“Nicholas,” she muttered softly so as to avoid hungry ears all about them, “could you not have been here on time? Just once, I ask it of you. You are so rarely in the country. It does not endear you to the company to turn up an hour after your guests havearrived. Particularly when you are merely upstairs.”
Nicholas leaned down and kissed her cheek, flashing her a wide grin.
“My dear aunt, I am fashionably late, as is my wont. And as an earl, I would not wish to attract attention away from their wonderful hostess,” he said simply.
“Don’t try your charm on me, my boy, I know you of old. And it is not fashionable to be late to one’s own ball.”
“But this is your ball, aunt, and a very fine one it is too. I have never seen so many people laughing.”
That got her attention, and Eleanor glanced about them. Nicholas was not lying. He was impressed by the atmosphere and joviality of the room. Everyone looked like they were enjoying themselves immensely, and the dancing was lively. It was not too hot, and there were just the right amount of people.
“Truly, it is a triumph,” he added genuinely, and her ire slowly faded from her face, although she gave him a knowing look. “Besides, it was entirely Hargreaves’ fault. He will insist on a waterfall cravat, and it takes an age.”
Eleanor’s eyes flicked to his throat, where his valet had meticulously tied the starched linen. Nicholas had taken longer getting ready for the ball that evening, not wishing to let her down. The effort paid off as she smiled, flicking a gaze over his bottle-green waistcoat and immaculate appearance.
“Very well, that will do. You must dance. I shall not have you skulking at the side of the room as you did before you left.”
Nicholas forced his smile to remain in place. “I did not ‘skulk’ Aunt; I merely knew I would be leaving for Europe and did not wish to break a multitude of hearts before doing so.”
She scoffed. “You skulked and barely smiled at anyone for the month before you left. You seem easier in your demeanour now, however, so I shall expect you to be the talk of the ball by the end of the evening.”
Nicholas was about to protest for a second time at being so flaunted about when a familiar face approached through the crowd raising his spirits significantly.
Lord Henry Addison walked toward him, a happy smile on his face. Henry was one of the most agreeable people Nicholas had ever met and one of the kindest. He had a smile for everyone and lacked the reputation Nicholas had garnered. Henry was polite to a fault, flawless in appearance, and gentlemanly to every woman he met.
“My dear Nicholas,” Henry said happily as they shook hands. “I could not believe it when Lady Kingston told me you would be here. I am astounded you chose to abandon the heat of Spain for our snowy shores.”
“Indeed. I merely came back to speak with you, Henry. I am indifferent to the rest of the country.”
Eleanor cried out in indignation, and Henry threw back his head and gave a hearty laugh, which lifted Nicholas’s spirits. For the first time since he returned, he was genuinely glad to be there. Henry’s company was chasing away the melancholy that had been simmering beneath the surface since he had returned to England.
His friend’s dark blond hair was swept from his face, his patrician nose complimenting his elegant features. He watched Nicholas with startlingly blue eyes that were dancing with amusement, with a wide grin lighting up his whole face.
As Eleanor hurried away to tend to her guests, the two men walked to the edge of the room to observe the party. Henry’s curious gaze landed on him, and Nicholas raised his eyebrows in response.
“Are you back for good?”
“Not on your life. I am here for two weeks and that is all.”
Henry’s expression fell. “I had thought as much. I hoped you might be back for a few months at least to see to the estate. Areyou sure I cannot tempt you to stay longer?”
Nicholas shook his head. “I am never comfortable in England. I shall be leaving as soon as my business is concluded. If I can persuade my aunt I am not about to immediately marry the first woman she puts in front of me, that is.”
Henry chuckled as Nicholas’s eyes were drawn across the room to the mysterious Miss Crompton. He found himself willing her to look at him again. He had only seen them briefly, but she had unusually dark eyes. He wanted to examine them to see what colour they truly were. She was speaking to Rosemary, however, and seemed to be perpetually looking at the floor.
“—and besides,” Henry was saying, “it would hardly have been seemly for him to keep the club, not after he had inherited.”
Nicholas made a non-committal sound, and Henry continued with the story. It was some inconsequential piece of gossip. Someone in trade had inherited a great fortune, it would seem. He was sure most of society would be scandalized to associate with such a man, but Nicholas found himself happy for him. If life dealt you a winning hand, you had to play it before it was taken from you.
Or before someone else trumps your winning card.
“For goodness sake, Bolton, you have been in my company for less than ten minutes and already you are not listening to me.”
“My sincerest apologies,” Nicholas said, dragging his eyes away from Miss Crompton. “You are being exceedingly dull.”
Henry laughed and nudged him playfully with his shoulder. As Nicholas returned his gaze to the floor, a flash of emerald green caught his eye. He felt Henry lean in beside him as he watched a beautiful blonde woman approaching with an elderly man on her arm.
“That is Lady Madeline Wilde and her father. A wealthy widower, recently out of mourning. Her family married her offto a man twice her age, who died and left her rich and with no children.”
