Blackwood's Lady

‘And that is?’

‘A sensible woman not prone to giddiness, frivolity or…unacceptable behaviour I believe was how he phrased it. He also assured me that he would be a good husband and father, and that I would want for nothing.’

‘Admirable sentiments, to my way of thinking.’

‘And Papa believes it to be an advantageous match.’

‘And so it is, my dear!’ Lady Dorchester agreed wholeheartedly. ‘Lord Blackwood is one of the wealthiest men in London, not to mention one of the most handsome. I admit, he may not be as light-hearted as some of the gentlemen his age, but then, he has always been something of a serious lad, and he grew even more so after his dear mother died. He never really took to his father’s second wife, you see. Rumour has it that he blamed her for his father’s death.’

‘Oh, dear, I had no idea,’ Nicola said, biting her lip. ‘But I know so little of Lord Blackwood.’

‘Which is hardly surprising, given your extended absence from Town,’ Lady Dorchester said. ‘However, we cannot overlook the fact that you have been extremely fortunate, Nicki. And I feel sure that once Lord Blackwood is happily married you will see a considerable change in his disposition. So, when and where is the wedding to take place?’

‘I’m not sure. Lord Blackwood mentioned having the ceremony at the family chapel at Ridley Hall, but I rather had my heart set on St Andrew’s, where Mama and Papa were married. Unfortunately, he had to return to London before we were able to come to a decision.’

‘Well, no doubt you shall be able to settle it the next time he comes to Wyndham. Now, we must start making plans for your betrothal ball. And I will not take no for an answer,’ Lady Dorchester said firmly, as Nicola went to object. ‘Your father and I have already discussed it, and he has assured me of his complete cooperation. That is why we are going to hold the ball at Wyndham rather than here at Doring Cross. Given the number of people I intend to invite, Doring would hardly be large enough.’

‘But it is such a lot of work, Aunt,’ Nicola said guiltily.

‘I am well aware of that, my dear, but, in truth, I am looking forward to it. I was not fortunate enough to have children of my own, and if I cannot do something like this for my own daughter, at least let me do it for my sister’s child. I know this is what Elizabeth would have wanted for you.’

It was probably the best argument she could have employed, and thus appealed to, Nicola could not find it in her heart to say no. ‘Well, if you are sure, but—oh, upon my word! Champagne?’ she exclaimed as the door to the drawing room opened and the butler came in with a silver tray.

‘Well, of course. It isn’t every day my favourite niece becomes engaged to the Marquis of Blackwood, and I think such a momentous occasion warrants a special celebration. Besides, I have had precious little else to celebrate these last few months.’

Nicola’s green eyes softened and, impulsively, she leaned forward to kiss her aunt’s smooth, unlined cheek. ‘Dear Aunt Glynn. You really should start moving about in Society again. Uncle Bart has been gone these three years, and you are far too lovely to shut yourself away. I know that you could find another husband if you only set your mind to it.’

‘In all honesty, I am not sure that I wish to, Nicki.’ Lady Dorchester’s expression grew suddenly wistful. ‘Your uncle and I were together for over fourteen years, and, frankly, I am not sure that I could adjust to having a new gentleman under foot—if I could even find one who would have me. A younger man will be looking for a woman to give him sons, whereas an older man will be looking for a pretty young thing to parade about Town on his arm. And at six-and-thirty I am neither one nor the other. I seem to fall into that…grey area in between.’

‘Fiddlesticks. You are far too young and lovely to think of yourself as part of any grey area,’ Nicola scolded her aunt affectionately. ‘And I know that any number of gentlemen would tell you so, if you were but willing to listen.’

Lady Dorchester patted her niece’s hand. ‘You are a dear child, Nicola. And I would be lying if I said there were not certain things I miss about being married, especially to a man one is truly in love with.’ Her eyes crinkled around the edges. ‘The Duchess of Basilworth is forever telling me that I should take a chèr ami.’

Nicola gasped, and then started to laugh. ‘Never!’

‘Oh, yes. And she is quite serious.’

‘No doubt she is. The duchess has been known to make some outrageous statements. But would you really consider doing such a thing, Aunt?’

Lady Dorchester looked thoughtful for a moment, and then shook her head. ‘I think not. As exciting as the idea may be, one seldom finds happiness with such a man. They are usually either married, or considered too much a rake or roué to be so, and I, for one, have no desire to throw my heart away on someone I can neither have nor trust. Oh, dear, have I embarrassed you?’ Lady Dorchester asked, noticing the sudden rosy hue in her niece’s cheeks.

‘Not at all.’ Nicola was quick to assure her. ‘I was merely thinking about something I overheard at Lady Rumbolt’s soirée the other evening.’

‘Dear me, it must have been something very interesting to make you blush so.’

‘Yes, it was.’

Lady Dorchester waited expectantly, then prompted, ‘Well?’

Nicola bit her lip. ‘I am not at all sure it is an appropriate topic for me to be discussing.’

‘Why don’t you tell me and allow me to make that decision?’

Nicola laughed self-consciously, then said, ‘Very well. Is it true, Aunt, that…a married lady should not mind if her husband goes elsewhere for…well, that is, for his—?’

‘Thank you, Nicola; I think I can figure the rest of it out,’ Lady Dorchester said abruptly, even as her blue eyes began to sparkle. ‘My word, that was quite a conversation you overheard. However, I will give you the benefit of my opinion, by saying that, yes, a wife should most definitely mind if her husband looks elsewhere for his…pleasures. Love between a man and his wife can be a wonderful thing, Nicola. And, if you are fortunate enough to really love your husband, the thought of his going elsewhere will cause you more misery than you can imagine. Unfortunately, all too often, women look upon…certain aspects of marriage as an unpleasant task, a duty that must be borne stoically and in silence, refusing to believe that, with a little effort on their part, they could actually come to enjoy it. And I’ll wager you’ll not hear that whispered in the drawing rooms of Society,’ she added dryly.

Nicola looked thoughtful for a moment. ‘Then such feelings can exist within a marriage, if one but makes the effort.’

‘Oh, yes, indeed. Mark my words, Nicki: if you want a happy marriage, make the effort to please your husband,’ Lady Dorchester urged her. ‘I give you my promise, it will be well worth it in the long run. For both of you!’

In London, David attended to the business of his upcoming nuptials with the same efficiency that he employed in matters concerning the running of his estates. He spent an afternoon with his secretary, dictating letters and issuing instructions, and generally whittling down the pile of correspondence which had accumulated during his brief absence. The pink, highly scented letters from his mistress he burned without reading. He had warned Yvette time without number not to address correspondence to his home, but she had not paid him the slightest heed.

Probably because it was not intellect the darling Yvette was renowned for.

Fortunately, his desire for the pretty ballet dancer had long since begun to wane—as had his interest in any kind of casual encounter—so it was not with a deep feeling of regret that David left her cosy little house that night, after bidding her a final adieu. In spite of the tears, he had no doubt that she would recover quickly from her grief. In fact, he fully expected that she would have a new gentleman in her bed by this time tomorrow night.

From there, he headed to St James’s to enjoy a few quiet hours at his club. He was not at all surprised to find his uncle already reposed in a comfortable chair by the fire, a glass of port in one hand, a copy of The Gentleman’s Quarterly in the other.

‘Evening, Uncle Giles.’

Sir Giles looked up, and his face brightened considerably. ‘David, my boy, thank God you’re back. Place has been as quiet as a tomb without you.’ The baronet folded his paper and signalled to the waiter for another glass. ‘So, tell me, how did Lady Nicola react to your proposal? Did she say yes right off?’

David settled back into the comfortable leather armchair next to his uncle, and crossed one ankle over the other. ‘Not exactly. As it turned out, she had a few questions of her own.’

‘Did she indeed? Brave girl. I doubt many others would have had the courage to quiz you about anything other than how soon you would start showering them with the fabulous Blackwood diamonds.’

David chuckled softly. ‘I admit, I was slightly taken aback when she asked me why I wanted to marry her.’

‘The devil! And what did you tell her?’

‘That I was looking for a sensible woman, and that in return she would want for nothing.’

‘Did she think that an appropriate reply?’

‘She must have. She agreed to marry me.’

Sir Giles studied his nephew thoughtfully. ‘I wonder if she will not be quite as biddable as you think, David.’

Briefly reminded of the flash of determination in Nicola’s eyes when she had asked about bringing along her river-salvaged pups, David couldn’t help but wonder himself. What would she have said, he wondered, had he refused to allow her to keep the mongrels?

But then, recalling the look of pleasure on her face when he had sat down beside her, and the way her eyes had fluttered closed when he had kissed her cheek, he wondered whether the other was all that important. While he wasn’t looking for an argumentative wife, neither did he wish to spend his life with a whey-faced young miss who would bow to his every whim. A certain amount of spirit was admirable. A certain amount.

‘No, all things considered, I think Nicola and I shall suit,’ David said, surprised at how content the statement made him feel. ‘Time I gave up this bachelor existence anyway.’

Sir Giles’s lips twitched. ‘All of it?’

‘All of it. I have given Yvette her congé in the form of a flashy ruby bracelet—’

‘Which no doubt helped to ease the pain of parting.’

David laughed. ‘No doubt. And I sent a note round to Belle, advising her of my intentions to marry.’

‘Ah, yes, the fair Arabella.’ Sir Giles hesitated, wishing to phrase his question diplomatically. ‘Do you think she will be disturbed by the news?’

‘I see no reason why she should be. Belle was kind enough to act as my hostess when I required one, and I was grateful for her efforts, but I hardly think she will feel put out when she learns that she is to be displaced by the woman I rightfully intend to marry!’

‘So, Blackwood is finally planning to wed, eh?’ the rotund Lady Fayne commented as she accepted a cup of tea from her hostess. ‘About time too, if you ask me.’

Lady Mortimer sniffed disparagingly. ‘Should have married years ago. Doesn’t do to keep so many young ladies holding out hopes. Know anything about the gel?’

Arabella Braithwaite stirred a small spoonful of sugar into her tea and then sat back against the richly upholstered cushions of the gold damask settee, her lovely features arranged in a mask of amiability. ‘Not really, other than that she spends a good deal of time in the country.’

‘Lovely girl, though,’ Mrs Harper-Burton put in kindly. ‘I recall seeing her at Almack’s years ago. They made almost as much fuss over her come-out as they did yours, Belle.’

‘Still, the announcement must have come as something of a shock,’ the Duchess of Basilworth said loftily. She smiled at the beautifully gowned woman across from her with a modicum of pity. ‘I suppose you will have to resign yourself to playing a much smaller part in Lord Blackwood’s life from now on. He will hardly need you acting as his hostess when he has a wife of his own.’

‘Perhaps, but just because Lord Blackwood has a wife does not mean I shall no longer have occasion to see him, Your Grace,’ Arabella said sweetly. ‘We are cousins after all, and no doubt his wife will appreciate my being there to help smooth her transition back into London Society. I understand that she has been keeping a very low profile since putting off her blacks.’

‘Oh, Belle, how generous of you,’ Mrs Harper-Burton said. ‘I thought you might have been…well, resentful of another woman taking your place.’

‘Taking her place. Really, Clara!’ the Duchess of Basilworth snapped. ‘How can Arabella be resentful of someone taking a place which was never hers to begin with?’

‘Indeed,’ Arabella said lightly. ‘I merely came to Lord Blackwood’s aid at a dinner party, and, much to my surprise, he asked for my help at his next one. I really just…slipped into the role.’

‘Well, you are just going to have to slip right back out of it again,’ the Duchess said smugly. ‘I am sure the future Lady Blackwood will not be looking for assistance in domestic matters. I understand she is a sensible young woman. No doubt she will be able to hire a competent staff to attend to such matters.’

Arabella’s smile never faltered. ‘Yes, I am sure she will. More tea, anyone?’

The conversation moved off into other areas and the topic of Lord Blackwood’s upcoming nuptials was forgotten. But as soon as the ladies took their leave and Arabella was left alone the scowl which had appeared on her face upon receiving her cousin’s note abruptly reappeared, wiping out all traces of her earlier complacency.

How could David spring the news on her like that! He had never even made mention of the fact that he was thinking of getting married, and here he was, engaged to some country chit, without so much as a private word to her beforehand. Did he care nothing for her feelings?

Arabella stood up and began to pace the room with the fury of a caged tigress. It was simply too galling! True, there had never been anything of a romantic nature between them, but Arabella had always hoped that, given time, their relationship might develop into something…warmer. But that wasn’t likely to happen now. Because David was replacing her with a wife. His politely worded letter, thanking her for everything she had done, and assuring her that they would continue to see each other on a social basis, did nothing to lessen her humiliation. She had not just imagined the pity in the Duchess of Basilworth’s beady eyes this afternoon. It had been there, as plain as day. The old biddy had been laughing at her; enjoying her fall from grace, as it were.

Well, David wasn’t married yet, Arabella reminded herself, and, until he was, she intended to make very sure that she did not slip quietly into the background. Her cousin was a stickler for propriety, and he would expect his wife, as the future marchioness, to behave in a no less honourable fashion—the way Arabella herself had taken pains to behave every time she had been in his company. Duty meant everything to David and, given that Arabella had heard some very interesting stories about the late Countess of Wyndham, and about the daughter who was rumoured to have inherited some of the mother’s more eccentric qualities, Arabella decided that she would be well advised to stay close to the proceedings. If Nicola Wyndham put a foot wrong, Arabella wanted to be there to point it out.

She wasn’t going to lose David without a fight. And she intended to make very sure that the ladies all laughed on the other side of their faces before this was over!

Chapter Three

At long last, the day of Nicola’s betrothal ball arrived and, with it, the agreement that Lady Dorchester had outdone herself. The servants had been kept busy from morning till night, polishing and dusting, fetching and carrying, and helping to transform the ballroom at Wyndham Hall into a glittering fairy-tale forest, complete with bubbling fountains, miniature trees, and endless pots of white and pink roses which lent their colour and delicate perfume to the exquisitely decorated room.

Lady Dorchester herself had supervised the creation of Nicola’s new wardrobe, and had taken her to her own modiste for the selection of the magnificent gown Nicola would wear on the night of the ball.

‘You simply cannot be seen wearing anything that is not strictly au courant, my dear,’ Lady Dorchester had informed her as the modiste had brought forth yet another bolt of exquisite material. ‘This is the beginning of your new life. You must start as you mean to carry on.’

But as she studied her reflection in the cheval-glass on the night of the ball Nicola was not sure that she was making quite the right statement. ‘Is it the fashion to be so revealing, Aunt?’ she asked in dismay, eyeing the outrageously low décolleté of the gown and feeling that there was considerably more flesh above the neckline than below it.

‘My dear girl, as the Marchioness of Blackwood, you will set the fashion, not follow it,’ Lady Dorchester told her confidently. ‘I only wish your dear mother could have been here to see you. She would have been so very, very proud. But we mustn’t stand here dithering. I am sure Lord Blackwood is anxiously waiting for you to appear.’

As it happened, David was in the hall when Nicola and her aunt made their descent down the grand staircase. He had purposely arrived early in the hopes of spending a little time alone with his fiancée before the arrival of their guests, since there was one more thing he wanted to do before making their betrothal official. But as he stood and watched Nicola walk down the staircase towards him, looking a vision in a magnificent gown that flattered every sensuous curve of her body, he almost forgot what he had come early to do.

‘You look…stunning,’ he said quietly and with complete sincerity. He raised her gloved hand and pressed his lips warmly to the back of it. ‘I am honoured to be at your side this evening, my lady.’

Nicola blushed prettily at the charmingly old-fashioned gesture, and then withdrew her hand. ‘Thank you, my lord. I am delighted by your approval. I wonder, are you acquainted with my aunt?’

‘I most certainly am,’ David said, turning now to bow towards Nicola’s aunt, who was equally resplendent in a gown of emerald-green satin. ‘It is a pleasure to see you again, Lady Dorchester. And, may I say, looking every bit as radiant as your niece.’

There was a twinkle in Lady Dorchester’s eye as she curtsied and said, ‘And you are every inch as charming as I remembered, Lord Blackwood. My niece is a lucky young lady indeed to have secured the affection of such a gentleman. But then, I believe you to be even more fortunate in having secured hers.’

David chuckled deep in his throat. ‘Indeed I am, Lady Dorchester, and, if I may be so bold, I would like to have a few minutes alone with Nicola before the evening gets underway. There is something I should like to give her.’

Lady Dorchester beamed. ‘I would not mind at all. As long as you promise to have her back in time to greet your guests.’

‘I give you my word.’

Thus assured, David took Nicola by the hand and led her through the house to the conservatory, which was located well away from all the hustle and bustle of the festivities.

‘My lord, what is this all about?’ Nicola asked when they stood alone in the middle of the spacious, plant-filled room.

About to make the formal presentation of the ring, David turned towards her, and then abruptly went silent. The room was illuminated by nothing more than the glow of the full moon shining in through the glass windows, and by the flickering light of the candles in the sconces lining the walls. Even so, it was enough to show him how truly beautiful was the woman he had asked to be his wife. In the shimmering silk gown, with the high-waisted bodice delicately beaded and hugging a creamy expanse of bosom, and the skirt falling in gentle folds to reveal tiny feet shod in dainty satin slippers, Nicola’s loveliness nearly took his breath away.

And then there were those eyes. Deep-set and fringed with the most impossibly long, gold-tipped lashes he had ever seen, they were eyes that stirred the passion in a man’s heart and coaxed the soul from his body. Eyes which, in the soft light of the moon, glowed a deep, luminous green.

Witch’s eyes.

‘My lord?’

‘Mmm?’

‘You’re staring at me.’

‘Am I?’ David shook his head, wondering at the turn of his own imagination.

Witches indeed!

‘Forgive me, Nicola, I fear my mind must be wandering tonight.’

‘Well, I think even the great Marquis of Blackwood should be allowed to daydream once in a while. Don’t you?’

David smiled to himself. What would she say, he wondered, if she knew exactly what he had been daydreaming about? He quickly thrust such frivolous thoughts aside, and said, ‘I wanted to have a moment alone with you to give you something.’ He drew forth a small velvet bag from his breast pocket and tipped a ring with a magnificent square-cut emerald surrounded by sparkling diamonds into his hand. ‘I chose it with your eyes in mind.’

Nicola gasped as she caught the flash of diamonds and gold in the pale moonlight. ‘Oh, my! This is…for me?’

‘It is.’ Slowly, Blackwood reached for her hand and reverently slid the ring onto her slender finger, knowing that it was only the first of many such heirlooms he would bestow upon his new marchioness. ‘Now we are officially betrothed.’ Then, to Nicola’s astonishment, he bent his head and kissed her full on the lips.

Nicola had not been expecting his kiss, nor was she prepared for the devastating effect it had on her senses. As his mouth moved gently over hers, teasing her with its warmth, a strange new excitement began to stir within her body. She felt his arm close firmly around her waist and pull her close; so close that she could smell the clean masculine fragrance of his soap and feel the warmth radiating from his body. Goodness, no one had ever told her that a kiss could be like this, and, flustered, Nicola drew back.

David drew back too, though he didn’t release her hand. He continued to gaze down into her face, committing to memory the elegant line of her nose, the feathery curve of her eyebrows and the intoxicating dimple at the left side of her mouth, and felt an inexplicable tightness in his chest. ‘Does that please you, Nicola?’ he whispered hoarsely.

‘Y-yes. It was…very pleasant indeed.’

‘Was?’ Puzzled, David paused for a moment. Then, realizing what she was saying, he began to chuckle softly in his throat. ‘I was referring to the ring, my dear.’

Nicola was eternally grateful for the darkness which hid her blushes. What a widgeon he must think her. Of course he was referring to the ring. He would hardly need question the expertise of his kisses.

‘It is…truly beautiful, my lord,’ she said, glancing down at her hand to avoid the dark, probing eyes.

‘I am very glad to hear it. But, now that we are officially betrothed, do you think you could bring yourself to call me…David?’

It was such a silly oversight that Nicola started to laugh. ‘Oh, dear, yes, I think I most probably could…David.’

And so, in a spirit of mutual charity, and much pleased with the events of the last few minutes, Nicola accompanied her fiancé back to the ballroom to await the arrival of their guests.

It did not come as any surprise to David that the evening—and Nicola—were a complete success. Chatting easily as the seemingly endless flow of people made their way down the reception line, David watched his future bride smile and greet their guests, and knew that he had not been mistaken in his assessment of her abilities. The confidence and the poise with which Nicola carried herself would have made any man proud, and, indeed, a duchess could not have been more dignified.

‘Well, David, I am delighted to see you looking so settled,’ the regal Duchess of Basilworth said, breaking into his reveries. ‘And not before time either. I was beginning to wonder whether the fifth Marquis of Blackwood was not destined to become the last Marquis of Blackwood.’