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‘Aye, but the windows in the one next to this one aren’t. I saw ’er fly in there and I climbed in after ’er. Then, when she came in ’ere, I shut the door and nipped out to let Mr Trethewy know.’
‘Well, I am very glad you thought to get word to me, Jamie,’ Nicola said kindly. ‘Now, listen carefully. I want you to run down to the kitchen and tell Cook to give you a length of old linen. Ask her for as much as she can spare. Then bring it back up here as quickly and as quietly as you can.’
‘Aye, m’lady, I’ll do that!’
The young lad dashed away, stopping only long enough to close the door behind him. As soon as he was gone, Nicola resumed her search for the injured falcon, all the while chewing nervously on her bottom lip. This couldn’t have happened at a worse time. What ever must David be thinking? Surely he had noticed that she was gone. And poor Guinevere; she must be scared half to death. The sooner Nicola got her safely back into her cage, the better for all concerned.
She was just on her way towards the door, when a shuffling sound drew her attention towards the far corner of the room.
‘Guinevere?’ Slowly moving forward, Nicola raised the lamp, directing the light towards the corner—and saw the falcon wedged in between the two armchairs. ‘Oh, Guinevere, you naughty girl. You have given me such a dreadful fright!’
Just then, the door opened and Jamie reappeared with a length of kitchen linen piled over his arm. ‘Is this ’nuff, m’lady?’ he asked anxiously.
At a glance, Nicola could tell that it was not, but there wasn’t time to send him back downstairs now. ‘That will do fine, Jamie. Now, off you go and bring Guinevere’s cage back here as quickly as you can.’
‘Yes, m’lady.’
After he’d dashed out again, Nicola put the lamp down on top of the table where Jamie had left the linen, and then removed one of her long silk gloves. Starting at her wrist, she began wrapping the linen around her arm, making sure that the skin was covered all the way up to her elbow. She worked quickly, aware that with every passing minute her absence from the ballroom would grow more noticeable, until, finally, David would be forced to come in search of her. And heaven only knew what he would do if he found her playing nursemaid to an injured falcon.
Wrapping the last few inches of fabric around her arm, Nicola secured the makeshift bandage with a knot, and then pulled it tight. It wasn’t nearly as thick as she would have liked it to be, but at least it would offer her some protection from the falcon’s razor-sharp talons. If for any reason the bird panicked, those claws would slice through Nicola’s soft skin like hot knives through butter. Finally, picking up the lamp, Nicola drew a deep breath and then turned to confront the injured bird.
‘All right, Guinevere, you’re going to be fine. But I need to have a better look at that wing.’
So saying, Nicola slowly raised the lamp—and then groaned. The broken wing was visibly hanging away from the bird’s body. All that hard work for nothing.
‘Well, it looks as though we are going to have to start all over again,’ she said on a sigh. ‘Now, if I can just get you safely back into your cage.’
As if listening, the falcon’s dark eyes blinked at her and the hooked beak opened and closed. But Nicola didn’t draw back. She had to get Guinevere back into her cage and out of the room before she did the wing, or herself, any more harm. For that reason, she continued to inch her way forward, closing the distance between them, and all the while uttering soft, soothing sounds so as not to frighten the falcon.
It took a while, but, eventually, the bird responded to the familiar sound of Nicola’s voice. With an awkward hop, she jumped onto Nicola’s arm, her talons sinking deep into the linen as they found a secure foothold. Nicola was glad that she had thought to make the bandage thickest in the area close to her wrist. Even so, she winced as the sharp talons sank through the layers of fabric and pierced the soft skin below. Now, if Jamie would just return with the cage—
Suddenly, Nicola froze. Someone was coming—but it wasn’t Jamie. From beyond the door she could hear the unmistakable sounds of people. Of voices, male and female alike, raised in laughter. And they were coming in this direction!
‘Oh, no!’ Nicola murmured, her eyes glued to the door. This was the worst possible thing that could happen. If they came in now, Guinevere would take fright and try to fly away. As it was, she was already starting to flap her wings. Her talons were getting tangled in the linen and Nicola winced as they cut through the flimsy bandage and found the unprotected skin below again. At this rate, Guinevere was going to do them both an injury!
‘Guinevere, please don’t try to fly!’ Nicola whispered as she backed away from the door, willing the crowd to pass.
But they didn’t. The door-handle started to turn. The voices and the laughter grew louder.
Guinevere uttered a piercing cry and Nicola closed her eyes—
‘Wait, m’lord, don’t open the door!’ a frantic voice called out amidst the peals of laughter. ‘You can’t go in there! Please, don’t let them go in!’
Nicola’s eyes flew open. Thank goodness Jamie had arrived!
Unfortunately, so had her father!
‘What do you mean, we can’t go in?’ Lord Wyndham demanded. ‘What’s the meaning of this, lad? And what on earth is that cage for?’
‘It’s for the bird, m’lord.’
‘What bird?’
‘Gwenevere. She sent me to fetch the cage!’ Jamie said frantically.
‘What the devil—who sent you to fetch a cage?’
‘Lady Nicola.’
‘Lady Nicola!’
Nicola’s eyes focused on the door and her heart plummeted.
The search was over. David had found her!
‘Aye, she escaped when I were trying to feed ’er, m’lord,’ Jamie said breathlessly, ‘and I followed ’er in ’ere. Then I sent word to ’er ladyship.’
‘And her ladyship came?’ David enquired in a tone of stunned disbelief.
‘Aye. I told Mr Trethewy to tell ’er what ’appened. And just now, she sent me to fetch the cage. But you daren’t go in, sir, or she’ll take fright fer sure! Gwenevere, that is.’
‘All right, lad, we won’t all go in,’ Lord Wyndham said brusquely.
Nicola heard her father hushing the crowd and asking everyone to step back. Then, slowly, the door began to open. A hand holding aloft a candelabra appeared through the crack, and a voice called softly, ‘Nicola?’
Nicola swallowed. ‘Yes, Papa?’
‘Is everything all right, my dear?’
‘Yes, Papa.’
The door opened a little wider, and two men stepped forward. The light from the candles in their hands fell upon Nicola, silhouetting her against the window. Her back was turned towards them, her arm held slightly in towards her body, offering what protection she could to the frightened bird.
‘Nicola, are you all right?’ This time, it was David who spoke, though in a voice much sterner than her father’s had been.
Nicola turned her head in his direction, and saw that the doorway was crowded with people all anxiously peering in. ‘Yes, my lord, I’m fine. But I am afraid Guinevere is a little the worse for wear. Jamie, are you there?’
‘Aye, m’lady,’ came a shaky voice from somewhere in the depths of the crowd.
‘Bring the cage in and set it on the table,’ Nicola advised. ‘Move slowly, now. We don’t want to frighten Guinevere any more than she already is.’
The crowd reluctantly parted and Jamie’s anxious face appeared in the doorway. He started to move forward, encumbered by a large wooden cage that was fully half as big as he was, and awkwardly set it on the top of the billiards table. Only then did Nicola turn round, exposing, to the eyes of her guests, the sight of the majestic falcon sitting proudly on her arm.
A gasp of astonishment rippled through the assembly.
Nicola raised uncertain eyes to her fiancé’s face and saw the unmistakable look of shock and disbelief written all over it, and wondered how in the world she was going to explain this. Unfortunately, she didn’t have time to worry about it now. She had to get the falcon back into the cage.
And so, with what looked to be half the people at her betrothal ball in attendance, Nicola slowly began to walk towards the cage.
‘Nicola, your arm!’ David said abruptly.
For the first time, Nicola glanced down at her arm, and inwardly caught her breath. It was not a pretty sight. Splotches of bright red stained the bandage in a number of places where the falcon’s talons had pierced through to her skin. All she could do was try to laugh it off as she reached the cage and carefully placed her arm through the opening. ‘’Tis nothing, I assure you. Guinevere just became a little excited when she heard the voices. There now, Guinevere, back you go.’
Nicola tilted her arm and waited for the bird to move. It was only then she realized that one of the falcon’s claws had become hopelessly entangled in the loose threads.
‘Oh, bother! Jamie, will you help me with my other glove, please?’ Nicola said, extending her left arm. ‘Guinevere’s leg is caught.’
But it was not Jamie who slowly stepped forward to remove the glove.
‘I’ll do that,’ David said curtly.
Nicola held her breath as their eyes met and she held her arm out towards him. It was all she could do not to flinch as his fingers brushed the soft warm flesh above her elbow. She watched him roll down the glove and then slowly pull it free of her fingers, in a gesture that was so intimate, so…familiar that it brought the colour surging to her cheeks. She didn’t say a word, however, as she took a deep breath and slowly put her bare hand into the cage, carefully untangling the threads that held the falcon captive. If Guinevere snapped at her fingers now, the resulting injury would be far worse than anything her claws had inflicted thus far.
Fortunately, whether from exhaustion or some sixth sense that Nicola was trying to help her, the falcon merely tipped her head and watched what was going on. Moments later, when both of her feet were free, she obligingly hopped forward onto the perch and allowed Nicola to remove her arm and close the door.
Guinevere was safely home once more!
‘There we are, Jamie,’ Nicola said weakly. ‘Take her back down to the pen and feed her. And this time do not open the cage door for any reason.’
‘I don’t need no second warning about that, m’lady,’ the boy said jauntily, now that the crisis was over. ‘Come on, then, Gwenevere.’
The crowd hastily stepped back as the boy carried the cage and its occupant out into the hallway and towards the closest door. When he had gone, all eyes turned back to Nicola, standing in the middle of the room, her one arm bare, the other covered in a blood-spattered bandage.
The silence seemed to drag on for ever.
‘Well, I think that is quite enough excitement for one night,’ Lord Wyndham said brusquely. ‘Ladies and gentlemen, why don’t we all return to the ballroom?’
‘Yes, that would be a grand idea,’ Lady Dorchester added, promptly stepping forward to take charge. ‘Come along, everyone, back to the ballroom if you please. I shall see to Lady Nicola. You need not stay either, Lord Blackwood.’
David stood by Nicola’s side, his eyes fixed on the length of linen now liberally spotted with blood, and marvelled at the spectacle he had just witnessed. Had he really seen his beautiful, genteel fiancée parade around the billiards room with a hunting falcon on her arm, and a stable boy for an accomplice?
‘Are you sure you’re all right?’
‘Perfectly, my lord,’ Nicola said, with as much calm as she could muster under the circumstances. ‘It looks much worse than it is.’
‘Nicola, I must insist—’
‘Blackwood, perhaps you’d care to have a drink with me before rejoining your guests,’ Lord Wyndham offered hastily, sensing that this was neither the time nor the place for the inevitable confrontation to take place. ‘Nicola will return to the ballroom, uh…directly.’
David glanced from one to the other, and then nodded. ‘Very well. But I hope you will be good enough to give me an explanation for this at the earliest opportunity, Nicola.’
Nicola sighed. He was furious and doing his level best not to show it. ‘I shall be happy to, my lord, but for now I would ask that you go back to the ballroom with the rest of our guests. I shall return shortly.’
David sketched her a quick bow, disapproval evident in every line of his body. Without another word, he turned and left the room. Only after the door closed behind him did Lord Wyndham venture a faint chuckle. ‘I don’t think Blackwood was very pleased at the sight of you with that bird perched up there, Nicki. Put the wind up him, seeing your arm all bloodied like that.’
Nicola began to unwind the blood-stained bandage from her arm, taking care not to get it anywhere near her gown. ‘There was absolutely no reason why it should have alarmed him, Papa. Poor Guinevere was the one at risk, not me. Besides, it was my own fault for not ensuring that I made the bandage thick enough.’
‘Unfortunately, that is what comes of keeping exotic pets.’
‘Yes, well, under the circumstances, I think it better that Lord Blackwood not hear about…Alistair and the others right now,’ Nicola muttered.
‘I thought you were planning on taking your menagerie with you when you married?’
‘I was,’ she confessed. ‘And I did tell Lord Blackwood about the puppies, and he said he did not mind my having pets. I just haven’t found the right moment to tell him about…the others.’
‘Well, I would advise you to do it soon, my dear,’ Lady Dorchester said as she carefully took the soiled bandage from her niece and handed it to Trethewy who had magically appeared in the doorway. ‘I doubt the marquis’s perception of pets is going to be the same as yours, and he will hardly be expecting his future marchioness to be a gamekeeper! Now, come along upstairs, and let me have a good look at that arm!’
Chapter Four
The image of Nicola standing in the darkened billiards room, with a hunting falcon perched proudly on her arm, and blood staining the flimsy layer of cloth with which she had wrapped it for protection, stayed with David for a very long time. In fact, it made for an extremely restless night.
What the devil had she been thinking of? Imagine trying to rescue a bird that could just as easily have…ripped her to shreds as look her in the eye! It was commendable, yes. And brave, certainly. But, as the future Marchioness of Blackwood, it was hardly appropriate behaviour. Especially occurring right in the middle of their betrothal ball as it had.
Well, it would no doubt make for an interesting topic of conversation later in the day, David reflected as he stood in the guest bedroom at Wyndham Hall the next morning and painstakingly arranged the folds of his cravat into a perfect Mathematical. And for some clever explanations on the part of his fiancée, to be sure!
By the time David reached the breakfast parlour—his appetite having been considerably whetted by the tantalizing smells issuing from it—he was ready for a hearty repast. The fact that he would likely be enjoying it alone did not trouble him unduly. He knew that Lord Wyndham was not partial to breakfast, having oft heard him refer to it as a singularly uninspiring meal, and, as he knew that it was not the custom for well-bred young ladies to rise early following a night of dancing and revelry, David had no reason to suspect that Nicola would put in an appearance much before noon.
But then, he’d had no reason to suspect that she would treat him to a display of falconry in the billiards room last night either. Which was probably why, when he entered the breakfast parlour to find his fiancée already seated at one end of the long mahogany table, her plate generously heaped with curried eggs and toast, and her attention riveted on the pages of the romantic novel in front of her, he was not overly surprised.
‘Good morning, Nicola,’ he said laconically. ‘Interesting book?’
Nicola’s head shot up, her eyes widening in dismay as she realised that, once again, David had caught her doing something that wasn’t quite appropriate. She quickly closed the book and offered him what could only be called an apologetic smile. ‘David, pray forgive my abominable manners. Miss Withers would have had apoplexy if she’d caught me reading at the table, but, in truth, I did not expect to see you downstairs until much later.’
‘Later?’ David propped his back against the edge of the door and remarked in some surprise, ‘Do I strike you as such a layabout, then?’
Catching the subtle inflection, Nicola hastened to reassure him. ‘Not at all. It was simply my understanding that fashionable gentlemen preferred to keep to their beds in the morning. Unless they were partaking of some early morning sport, of course.’
‘Of course.’ Tempted to inform her that the only kind of sport that would keep him abed of a morning included the willing participation of a certain kind of lady, David instead said, ‘I was under the impression that fashionable young ladies did exactly the same thing.’
‘Well, yes, I believe they do. But then, I do not aspire to be a lady of fashion,’ Nicola told him with an unaffected smile. ‘At least, not in the truest sense of the word. There is precious little need for that when one spends most of one’s time in the country.’
She might not aspire to be a lady of fashion, David thought, but one would never know it by her charming appearance this morning. In the fashionable white muslin gown, delicately embroidered with sprigs of pale blue flowers around the square neckline and hem, Nicola presented a very pretty picture indeed. Her hair was caught up in a charming cluster of curls, through which a ribbon the same colour as the flowers on her dress had been wound, while a few stray tendrils hung loose against the curve of her neck. It was only the fact that she was clearly enjoying a rather hearty meal, and that she had probably risen earlier than most of the household, that lent credibility to her statement at all.
‘I take it from the fact that you are already well along with your breakfast that you are in the habit of rising early?’ David enquired mildly.
‘Oh, yes, most assuredly. Morning is my favourite time of the day.’
‘How unusual. A lady who professes no concern as regards to maintaining a fashionable appearance, and who prefers the quiet, restful hours of a country morning. I would venture to say, my dear,’ David said with a meaningful glance, ‘that you are not at all typical of the rest of your breed.’
‘No, so Papa has often told me. No doubt that is why I have been spared the attentions of the young tulips and dandies of London Society. I can neither match them in appearance, nor keep up with their nocturnal habits. Indeed, were I to marry such a man, I dare say we should see precious little of each other of a day.’
David’s mouth twitched, but he stubbornly refused to smile. He wasn’t yet ready to forgive Nicola for her behaviour of the previous night. ‘Should I be offended that you do not consider me such a paragon of gentlemanly fashion?’
‘Ah, but you are, my lord,’ Nicola assured him in a most serious tone, even as her eyes sparkled. ‘You are a pattern card to many a young sprig of fashion. But not, I fear, to the fribbles and dandies who would wear their collar points so high as to restrict movement of the head, or don waistcoats so bright that they are painful to the eye. Those are definitely not the type of gentleman who would emulate your considerably more…refined sense of style.’
She was bamming him, David acknowledged ruefully, and with a deftness that was making it dashed hard for him not to laugh out loud. He had not expected to find such a lively wit dwelling behind those enchanting eyes, nor such a conspicuous lack of arrogance in her character. Until now, those were qualities which he had found sadly lacking in the females of his acquaintance.
He pushed himself away from the door, and set about examining the tempting array of hot and cold delicacies displayed in silver platters upon the sideboard.
