“You will agree with me, Lord Bolton,” she said without preamble, standing in his path and gesturing wildly to her friend. Lady Garriton was swaying on her feet and humming to herself. Nicholas rather imagined she had imbibed too much wine.
“I will agree with you on what, Lady Bartholemew?” he asked, tamping down his frustration as he heard Clarissa laughing again on the other side of the room.
He turned to the ladies, aware that he could not afford to be openly rude and simply pass them by—no matter how tempted he was.
“Lady Garriton is quite adamant that a period of mourning should be observed for a full two years,” she said, sounding scandalized.
Lady Garriton hiccuped before responding. “It shows proper respect if one has lost one’s husband. I was in mourning for two years together when my husband died, and I barely felt it.”
“I believe,” said Lady Bartholemew, “that a full year is sufficient. Lord Bolton you are a good deal earlier in your years. What would you say to the question?”
Nicholas, who had been listening with half an ear as he was observing Miss Crompton, cocked his head to one side to buy time as he attempted to recall what the question was.
“I believe both of your considerations have merit,” he said, aware of Lady Wilde not so far from him. She was watching forhis response eagerly and he was nervous that she had only just come out of mourning herself. “It is true that tradition dictates two years to honour the memory of a beloved husband fully. However, the need for companionship and society’s ebullience cannot be overlooked. I believe it is a matter of personal choice; ultimately, the widow must decide what is best for her heart.”
The ladies were all aflutter with his response, but his eyes found Lady Wilde’s again, and he was discomforted by the arched eyebrows and conspiratorial look she threw his way.
His response had pleased her. I would be surprised if she made it through a full year of mourning, he thought bitterly.
He made his way through the room a little further and was waylaid again by Lord Robert Crompton who wished to ask him a trivial matter about his estate.
Nicholas became increasingly restless as Miss Crompton evaded him. He could not shake off her father’s attention without being seen as abominably rude.
Later, as he finally extricated himself from Lord Crompton, his aunt declared that they would be split up into separate tables where games would be played, and once more, he was obliged to be separate from her.
He played three games of Piquette with his aunt, losing in almost all of them as she guffawed with laughter. He was not sad to spend time with her, for she was a formidable and clever woman; however, as he sat at the card table, losing hand after hand, it occurred to him that his feelings for Miss Crompton were perhaps not so much confusing as intense beyond bearing.
He felt like a child who had been denied a piece of cake he desperately wanted. The fact that he could not converse with her was making him very irritable, and if he had been less consumed by it, he would have found his own behavior laughable.
Henry and Miss Emily Crompton joined them for a game, sitting opposite one another as a team and trouncing Nicholasand his aunt so thoroughly that much laughter was had by all.
Nicholas continued to play, trying to keep his expression neutral and not show the inner turmoil boiling within him. He was aware that he was treading a fine line with Miss Crompton and that despite his desire to associate with her, he would have to be mindful of what that association might mean.
His own reputation was blemished in the eyes of society. Certainly, men could brush off much of the scandals surrounding them when they were single and titled, but that did not mean that his interest in Miss Crompton would not lead to further gossip. Gossip that would cause her more pain.
He had his back to her for the entire evening and did not know to whom she was speaking or whether she was enjoying herself. Henry’s nervousness of his increasingly sour mood did not help.
Finally, as the evening drew to a close, everyone rose and prepared to leave the room.
Nicholas could finally watch Clarissa with her parents and cousin as she straightened her gown and prepared to leave. She was at the back of the party, which he was grateful for, and as she drew near, he stepped forward and bowed.
Surprised, she looked up at him, and her cheeks flushed beautifully as she curtsied in return.
“Good night, Miss Crompton,” he said as their eyes finally met, and Nicholas felt the same weightiness in the air and drumming of his heart that he had experienced before.
This time, her eyes were wary but happy as she looked at him, and it filled Nicholas with a sense of hope and determination that he had hitherto not allowed himself to feel.
It was over quickly, however, and he watched her leave the room as Henry and Rosemary followed behind.
Nicholas walked to his room some minutes later, listening to the bustle of the house about him. Servants were walking belowstairs and there was the odd bang of a door, but otherwise, the house was deadened of the sound of the guests.
He wandered up the wide staircase, once again reveling in the solitude all about him. The window at the top of the stairs was barely illuminated and he watched the flurry of snowflakes falling against the already thick snow on the windowsill. The night outside was quiet, and on the lawn, he saw the shadow of a small animal skitter away beneath a bush as the moon came out from behind a cloud.
As he entered his bed-chamber, the fire crackling merrily in the grate and the same muffled silence all about him, Nicholas lamented his lack of time with Miss Crompton that evening. Following their time at charades and snapdragon, he had, in a very short time, grown accustomed to her company.
He truly wished her to see the gentleman beneath the rake and for his attentions to be welcomed rather than received with wariness. He was determined, therefore, to spend as much time as he could with her to show her the man he truly was.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
