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

The vicar appeared to falter under the force of Lady Penelope’s argument. He refused another cup of tea and rose. Clearing his throat, he announced the necessity to do the sad task which had befallen him.

“Such a bore and a busybody,” Lady Penelope said after the door closed behind him.

Carrie gave a vague half-smile. Her great aunt was at times unpredictable, but she was inclined to agree with her.

Going to the door, Lady Penelope expressed the wish for a bath. With a sigh, Carrie went to speak to Abercrombie and found him emerging from the servants’ stairs. She repeated her great aunt’s request. “I’m aware that the house is short-staffed,” she said with a sigh.

“It will be done, Miss Leeming.”

She left him, thinking what a gem he was. So capable and unruffled, despite the distressing events.

A groom appeared from the stables to advise them that Wilkins had carted the two prisoners off to the cells. Sir Henry and the vicar had also departed. Carrie went upstairs to check on Bella and Jeremy. They were playing with their puppies in the schoolroom.

“Shall we be able to go outside soon?” Jeremy asked.

“I think so. Let me speak to Nicholas first.”

She sought him out, finding him in the library. “I hoped you’d come and tell me what happened.” She stood with her hands clasped before her. He seemed so far away, and it unnerved her.

He rose from his desk where he’d been writing a letter. “I was about to, Carrie. I was writing to my sister to tell her all is well.”

“Oh, I’m glad. She is bound to worry.”

“And to tell her you can return to London at the end of the week. I’m sure Gwen will want you to fulfill the obligations she has made.”

Carrie’s heart throbbed. Put that way, she could hardly refuse. “If you wish,” she murmured. He didn’t want her here, so she must return to London. She drew in a breath and sat on the sofa to pet his dog. Chester wagged his tail, his fur like silk beneath her fingers. “I should still like to know more about what happened with my uncle. Please tell me.”

Nicholas sat beside her. “It was fairly straightforward. We found Simon with his French friend, Bettencourt, plotting to bring harm to your family. The Frenchman recklessly tried to knife me, and Warren shot him in the arm.”

She looked up at him in horror. “He might have killed you.”

He raised his eyebrows. “But as you see, he didn’t.”

She frowned at his matter-of-fact tone of voice. “Why did my uncle think he could evade the law?”

“He considered himself untouchable once he became Baron Leeming.”

“Inheriting the barony? That would mean…” She swallowed, unable to go on.

“Bettencourt was to do his dirty work. And I suspect Simon planned to give him up to the police afterward with some jumped up story.”

Tears filled her eyes. “I can’t believe anyone can be so evil.”

“They will be dealt with, Carrie. The constable has taken them away to lock them up. There might be an inquest, but it will end badly for them, as Bettencourt has implicated your uncle.” He studied her, his eyes dark with concern. “Simon will be hanged. I hope that doesn’t upset you too much.”

“Why should it! I’m glad,” she said. She gulped and wiped her wet cheeks with her finger. Her tears were not for Simon, whom she hated with every fiber of her being.

Nicholas pulled out his handkerchief and gently dabbed at her cheeks. “Sweetheart, why the tears? It’s over now. Bella and Jeremy are safe. Life can return to normal.”

“What is normal?”

“Well, you can continue to enjoy the rest of the Season.”

“And find a husband. I quite agree.” If she’d hoped to make him react, to show how much he disliked the idea, and beg her to stay and marry him, he betrayed no sign. His mind was made up, it seemed.

Carrie pushed to her feet. “I’d best tell them they may go for a walk. Their routine is topsy-turvy.”

“I must drive Lady Penelope home tomorrow.”

“She may not want to go. I think she’s enjoyed her stay here.”

“She is welcome to extend her visit, but you and I must leave for London on Friday.”

“You plan to take me?”

“Of course.”

“Why not leave it to Gwen?”

“She would have to come back for you, which would make her trip three hours longer. Besides, I would like to take you.”

“Why?” she demanded.

Nicholas shook his head. Despite his amused smile, his eyes looked strained and unhappy. “Because I will enjoy it.”

“You needn’t come. I will be perfectly safe and have Anna for company.”

He frowned. “Nevertheless, I shall take you, Carrie.”

She shrugged. “That is kind of you.”

“If you’ll forgive me, I must write some letters.” He flexed the fingers on his right hand. “I want one to go in tomorrow’s post.” Nicholas walked with her to the door. He opened it for her. “We’ll talk at dinner.”

Carrie nodded, firmed her trembling lips, and glided out, her chin held high.

She went upstairs, longing for a few moments to calm herself before she spoke to the children. It was just as well he didn’t want her. Nicholas would be a dictatorial husband, she thought with a frown. But she somehow couldn’t make herself believe it. Instead, she wanted to rush back and hug him and tell him her love would make him whole again. But he wasn’t hers. He never had been.

And maybe it wasn’t within her power to make him happy. Was Sylvia the cause of his retreat from love? She must have been a wonderful woman. Death had preserved her perfection forever. How could another woman compete with that? Least of all, she, with all her imperfections: her possessiveness, her impatience