Never Dance with a Marquess (The Never Series Book 2), Maggi Andersen [best short novels of all time TXT] 📗

“Thank you, but it’s just that he has taken Papa’s death badly. It has unsettled him.”

“That is understandable. But grief eases with time.”

“Does it?”

She sounded doubtful, and he wasn’t sure he believed it either. He hated to see her so troubled. It was true the loss of loved ones never left one completely. The empty chairs at the table at Christmas and family celebrations. Never being able to look upon them and talk about simple, everyday matters. His family had grown so small. He hadn’t been aware of how much that bothered him. “We always miss those we care deeply about, but it becomes easier to bear. Jeremy will soon enjoy life again.”

“Yes, I’m sure you’re right.”

He turned back to the door. “Give some thought to the Keats’s poem. I look forward to our discussion.”

“Oh yes. So do I. His poetry is most stirring.”

Nicholas left the room. He felt a twinge of envy that this poet’s words could produce such devotion. As he made his way downstairs, he paused on a step at the word ‘stirring.’ At twenty, Carrie was on the brink of discovering life and love. He envied the delightful task that would befall her husband to stir such adoration. If she were his, he would not win her heart by spouting poetry like some gabster. Alarmed at the direction his thoughts took, he continued down the stairs. His sister would nod wisely if she knew. He couldn’t abide Gwen when she was smug. The one time she’d beaten him at chess, she never let him forget it.

He approved of Wordsworth’s Lucy poems about a girl’s death but had no wish to take them apart to discuss them.

“No motion has she now, no force…”  he quoted as he crossed the hall.

“Were you speaking to me, milord?” his butler asked.

“No, just quoting a few lines of poetry, Abercrombie.”

“Milord?”

“No need to concern yourself, old fellow.” Nicholas patted his shoulder as he passed. “I haven’t lost my mind.”

And he must be on guard that he didn’t.

***

After dinner, Carrie searched for a book of Keats’s poetry in the library. She lay in bed flicking through it while considering where to begin. What poem might capture his interest? Although Nicholas didn’t appear to enjoy poetry, he was scholarly. Unlike any of the gentlemen she’d met at assemblies. But occasionally, she caught a twinkle in his eyes, which made her suspect she amused him. Did he think her young? She hated the idea and wondered how she might change his opinion. Keats’s newly published work Endymion might be a good poem to begin with. A thing of beauty is a joy forever clearly stated Keats’s intention and underlined her point.

She closed the compendium and blew out her candle, then lay back on the pillows. When Bella told her earlier how happy she was to live here, it warmed Carrie’s heart. Tomorrow, they would count the hours until Jeremy arrived. Would he be content to spend the school holidays here? It would make her debut in Society so much easier if she did not have to worry about them both. She would be free to choose the right man for them all. Growing sleepy, she dwelt on what a husband might be like. Honorable and thoughtful, gentle and true. She envisioned him here, lying beside her. When Nicholas’s face appeared in her mind with that charming quirk of his lips, it roused her with a jolt.

She knew a thing or two about the act. What husbands and wives did together to make babies. Thanks to her married friend, Mary Woolridge. Mary had explained it all in lurid detail until Carrie begged her to stop.

She closed her eyes, but an image remained: Nicholas, the easy, confident way he walked, how his gray eyes drifted over her face as if she pleased him.

But how bleak he looked sometimes. Naturally, he mourned the loss of his father and brother but was there was something more. When his eyes took on that haunted look, she wanted to hug him. Her father had referred to a tragedy in Nicholas’s past without giving her any details. Papa would never betray a confidence. She’d been curious, but now she wanted to know. Who would tell her? Not Nicholas, but perhaps Gwen might when she got to know her better.

In London, she would meet many gentlemen as cultivated as Nicholas, she supposed. She frowned. But would any be as attractive? Would their eyes brim with warmth the way Nicholas’s did? She frowned again. Nicholas found her attractive and was drawn to her, but what of that? It seemed clear he didn’t intend to marry, and she must look to her future.

Perhaps tomorrow, he would do or say something else she disapproved of. It was a sure way of keeping him at a distance, where he must remain in her thoughts. It was a satisfactory plan. She yawned and sleepily pulled the covers over her shoulders, closing her eyes.

Carrie awoke to birds singing outside the window. Bright daylight sneaked through a gap in the curtains. A knock on the door brought Anna with her chocolate. Carrie stretched and yawned. It was Sunday. They would go to church, and this afternoon, Jeremy would be here.

After breakfast, they walked to church in the fresh spring air. Bright, new leaves unfurled on the trees, the air sweet with greenery. A fawn appeared, then vanished into the woods. Bella skipped ahead along the road with Scotty trailing after her.

“I have decided we’ll begin with Endymion,” she said with a sideways glance at the man walking beside her.

“I shall be sure to read it,” Nicholas promised. “But the beauty of nature is all around us, Carrie. Life is so much more alive and real than poetry.”

“One enriches the other.”

He smiled at her, his eyes speculative.