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

Chapter Twenty-One

Nicholas stared after Carrie for several minutes after she’d gone. Then he slowly shut the door. With a muttered moan that made Chester sit up in his basket, he returned to his desk. He finished the letter to his footman’s father, which reminded him of the very real pain the boy’s death would cause his family. Not that Nicholas had forgotten, but for a moment, he’d wanted to deaden the cruelty of fate by imagining a life with Carrie was possible.

The letter signed, Nicholas sprinkled sand over it to dry the ink. He folded it, dripped candle wax onto it, and stamped his seal into the wax. Then he left it for the post in the morning. He would offer money to Alex’s father when he came to his son’s funeral to compensate for the family’s loss of income. However, it would not make up for losing a son.

He rose from the desk. “Coming, Chester?”

Nicholas walked out the front door with his dog into the sweet-smelling spring gardens, bathed in soft light as dusk approached. Chester took off after a squirrel. As fast as he was, the dog was not fast enough. While he barked madly at the base of the tree, the squirrel merely watched him from a branch well out of his reach.

“Life is full of frustrations, Chester,” Nicholas said, walking on.

The dog ran to join him, and they continued down to the ornamental lake set in the lawns below the house.

The peace and beauty helped him think clearly. Although Bella and Jeremy didn’t know the extent of what had occurred, and never would, Alex’s death had left them confused and unsettled. He would take them to London with him and Carrie in the coach. They could visit the Tower and Astley’s Amphitheater and eat ices at Gunter’s. And before Jeremy returned to school, the two of them would visit some Roman ruins. Nicholas sighed. If he thought the plan would make him feel more himself again, it failed. The hollow feeling near his heart seemed to have deepened. He assured himself once Carrie returned to the social whirl that was the London Season, his life would return to some semblance of normality.

Dinner was a quiet affair, with everyone subdued by what had transpired, except for Lady Penelope, who asked why no one called. “It is like a tomb here,” she remarked. “Don’t you invite people to dinner?”

Carrie’s gaze flew to his, her initial look of horror turning to appalled amusement.

Nicholas raised an eyebrow. Lady Penelope was incorrigible. “I apologize for being such a poor host. But I have had a lot to cope with recently.”

“Well, you had Simon, of course,” she admitted with remarkable indifference. “And you dealt with him smartly. I expect when next I visit, things will be different.”

“I’ll make sure of it.” Nicholas averted his gaze from the laughter in Carrie’s eyes. “We’ll have a card party. I’ll invite Major Dunleavy and his wife and the Remingtons.”

Lady Penelope nodded, appearing mollified. “I shall retire.”

After Nicholas pulled out her chair, she stood and arranged her shawl over her arms. Gathering up her handkerchief and seizing her cane, she swept regally from the room.

Miss Scotsdale rose, too. She looked pointedly at Bella and Jeremy.

“We’ll ride tomorrow,” Nicholas announced as they dragged their feet toward the door. He was rewarded with a crow of joy from Jeremy.

They were bustled out of the room, and he and Carrie were left alone.

“Well, it appears to be only you and I this evening,” Nicholas said, coming to draw out her chair. “Shall we adjourn to the drawing room? A small fire has been lit there. A game of chess, perhaps?”

“No, thank you, I shall make an appallingly easy conquest this evening.” She put her hand on his proffered arm, and they left the dining room.

“Coffee?” he asked her when she was seated on the sofa.

Carrie shook her head. “A glass of wine, thank you.”

Surprised, because she had drunk wine at dinner, he went to the drinks tray and picked up the carafe of red wine. He complied with her request because he knew she was unsettled and disliked the idea of returning to London. He was sure that would change soon enough, once she was there.

Nicholas brought her the glass of wine.

Bright moonlight shone in through a break in the curtains.

“It’s a full moon,” she observed, taking it from him.

“Yes, many will travel the roads tonight. An excellent opportunity to hold a party or dine with friends.” He’d declined several such invitations recently.

“The fairies will dance in the garden,” she said, a surprising note of laughter in her voice.

He turned and grinned at her from the drinks tray where he poured himself a glass of port. “Fairies?”

“Yes. Don’t you believe in fairies?” she asked, a smile lifting her lips.

He sat beside her. “Can’t say I’ve given it much thought.”

“Perhaps you are too pragmatic to be a believer.”

He smiled, enjoying having her to himself. “You find me so?”

“Yes, you fear disorder. Fairies would laugh at that.”

“I suspect they would. In Shakespeare’s, A Midsummer’s Night Dream, they behaved disgracefully. Turning poor Nick Bottom’s head into a donkey’s.”

“It was a war of love. Oberon and Titania were jealous because they loved each other so much.”

“They played cruel games on the other lovers.”

“But passion drove them. Do you see? And in the end, they made each other divinely happy.”

“I can’t imagine…” Nicholas lost the thread of the conversation. He glanced at Carrie, who held up her empty glass.

“Another?” he asked, eyebrows raised. “You might have a headache tomorrow.”

“Please.”

He rose and took her glass.

“I had an Irish nanny,” she said as he refilled her glass. “She told me