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
