Page 9 of An Earl's Christmas Seduction
“Why wouldn’t she be? You rescued her from the snowstorm, didn’t you?” Harry said, and Nicholas laughed.
“Oh, nonsense. Anyone could’ve rescued her. Besides, why are you so interested in my feelings for her?” Nicholas asked.
He did not need Harry’s help in securing a match, even as his friend sighed.
“I just don’t want you to grow so obsessive over your past you forget about your future. You’ve got the responsibility of the title to think of, but more so… yourself, Nicholas. Do you really want to live your life alone?” Harry asked.
He was not married, nor even betrothed, but he had no shortage of female attention, and he delighted in reciprocating. But as for the question of an heir, Nicholas had no intention of discussing the matter with his aunt, Lady Turner, nor with his friend.
“I don’t even know my own legitimacy, Harry. I need to know the truth before I think of… that,” he said.
Harry was about to argue, but a knock now came at the study door, and the butler, Branston, announced the arrival of the next guests.
“Lord and Lady Thornton, my Lord, and Mr. Edmund Thornton,” the butler said, as Nicholas laid aside his brandy glass and hurried out of the study, glad to have an excuse to cut short his conversation with Harry.
The Thorntons were waiting in the hallway, warming themselves on the fire, and Nicholas greeted them warmly. The Thorntons had been friends with Nicholas’ father, and Edmund was their adopted son.
After the old earl had died, Nicholas had discovered his father had paid the entirety of Edmund’s school fees, along with a considerable yearly allowance on top. It had seemed most peculiar. Nicholas had made it his business to know Edmund better.
“I feared the snow might’ve delayed you,” Nicholas said, shaking Lord Thornton by the hand.
“We thought we might have to dig our way through,” he replied, as Nicholas turned to Lady Thornton and kissed her on each cheek.
Edmund was still warming his hands by the fire. He was a sullen youth, not always overly communicative, though possessed of a keen mind, whose conversation, once engaged, could be lively. Nicholas knew his cousin Isobel held a torch for Edmund.
He had invited his father’s protégé for the express purpose of matchmaking…not that he had told Isobel as much. He wanted to discover the reason for his father’s generosity, wondering if the relation between himself and Edmund was one of blood, rather than water.
“I’m glad you didn’t. Please, make yourselves at home. The bedrooms are prepared. We’ll gather in the drawing room shortly for tea or something stronger. How have you been, Edmund? How are your studies at Oxford going?” Nicholas asked, for he was keen to know what the estate’s money was funding.
“I’m writing a monograph on the decline of Rome. It’s proving to be very interesting,” Edmund said, and Nicholas nodded, not entirely sure what to make of such pursuits, coming as they did at his own expense.
“Very good. I look forward to hearing more about it in the coming days. Do make yourselves comfortable,” he said, indicating for Branston to show the Thorntons to their bedrooms.
Harry had joined him in the hallway now, and through the window, Nicholas could see another carriage pulling up beneath the portico.
“How many people have you invited?” his friend whispered, as the footmen hurried to open the door.
“Just a few… ah, it’s the Bambridges,” Nicholas said, stepping out onto the step to greet the two brothers now disembarking from their carriage.
Edgar and Hugh Bambridge, twins, aged twenty-four, were the second sons of Lord and Lady Cornwallis. They came with something of a reputation; rakish, though good-hearted, and lively company.
They enjoyed dancing, gambling, and whatever further pleasures might be on offer. Nicholas had first known them during a season in London, and over the years, the twins had spent several summers at Ashworth House, always making themselves the center of attention.
“Nicky, how good to see you,” Edgar said, shaking Nicholas vigorously by the hand.
Hugh slapped him on the shoulder, grinning at him, as he produced a bottle of brandy from beneath his coat.
“We had a tot on the way to keep warm, but it’s yours now. Thanks awfully for having us. We were at a loss as to what to do for Christmas. It’s so dull at Bridgewater. One loves one’s parents, but this is going to be far more exciting. Are your cousins here?” Hugh asked, and Nicholas smiled.
“They’re here, yes. But you’ve got competition if it’s Isobel you favor,” he said, raising his eyebrows.
Hugh grinned.
“I like a challenge. Come along, Eddie. Let’s get in out of the cold. Can you have someone bring me some hot water, Nicky? I want to sink into a tub. That’ll warm me up,” he said.
Nicholas did not like being called Nicky, but Edgar and Hugh, Eddie and Hughie, insisted on it. Harry stood watching this display with a bemused expression on his face, and the two men were shortly dispatched upstairs, promising to return as soon as the gong was sounded.
“How many more are we waiting for?” Harry asked.
