be the identity of the lady who I eventually ask to become my bride. Do we have an understanding?’
There it was, laid out for her. Beatrice stiffened at the snub, taken aback for the second time since Nicholas had entered the room. She had forgotten that her nephew was no longer a young and impressionable boy. It was so easy to forget when he was the youngest in the family. But the years had moved on and he had put her firmly in her place twice within as many minutes with a perfect exhibition of suave, cool—and implacable—good manners. Beatrice took in the stern mouth, the austere features, and wisely retreated.
‘Of course. I would not dream of interfering in your affairs, my boy—’
‘Yes, you would. But I ask that you do not. I would not wish to feel obliged to refuse your kind invitations. And I will if necessary.’ He was clearly not prepared to compromise over this. ‘I am sure that you take my meaning?’
Oh, yes. She took his meaning very well—and realised that she must reassess Lord Nicholas Faringdon. She raised her hands and let them fall in her lap. ‘Of course. I will do nothing that you do not wish for, Nicholas.’
‘I should be grateful, Aunt.’ He deliberately changed the subject. ‘So, how is Sher? I have not seen or heard from him for well over a year.’
Lord Joshua Sherbourne Faringdon. Undoubtedly the black sheep of the otherwise impeccable Faringdon family. And the bane of Lady Beatrice’s life.
‘My son Joshua is still in Paris.’
‘Is he well?’
‘I presume.’ The response from the less than doting mama was tight-lipped. ‘All we hear is scandal and gossip.’
‘He has a new mistress,’ Judith added with an irrepressible twinkle. ‘An actress, we understand.’
‘I think that is not a subject for my withdrawing room, Judith. Joshua will go to the devil in his own way. There is no need for us to show interest in it. Now … did you know that Simon has been to Newmarket? One of his horses is expected to do particularly well on the Turf this year …’
The conversation passed into calmer waters, Nicholas turning to Judith for news of Simon and the promising stallion.
Beatrice watched the pair as they sat at ease, reliving old times, discussing friends in common. It was time Nicholas married. He needed a family. Not merely the responsibility of the estate—God knew he had enough of that!—but responsibility for a wife and children. He had been too long pleasing himself. He needed someone to ruffle his equilibrium, to shake his self-confidence. It appeared that he could be as difficult and opinionated as all male Faringdons. Look at Henry. A law unto himself, taking himself and Eleanor and the child off to New York without a word to anyone! And as for her own dearest husband, now long deceased, and her son … whom she did not even wish to contemplate. They were all the same—excessively handsome with all the charm and address in the world, but all with that fatal streak of arrogance and self-worth. And Nicholas, to make matters more difficult, had that cool reserve which was difficult to shake. When that had developed she did not know, but the aura of cold detachment and control coated him with a hard brilliance.
At least Judith was easy to deal with—she was like an open book! Beatrice watched with affection her daughter’s expressive face as she laughed at some comment from Nicholas. That was from her side of the family, of course, just as much as the red hair and green eyes. Nicholas was a Faringdon from his dark hair and equally dark brows to his toes of his polished boots. And he needed someone who would challenge his intellect and keep him on those toes—give him something to think about other than farming and cattle and such.
She watched, tapping her lorgnette against her lips as she studied him, the lad whom she had known from birth and had watched grow into this spectacularly handsome young man. Even tempered, easy to converse with, but underneath … Well, they said still waters … She was quite sure that he could acquire a bride with an arch of those expressive brows or a crook of his finger. But not any débutante would do. He needed someone to stir him out of his complacence. He was too much in the habit of going his own way with no one to question his decisions or his opinion.
Lady Beatrice blinked as the thought slid so simply, so effortlessly into her mind, the image as clear as an etching on crystal. Now there was an interesting prospect. Beauty. Money. Excellent breeding. But also strong-willed, independent, outspoken and … Well! What could be better?
‘Nicholas …’ She interrupted the exchange of news between her nephew and her daughter. ‘Will you be very busy during your stay in town?’
‘Nothing out of the way. I have an appointment to see Hoskins. My tailor will no doubt see me. Friends, of course. I have no definite plans. Why?’
‘No reason.’ Her smile was pure innocence. ‘Perhaps you would care to attend a number of social engagements with us? An extra gentleman is always valuable in a party. And you dance so well.’
‘Why not? Since you are concerned to flatter me …’ His tone and demeanour had reclaimed their habitual warmth, the chill forgotten. He saw nothing suspicious in Beatrice’s bland smile and innocuous request, believing that he had made his opinions on the matter of marriage quite clear. Why should he harbour suspicions? And it would be good to circulate in society again.
‘Tomorrow we are engaged to attend Lady Aston’s drum. A large affair, totally lacking in exclusivity as such things usually are, but entertaining enough. I have got up a small party. Perhaps you would care to join us? We have some new acquaintance in town. One of them is to be our Royal Ambassador to the Russian Court. I am sure you will find him interesting company.’
‘I am sure that I shall.’
Beatrice glanced over at Judith, smiled, her eyes guileless. And Judith, in spite of no words being spoken between them, was in no doubt as to exactly what her mama’s plan might be.
‘Do come.’ Judith turned her persuasive gaze on her cousin. ‘It should be a most entertaining evening.’
Unaware of the machinations of his female relatives, ignorant of the trap about to close over his head, Lord Nicholas bowed his agreement.
In Grosvenor Square on the following morning, very early, it was brought home to Nicholas how long it had been since his last visit to town. His body and mind were not in tune with town hours where it was customary to sleep and rise late. A combination of rural habits and the early sun through his bedroom window over and above the array of noises of a large city awakening to a new day—all assaulted his senses to ensure that he was wide awake. So he rose, dressed and headed for the stables behind Faringdon House. He might as well make the most of the opportunity to ride in Hyde Park so early as it would be mostly deserted; since he had no particular desire to converse with those who wished to parade and make a fashionable statement, it was the ideal time. There was a young horse that would benefit from a confidence-boosting outing without the habitual bustle and racket of London streets.
It was a perfect morning. He breathed deeply, encouraging the mare into a brisk walk through the light traffic. Through the ornamental gates and there, with an easing of the reins, he allowed the horse to break into a sedate canter along the grassy edge to the walk. And smiled his satisfaction. She was just as fluid and easy in her action as he had hoped.
In Upper Brook Street, Theodora woke from a restless sleep, certain that she would positively burst if she did not escape from the house and take some exercise, unwatched by either her mama or the ever-vigilant Agnes Drew. London was noisy, exciting,
