Blackwood's Lady

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‘I hope you are recovered from the events of last evening,’ he remarked idly, selecting, amongst other things, a slab of freshly cured ham, a morsel of rare steak, two poached eggs and three slices of toast.

Having decided early on to be as optimistic as possible about what had happened in the billiards room last night, Nicola offered him a dazzling smile. ‘I am suffering no ill effects whatsoever. In fact, I am not in the least tired, even considering all the dancing—’

‘It was not the dancing I was referring to,’ David said, cutting across her spate of cheery words. ‘I was referring to that little episode with the bird.’

Nicola’s smile dimmed a little. ‘Oh, that.’

‘Yes, that.’ David nodded briefly in the direction of a footman, who scurried from the room in search of fresh coffee. ‘I notice that you have covered your arms today. Are your injuries so grievous that you need to hide them from me?’

Nicola glanced up at him with an expression of genuine surprise. ‘They are not grievous at all, it is merely the style of the dress. I have many others like it. Besides, as I told you last night, the bandage made the injuries appear far worse than they really were.’

‘Indeed.’ David turned back to the sideboard. ‘What I should like to know is what a falcon was doing in the billiards room in the first place. And why you were the one trying to capture it.’

‘Actually, I was…rescuing her.’

‘I beg your pardon?’

‘I was rescuing Guinevere. She belongs to me, you see,’ Nicola explained. ‘I found her in the woods some weeks ago.’

David turned to stare at the elegant young lady sitting so calmly at the table in front of him, and said, in disbelief, ‘You found a wounded falcon…and brought it home?’

‘Well, yes. She had injured her wing and I knew that she was unlikely to survive the night, so I brought her back here and began nursing her back to health.’

‘Nicola, we are not talking about a pretty little finch here. We are talking about a bird of prey, traditionally used for the hunting of small vermin and rodents. You can’t just…take it in and treat it like a pet.’

‘Guinevere is very gentle and exceedingly well behaved—’

‘Yes, I saw how well behaved she was last night,’ David drawled. ‘So well that, even with a broken wing, she flew out of her cage at the first opportunity.’

‘She merely slipped out when Jamie was feeding her,’ Nicola replied in the bird’s defence. ‘It should never have happened.’

‘And it wouldn’t have, had you had sense enough not to keep the bird in the first place!’

‘She would have died without my care!’

‘That is the law of nature, Nicola. In the wild, only the strong survive. You cannot take it into your head to rescue every wounded bird you come across. My God, we should be overrun! Or over flown,’ David muttered under his breath.

‘I am hardly keeping a flock, my lord,’ Nicola said, crossing her arms in defiance. ‘I merely rescued one injured falcon.’

‘I understand that, but has it not occurred to you that you might have been injured last night? What if that damn bird had gone for your face?’

‘Oh, David, there was never any danger of that,’ Nicola said, her tone evidencing a complete lack of concern. ‘Guinevere was simply frightened by all the noise. You saw how docile she became when everyone quietened down.’

‘And the injuries to your arm?’

‘Were my own fault for not ensuring that the bandage was made thick enough.’

‘But surely you realize—’

‘My lord, would you care for some of Cook’s homemade apricot jam?’ Nicola interrupted, as the door to the parlour suddenly swung open and the footman returned carrying a fresh pot of coffee. ‘She is renowned throughout the county for the recipe. I think you will find it goes very nicely on your toast.’

Forced by the rules of etiquette to comply, David smiled, and duly accepted the pot of jam Nicola held out to him. It wasn’t the thing to be seen arguing in front of servants, and he waited until the young man had resumed his place by the door before continuing in a much softer voice, ‘Nicola, I understand that you wished to help the bird, and I certainly cannot fault you for that. But I must insist that, from now on, if you happen to find any injured birds lying in the field, you leave them where they are. You will be far too busy attending to your duties as the Marchioness of Blackwood to trouble yourself with every debilitated bird you come across.’