fingers around the ivory handle. "You were not sent to the country. You attended the Montacute’s ball and announced your engagement to Tufton there. You forsook me, a man who you supposedly loved, who you had pledged to marry.”
A grimace twisted her mouth as if the idea were completely foreign, as if he hadn’t proposed to her.
“Why did you not come forward and tell them I was with you?” he asked.
“How could I? I was not with you when you killed your brother.”
Nicholas didn’t have the time to hide his shock. Never had he blamed her for not coming to his defense. It would have ruined her, but it would have been the honorable thing to do. He didn’t expect women to be honorable. Their lives were precariously tied to their modest conduct. But she believed he had killed his own brother?
His life with Caroline as his wife played out before him. A study in misery.
For the first time in his life, he was grateful for being sent to war. Edmund had died. He should never have died. But now Nicholas could say that his brother had saved him in death. Edmund had saved Nicholas from Caroline.
Nicholas wrenched his shoulder, his hand stinging with the coming numbness. But it was better than what stood before him. He would never be angry for a hand that worked fitfully again. It was a blessing.
“Oliver knows of your treatment of Georgiana,” he said. “I expect he will ensure your polite conduct toward her in my absence. Good evening.”
He left her for his room, to converse with a God that had taken his brother, his home, his innocence, and good nature. And for the first time in nine years, he thanked God for his life.
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
