“Family business,” amended Nick. “Presumptuous though it may be, this title is worth something.”
“Ah,” said the other man, disillusionment spreading cynically over his face. “An estate. Comes with some good acreage, aye?”
Nick gave a bark of bitter laughter. “Every inch of it neglected and run into debt, with an uninhabitable house. The previous viscount left everything in shambles, and his attorney may well have embezzled it into penury.” The picture Grantham had painted of Nick’s future domain was not rosy.
Forbes’s anger melted into bemusement. “Beggin’ your pardon, but why do you want it, then?”
Nick studied his shoes. He couldn’t say that the title came with an orphaned little girl who would go hungry without an heir stepping in to bring some order to the estate. He wasn’t about to mention the blue-eyed governess who had single-mindedly tracked him down and forced the title into his hands. Those were not the reasons he had petitioned the Crown for the viscounty.
“I have a sister,” he said quietly.
Forbes inhaled in astonishment.
“A younger sister,” Nick went on, “who will benefit immeasurably from being elevated to the sister of a viscount, instead of the sister of a gaming hell owner. I may not deserve to be a lord—nor want to be one, if you want the truth—but she deserves to be a lady.”
“I’d no idea...” Forbes’s voice trailed off. “Ah,” he breathed. “Queen’s Court.”
Nick shot him a look of warning. “This was all in complete confidence.Nothingwill change at the Vega Club. I certainly won’t be selling it.” Not only was it his lifeblood, he couldn’t afford to. It would take a monstrous sum of money to restore prosperity to the Sydenham properties. The Vega Club had made him a rich man, but Nick remembered too well what it was like to be poor to surrender his golden goose.
Forbes was not persuaded. “Things’ll change,” he said morosely. “You just see if they won’t.”
“Things always change.” Nick stood up. “But you can set your mind at ease. This won’t change me.”
Forbes was not the only one who had heard. When Louis saw him, the man gave a big grin and bowed with an ostentatious flourish. “My lord,” he murmured as Nick strode past him. Nick stopped and stared him down, until Louis cleared his throat and ducked his head with a murmured apology.
The trouble that had brought him to the club hours earlier than planned had begun in the kitchens. Betsy had caught her husband Guillaume in the butler’s pantry with Clara Birtwhistle, who advised Nick on the decoration and menus of the club. They had been discussing turbot à la crême in a manner Betsy found suspicious, and she’d thrown a large jar of preserves at Guillaume’s head.
Fortunately, she’d missed—but the jar had shattered and covered Clara, Guillaume, and half the plate in the pantry with gooseberry preserves, sparking a blazing row that eventually encompassed virtually all the kitchen staff on one side or the other.
Forbes had separated the main parties before sending for Nick. He went first to see Clara, who was mortally offended anyone could think she would dally with a chef, even a handsome one who made ethereal p?te feuilletée; then to Betsy, who cried her way through three handkerchiefs and declared she was going home to Hertfordshire, that she’d had enough of sly, charming Frenchmen even if they were good cooks and better lovers; and then finally to Guillaume, who adamantly maintained that he was not having an affair with Clara, and it was naught but a bit of idle flirting, nothing for Betsy to fret about.
The only good news was that none of them knew about Sydenham—yet. He sorted everyone out, promising the incensed Clara a new dress to replace the one spattered with gooseberry, sending the teary-eyed Betsy home with a fresh handkerchief, and threatening Guillaume with sacking if he stirred up such trouble again with his wandering eye and casual flirting.
By then it was past six o’clock. Nick thought of his missed meal with a pang. Not only did he savor that leisurely dinner in his own house, this time he’d missed it with Miss Greene. It hadn’t promised to be a friendly, intimate dinner, with her fuming at him about her bedroom, but after today, there would likely be no chance he’d have her alone again. That was good, he told himself firmly, and collected a plate of cold meats and vegetables from the kitchen before he went back to work.
That evening the club was packed. It wasn’t his imagination; Frank came to ask where he should store guests’ coats and hats, because the cloakroom was full to bursting. Nick tried to stay more aloof than usual. Every circuit he took, people put their heads together behind their cards and hands as they watched him pass. Tomorrow someone would ask about it to his face, Nick judged. He wasn’t looking forward to it, but it was going to happen sooner or later.
When the club closed in the morning, he bypassed the kitchen—still divided into uneasy factions after the skirmish between Betsy and Guillaume—and went straight to Queen’s Court. Another pang hit him as he let himself in through the gate. Charlotte was not expecting him for breakfast today; he was taking her to Portland Place.
She was dressed and waiting, her hat in her hands and her trunk sitting by the door. Her excitement eased some of the doubt Nick felt. Charlotte’s one moment of pause, when Polly Neale flew out of her house and flung her arms around Charlotte, passed quickly. Within minutes the two girls were chattering about the adventure Charlotte was beginning—it turned out Polly was wildly jealous of the lovely and clever new governess—and there was a smile on his sister’s face as she climbed into the carriage with him.
“Good-bye!” she called to her friend, waving her whole arm so hard out the window, the carriage swayed. “Write to me!”
“Polly can visit, you know,” said Nick mildly. “You won’t be but a mile away.”
Charlotte bounced back onto the seat. “I know! She will. I invited her to come as soon as she can.”
“Ought you inquire with Miss Greene before you do that?”
Her mouth opened in alarm. “Oh! I didn’t think...” She trailed off, her brows knit in worry.
He smiled. “It will be easier to remember when you’re with her every day.”
“I’ll remember,” she promised, her delight reviving. “I shall be the best pupil Miss Greene has ever had!”
When they reached Portland Place, Charlotte’s eyes went wide. She’d never been here. “Is this yours, Nicky?” she whispered.
“Yes.”
