“No. He...he promised my hand to...to someone I don’t even know!” Bernadette stammered, unable to hide her fear. She was shaking. Now that she was away from Father and in a safe place, her body could show the fear she’d been hiding. Judy reached for her, her slender arms wrapping her close.
“Shh. Shh, milady. It’s all right. It’s all right.”
“I have to do something,” Bernadette whispered. “I can’t let him.”
Judy held her tight, and Bernadette stopped shivering. She breathed in, feeling calmer. She looked at Judy, whose dark gazeheld hers.
“Mayhap it isn't so bad, milady,” Judy said softly. “Mayhap the man is young and handsome. You can’t know.”
Bernadette chuckled a little distractedly. The idea was so far from any thoughts in her mind that, just for an instant, it made her feel better. “I doubt it,” she said quietly as her mind settled down again.
Judy smiled. “It doesn’t mean he can’t be, milady. Many people find happiness in such things. It could be better than you think. Better than here, and that’s almost certain.”
Bernadette nodded. Judy knew, even though Bernadette almost never told her, how indifferent and cold her parents were.
“You’re right,” she answered.
Judy chuckled. “I am right,” she agreed. “Now, it can’t be too bad. I don’t reckon your father would sell you to a travelling merchant.”
Bernadette smiled a little sadly. “No. But only because a merchant won’t advance him in society.”
“Now, milady! It can’t be that bad. Parents want what’s best for us.”
Bernadette swallowed hard. “Maybe,” she whispered. She knew that wasn’t true. Her parents did not know her. She had been raised by her nanny, at the country estate, RothendaleManor, and her parents saw her rarely, hardly at all before she turned eight years old. They had more interest in visiting Town and being at society events than ever they did in their only daughter. They couldn’t decide what was best for her because they would have had to know something about her, which they did not.
“I shall retire to the kitchen in order to procure a delightful cup of tea for you,” Judy murmured. That’s what you need...good and fortifying, a cup of tea is.” Judy smiled at her.
“Thank you,” Bernadette whispered dutifully.
Judy hurried out. Bernadette sat down and looked out of the window. She stared up at the clouds, just visible through the branches of the oak tree beyond the casement. The branches tossed, the leaves fluttering in the stiff spring breeze. She watched them—they were as wild and tumultuous as her own thoughts. As she sat there, she thought about what Judy had said.
Perhaps he wasn’t hideous—Judy was right. Curiosity might be the only way she could keep herself from losing her wits. As she sat there watching the leaves rustle in the breeze, her mind invented a dozen pictures of Viscount Blackburne. Slim and dark-haired, with soulful brown eyes like a man in a French romance novel. Pale and red-haired, with glinting emerald eyes like a Scottish laird. Maybe square-faced and solemn, like a good Englishman.
Maybe it’s not too bad,she thought silently.
She would know tomorrow evening what he was really like.And then she could decide whether to run to Viola to hide or not.
Chapter 5
The butler at Lockwood House, the London residence of the current Earl and Countess of Lockwood, opened the door to admit Nicholas.
“Your grandmother is in the drawing room,” the butler told him politely. “Your grandfather is out on urgent business. He will return shortly.”
“Thank you,” Nicholas replied, and removed his coat and hat, handing them to the butler and walking into the marble-tiled entrance. It was a windy day outside, the spring clouds scudding across the sunny sky. It might rain soon; it was impossible to guess. All he knew was that it was cold, and he needed to get inside and get warm, and also to put his mind at ease.
He strode upstairs to the drawing room. As he reached the door, a low, feminine voice greeted him.
“Nicholas! Grandson. How lovely to see you. Come and sit down, do! It’s cold out there.”
His grandmother, Lady Lockwood, was remarkable. Almost the same age as Grandfather, she was nonetheless vital and vibrant in ways Grandfather, a former major in the RoyalCavalry, likely never was. She was also extremely poised and refined, her long gray silk dress and the circlet of silver at her neck effortlessly elegant. She leaned back on the wingback chair she sat in, her white hair arranged in an impeccable chignon.
“Good morning, Grandmother,” he greeted her, bowing low and taking a seat opposite her at the table. She smiled, looking pleased. “I trust I find you well?” he asked as he came to join her.
“You do, Nicholas. You do find me well. My back pains me, but such trials are to be borne, yes?” She smiled, a thin, red-lipped smile, though she used no rouge to speak of. Nicholas nodded.
“I suppose,” he said quietly. The mention of tribulations brought back the memory of what he wished to talk about. He drew a breath. “Is Grandfather very busy?”
“He’s out discussing who knows what at the club. I don’t trouble my head with matters of business.” She smiled an impeccable grin, the gracious hostess.
