***
The next morning, he rushed and rinsed his face and mouth, hurrying to summon his valet. He’d promised Grandmother and Grandfather he’d meet them for breakfast at their townhouse in the morning. And he was going to be late.
The coach was ready in ten minutes, and Nicholas, hastily dressed in a navy-blue jacket and white trousers, leaned back, watching London move slowly past as they crossed past Hyde Park on their way to his grandparents’ home.
Grandmother greeted him in refined tones as he walked into the breakfast room. He bowed.
“Good morning, Grandmother. Good morning, Grandfather,” he added, inclining his head towards his grandfather, who was sitting at the table across from her, buttering toast and barely looking up at his grandson.
“Mm,” he grunted. “Morning, Nicholas. Play went well?”
“Well enough,” Nicholas said tightly. Annoyance at the intrusive question was sour in his stomach. He drew out a seat at the table.
“Was the principal actor on good form?” Grandmother asked him politely.
Nicholas nodded. “It was a good performance, yes,” he agreed. He couldn’t help recalling Miss Rowland discussing the play, an intent, intense expression on her face as she discussed Ophelia and her role in it. Grandmother would do better discussing the merit of the play with Miss Rowland, he thought wryly.
“I trust it was a good evening?” she inquired.
“Um. Yes. Good enough,” Nicholas said carefully. He knew she was trying, indirectly, to glean information about how it had been to talk with Miss Rowland, but he didn’t want to discuss her. He lifted some toast from the toast-rack. Then he reached for the butter, keeping his gaze on the table.
His grandmother cleared her throat. “Um, Nicholas...”
She didn’t complete the sentence, so he looked inquiringly across at her to find her gazing at the table as though she was indicating something to him. Nicholas’ eyes widened. She was looking at the paper on the table, still folded. He caught sight of a name that made his skin prickle. The scandal sheets were talking about him!
“Oh, what in...” He caught himself before he swore. He was about to pick them up, but his grandmother cleared her throatagain.
“It’s quite all right, Nicholas. They’re merely speculating about why your choice would have fallen on someone so obscure. I’ll step in. I’ll take her shopping. Nobody can doubt the truth when this Rowland girl is seen in my company. That’ll make sure everyone knows this is a respectable venture.” She smiled thinly.
“Grandmother...” Nicholas began tightly. He appreciated her offer, but he didn’t like the way she spoke so dismissively.
“Who cares what they say about it?” Grandfather blustered. “So long as they’re talking. If Society knows our news, that is good, even if they have to spread it around as mindless gossip now.”
“Rowell...” Grandmother began. Nicholas shifted uncomfortably on his chair. He didn’t want to make trouble.
“Well, whatever they say,” Grandfather blustered again. “News is news.”
Nicholas looked at the table. He was still recovering from the previous day. It was difficult enough to face people’s judgements, to feel many pairs of eyes watching as he walked to the family box in the theater. It would have been difficult enough without Miss Rowland’s shyness or Emily’s unwelcome presence in the foyer to confuse him even more.
“You’ll take Miss Rowland out again, tomorrow.”
“What?” Nicholas demanded, gazing at his grandfather disbelievingly. “What about the papers, the gossip?”
His grandfather shrugged. “You’ll take Miss Rowland out tomorrow. It seems like it will be a good day to go to the park.”
Nicholas just stared. He didn’t have the energy to object anymore.
“Your grandfather is right. The only way to stop this gossip is to be seen in public. It can only be positive.” Grandmother fixed him with a firm gray-eyed gaze.
Nicholas looked down at his tea. He was surprised that, in spite of his initial anger, his mind was not set against it. Part of him still wanted to see Miss Rowland and see if, just maybe, he could make a better impression on her than he had on anyone else so far.
Chapter 12
The soft scent of dew floated through the drawing room window and Bernadette breathed in, her eyes closed where she sat at the pianoforte. Her fingers found the notes of her favorite Beethoven sonata almost on a reflex; the haunting, lilting melody flowing out from under her fingertips without her conscious thought.
Her thoughts were with Lord Blackburne. She was amazed to find that she liked him. He had been so rude, frightening and intimidating when she first met him, but that seemed the wrong impression. He was charming and funny, and interested in everything she had to say. She completed the sonata, and Viola, sitting by the tea-table, stood up, drawing Bernadette’s attention back from her wandering thoughts.
“That was beautiful. Would you like some more tea?”
