as they rested on his daughter’s face and he reached out to stroke a shiny lock of her hair. Then, giving her an encouraging wink, he turned on his heel and walked out of the salon.
Left alone with her guest, Nicola offered him a tentative smile. ‘May I offer you some refreshments, Lord Blackwood?’
‘Thank you, Lady Nicola, but no. I have just enjoyed a glass of your father’s most excellent wine.’
‘Then, will you sit down?’
Her voice was pleasantly low-pitched, with a slightly husky overtone that settled well on David’s ear. It made a welcome change from the high-pitched giggles and titters that seemed all too prevalent in the drawing rooms of London.
‘Actually, I should prefer to stand given the nature of what I am about to say. You, however, may wish to be seated.’
‘As you like.’
With an unhurried movement, Nicola settled herself on the rose-coloured sofa and smoothed the skirts of her gown around her. She had taken a little longer with her toilette this afternoon and was glad that she had, if for no other reason than to lend herself extra confidence. She knew that the gown of Pomona green silk was the most flattering she owned, and that it became her very well. Even the thick, russet-coloured hair, which was so often the bane of her existence, toned perfectly with the shade. ‘I am listening, Lord Blackwood.’
‘Thank you, Lady Nicola. I suppose I should begin by saying that, even though our acquaintance has been of relatively short duration, and our time spent in conversation even shorter, I have come to admire you greatly. Your ease in social situations, your manners, and your sense of dignity, are all qualities I am looking for in a…lady.’
Nicola allowed herself a brief smile at his hesitation. It seemed that the word wife did not come easily to the tongue of the bachelor Marquis of Blackwood. ‘Thank you, my lord.’
‘As for myself, I fear I may not be as…entertaining as some of the gentlemen with whom you have been keeping company—’
‘I have not been keeping the company of gentlemen,’ Nicola felt obliged to point out. ‘Having observed an extended period of mourning for…members of my family, I have been removed from Society these past two years.’
There wasn’t a trace of self-pity in her voice and, knowing how hard her mother’s death had been for her, David’s admiration for the young lady rose. ‘It is never easy to lose a parent,’ he agreed sympathetically.
Nicola sighed. ‘No, but then, I am sure you know how that feels. I understand that you were very close to both your mother and your father, Lord Blackwood.’
By this time, David had his emotions fully under control, and he was able to respond to her in a calm and steady voice. ‘I was indeed. But life goes on, and we must make the best of it. My father would have wished me to marry and start a family of my own, and I know that Lord Wyndham is hopeful that you will do the same. And that is why I have come to see you today.’ David cleared his throat and took a deep breath. ‘I have already spoken to your father and received his blessing. And so I should now like to ask you to do me the very great honour…of becoming…my wife.’
It was hardly a romantic proposal, Nicola reflected. Yet how could it be when they had spoken to each other only a few times over the past two months?
‘My lord, before I answer that, perhaps you would be so good as to explain why you wish to marry me.’
There was a very brief, but very meaningful pause. ‘I…beg your pardon?’
‘Well, as I am no doubt older than the ladies with whom you would have been keeping company, I simply wondered why you would not have asked a younger lady to be your wife. At five-and-twenty, most would say that I am on the shelf and have been for some time.’ Nicola raised questioning eyes to his. ‘Would you not agree?’
Her candour startled him. As did the deep, emerald-green of her eyes. David could not recall having seen such a remarkable shade before. And was that, possibly…a freckle on the tip of her daintily rounded nose?
He quickly marshalled his thoughts and returned to the matter at hand. ‘I wish to marry you, Lady Nicola, because I have no desire to tie myself to a green girl fresh from the school room. I cannot imagine that we would have anything in common, nor have I any intention of wasting time trying to find out if we had. What I seek is a woman of breeding. A woman who knows how to conduct herself in Society, and how to manage a household effectively. Several households, in fact. And I hardly think an eighteen-year-old Bath Miss is likely to possess the degree of maturity necessary.’
‘Is not the vitality of youth suitable recompense?’
David shook his head. ‘Not to me. With youth comes giddiness, frivolity and a tendency towards unacceptable behaviour. Conduct I cannot condone in the future Marchioness of Blackwood. I have a duty to my family. To my name.’
‘Ah, I see.’
Well, he was certainly setting it out plainly enough, Nicola reflected. Whosoever married the Marquis of Blackwood would be doing so with her eyes wide open. There would be no misunderstandings, no false expectations, and no grand delusions of love. Not exactly the type of proposal she had been dreaming of all her life, Nicola acknowledged wryly.
‘In return, the lady who becomes my wife will wear the coronet of a marchioness,’ David continued. ‘She will be the mistress of two of the finest country homes in England, as well as an elegant town house in London, and will have jewels, carriages and servants at her disposal. She will enjoy the respect due to her position in Society, and will want for nothing.’
Nicola knew she shouldn’t have, but she could not prevent a tiny smile from lifting the corners of her mouth. ‘Is that all, my lord?’
‘Is that all?’ David looked down at her in astonishment. ‘Is that not enough? Surely I have offered you all that is good in life?’
‘Well, yes, you have, but—’
‘But what?’
Nicola risked a quick glance upwards, about to explain to Lord Blackwood exactly what was lacking in his proposal, when the look on his face stayed the words on her lips and gave her the answer she was looking for.
No, love was clearly not a requirement in the marquis’s choice of a wife. It would be too…unpredictable, too quixotic an emotion. It would spawn erratic behaviour and, instinctively, Nicola knew that such spontaneity would have no place in the life of the very proper Marquis of Blackwood. Or in that of the marquis’s very proper wife.
‘I take it my proposal is not to your liking, Lady Nicola?’ David asked, as the silence between them lengthened.
‘On the contrary, it is a very flattering one indeed,’ she said, regretting that he had misinterpreted her hesitation. ‘It is just that I am somewhat…surprised by the manner in which it was delivered.’
‘Ah, yes.’ David smiled sardonically. ‘You were expecting something more romantic, perhaps. A proposal inspired by the honeyed words of Byron himself.’
‘Not at all. I do not expect you to profess love where you feel none. That would be hypocritical indeed.’
‘Then perhaps it is myself you find lacking,’ David
