“You’re late,” Grandfather complained as Nicholas strode into the townhouse.
“No, I’m not,” Nicholas said quite calmly. He held his grandfather’s gaze. At least fifty years his senior, Grandfather was tall and square-jawed and still possessed of a formidable strength of presence. He stood straight-backed, just as he must have on the parade-ground with the military, his white mustache bright against his slightly red-tinged face. His dark eyes—darker than Father’s ever were—held Nicholas’ gaze stiffly.
“You are,” Grandfather retorted, turning towards the stairs. “But enough bickering. I need to speak to you in the study.”
“Yes, Grandfather,” Nicholas murmured. He followed the older man upstairs to the study.
“Now, Grandson of mine,” Grandfather began firmly. “Youcannot be in any doubt as to why I have to speak with you. This matter of the succession is urgent. I wish to see heirs before I pass away. And I’m not young anymore, you know.” He coughed and Nicholas felt a fleeting compassion for him. Grandfather had a bad cough, was prone to anger and his knee pained him terribly. But his compassion couldn’t quell the frustration at his grandfather’s comment.
“I can’t just produce sons on demand, Grandfather,” he said mildly.
“I’m quite aware of that. That’s enough rudeness from you, young man.” Grandfather fixed him with an angry glare. Nicholas felt his own anger increase.
I’m eight-and-twenty,he wanted to shout.I’m not a child. Father never treated me like that, even when I was a child.
“What do you wish for me to do?” he asked instead.
“I wish for you to attend balls and parties and find a future countess by the end of this Season. As it happens, I have some ideas for you.”
“What?” Nicholas yelled, then colored, not wanting to lose his temper and let Grandfather have the satisfaction of getting under his guard again. “What exactly do you mean?” he asked more calmly.
“I mean,” Grandfather said with a firm look in his direction, “that you’ve wasted enough time choosing, and it’s time that I made the choice for you.”
The pain in his head that had been there all afternoon, grew, pressing in on his sight. His grandfather couldn’t mean what he’d just said. He just couldn’t. But Nicholas knew him well enough to believe him capable of anything. He’d made a choice for him already—Nicholas could hear it in his voice. It was typical, and all Nicholas could do was fight him on it at the first chance he had.
Chapter 3
The sun blazed into the dining room. Bernadette stared at her plate and tried to ignore the words that Mama threw at her across the table.
“I can’t believe it! All that time and effort! Securing an invitation from Lady Cobham...everything. And you go and hide on the terrace all evening.”
“I didn’t hide all evening,” Bernadette commented, her voice small and thin.
“Don’t argue with your mother,” Father interrupted, looking up from the roast fish they ate for lunch.
She looked out of the window, feeling desperate. Viola’s family townhouse was a brisk walk across town in Pall Mall, but Bernadette didn’t feel as though she had the energy to go there after the ball yesterday. Viola would be visiting for tea tomorrow, but that meant she had the whole of one day shut in the house with her critical family.
“You don’t even try! What do you expect? That the nice gown and the hairstyle will do all the work while you stand on the terrace like a potted fern?”
“Mama, please,” Bernadette whispered. Her parents’ reproaches were like knives. She couldn’t stand having many more of them thrown her way. She sipped lemonade, her stomach lurching queasily. She’d tried to force herself to eat the soup they had for the first course, but it didn’t sit well, and she knew she had to escape soon. “I would like to be excused...”
“There you go! Hiding again! What iswrongwith you?” Her mother shrilled. “You’re the daughter of a baron. Can you not behave as one?”
Father looked up from his plate of food. “Amelia,” he addressed her mother thinly. “Please...not so loud. I’m trying to think.”
Bernadette gaped. It was fine when Mama shouted at her, but if it disturbed his afternoon musing, then it was wrong. She looked from one to the other, her heart aching. She could see no love when they looked at her. All that was written in their gazes was censure and ambition. In their world, she just needed to be like everyone else, to secure a fine match and blend seamlessly into theTonlike others of their social standing. But that wasn’t possible for her. She was too sensitive, too nervous, too unsure of herself. And the weight of their expectations was a hard one to bear.
“Please, Mama. Father. I feel ill. I beg to be excused.” She pushed back her chair, the sound loud in the silence.
“Well, don’t be long. We have an appointment with the seamstress at two o’ clock this afternoon. Your new gown for your appearance at Almack’s Assembly needs a fitting. It’s to be a fine one—fit to face the whole of high society in.” She lookedsatisfied.
Bernadette stared at her mother. Was that all she thought about? Balls and parties and impressing other people in theTon?
Without speaking to either of them, she turned and walked out of the room. Hurrying to her bedroom, she shut the door and sat down on her bed, heart thudding. Her stomach roiled queasily, and she thought for a moment she was actually sick with something.
God, help me,she thought in a silent prayer. It was all too much. The Season was a round of torment for someone shy like her; three months of London, balls, parties, and the never-ending, soul-shredding criticism. She needed to escape.
I can’t spend the rest of my life like this.
