Page 88 of House of Thorns
Chapter Twenty-Three
The Blue Slipper
Nicholas watched Olivia work her way through the gathering. A week had passed since the concert.An Enchanted Summer Eveninghad been a smashing success. Glasgow still spoke of little else—barring the news of Lord Randall’s fall from grace. True to his word, the Duke had ruined the man.
Still, Olivia was primarily the talk of the town, and her father, as well. Every newspaper in Scotland and England carried the story of her father’s music, sung by the famed Lark of Paris. The concert had exceeded even his highest hopes for her success. With a smile, he watched her circle the ballroom of the Duke of Lennox’s country estate, Arbroath Hall. She moved with such poise, such grace, conversing easily with even the most cantankerous, manipulating them into smiles. By God, her talent was wasted building her music empire. She belonged in the government.
He watched her from under hooded lids, his gaze snagging on the length of ribbon on her gown. Soon, he’d see her wearing such a ribbon, and nothing else.
“My dear son.”
Nicholas cleared his throat and turned to see his mother bearing down upon him.
“I’ve been remiss in visiting,” he acknowledged as she drew him into a warm embrace. “But I have been rather busy.”
“No son should be so busy as to not visit his own mother—especially in the very same town,” she chided, but then, he noticed the gleam in her eye. “At last, you are here at the very same time as my dearest friend’s daughter. I’ve so wanted the two of you to meet.”
Nicholas graced her with a smile. “Mother, I would be delighted to meet her, but I have made up my mind. I have decided to wed.”
“Wed?” Her lips parted in surprise. “Surely, you jest?”
“I assure you, I do not.”
“Then, who is she?”
“I shall bring her to you, shortly. At the moment, she is rather engaged.” He angled his head toward Olivia, who spoke to Lord Deveraux near the punch table at the far end of the ballroom.
Lady Blair sighed. “I did so want you to meet Olivia.”
Nicholas cocked a brow. “Olivia?”
“My dearest friend’s daughter, Olivia Mackenzie,” his mother replied. “Indeed, she is as a daughter to me.”
Nicholas chuckled. His mother glanced at him in confusion, but he was prevented an explanation by the entrance of the Duke of Lennox, with Deborah on his arm.
The voices in the room fell.
Deborah moved to the center of the ballroom, dressed in sapphire blue with a matching string about her neck.
The Duke of Lennox clapped his hands.
A footman appeared at the door, bearing a silver tray over his head upon which rested a small, wooden box. He stopped before the duke and bowed.
Slowly, the duke opened the box and withdrew a small ceramic shoe, encrusted with sapphires.
A chorus of ‘ahh’s’ resounded through the chamber.
“Lord’s and Ladies,” the duke raised his voice as he held the shoe aloft. “This day has been so very long in coming. I thank you, one and all, for your attendance on this joyous occasion: the announcement of my heir.”
Applause circled the room.
Nicholas smiled at Olivia where she stood with Lord Deveraux. There had been rumors the duke was announcing Deborah’s inheritance. Indeed, it was the only reason Olivia had agreed to attend. While her relations with her grandfather had improved since the concert, the progress could barely be measured. Still, he knew her to be secretly pleased the old man had attended.
“My granddaughter,” the duke continued, “is a woman of rare constitution and strength, a fierce spirit who bows to none.”
Nicholas arched a brow at Deborah. Surely, the duke jested.
“Loyal to her family, and of the utmost worth to carry forth the family name. Indeed, I could not ask for a fiercer protector of the line of Lennox,” the duke continued, his voice growing hoarse with emotion. He lifted the sapphire shoe higher. “I am proud, nay, both honored and humbled to announce the next Duchess of Lennox.”
