Nick heaved a sigh. “Only two! James, hand over that lantern. Any man who chases away a rat deserves a cake of his own.”
He knew he was being ridiculous, but it felt good. The expressions on Charlotte’s and Lucinda’s faces made him want to laugh. Emilia came with him, and they walked through the dark house to the kitchens, where they discovered the honey cakes in the pantry. On the way back, she carried the plate and held his hand. Nick thought he’d never been happier than he had been these last few days in this dilapidated house.
When they reached the drawing room, the three young people broke apart from a whispered conference. Lucy looked guilty, but Charlotte gave a sunny smile and asked if Nick had brought any cider, too. They sat on the floor with all four lanterns wide open and demolished the cakes.
Nick was eating his second cake before realizing that the scent of lavender no longer bothered him. Instead of Heloise’s wheezing cough, now it made him think of Lucy’s eager smile as she reached for another cake. Picturing joy rather than illness made lavender far more appealing.
Emilia brought out a broom when the plate was empty and swept up the crumbs, flinging them out the window into the softly falling rain. “Bon appétit, Monsieur le rat,” she called.
Lucy giggled again, and Charlotte whirled on Nick. “Are you and Miss Greene sweet on each other?” she demanded in a whisper.
Nick raised his brows. “My cake was perfectly sweet, thank you.” He waved her toward her camp bed.
“Because if you are, I think you should marry her,” his sister added in a rush.
“Good night, Charlotte,” he said evenly.
She flashed a brilliant smile. “Good night, Nicky!”
James returned to his bed. Emilia was tucking Lucy back into hers. Within a half hour, everyone was in their own bed, Emilia and the girls near the fireplace, where a rag was now securely wadded into the rat’s escape hole, James and Nick on the far side of a sheet strung across some rope.
Nick did not fall asleep. He lay in the darkness, listening to the gentle sounds of his family sleeping, feeling the cool night breeze on his face. It was barely eleven o’clock. Normally he would be at the card tables now, making certain his dealers were stocked. In an hour he would stop by the kitchens, running full speed, for a plate of dinner. Around midnight most balls had passed their peak, and the noble gentlemen would arrive at Vega’s. Around three in the morning was when things started to grow sharp, as players got deeper into their cups and the pots began to grow rapidly, sometimes to tens of thousands of pounds. Around four in the morning, he called a halt and began closing up the club for the morning.
He could restore Beaufort Hall from London. It appeared there were plenty of people looking for work nearby, and Nick expected he could staff the house in no time. He could hire a regiment of builders to repair the house and bring it back to glory. An estate manager would begin organizing the farms and other business. Some gardeners, to revive the garden and grounds. Grantham could handle most of it, only turning to Nick for thorny questions.
But Beaufort Hall washis. Like the Vega Club, which he had been building for fifteen years, from a shabby cellar room to the elegant establishment it was today. He hadn’t delegated that; he’d inspected every property, approved every purchase, supervised every improvement. Clara Birtwhistle chose the actual furnishings and decorations, but only after Nick had told her exactly what he wanted.
Was he really going to leave Beaufort Hall to Grantham’s care? Perhaps all he needed was the right partner...
Are you sweet on Miss Greene?
Beyond sweet,he silently answered.Intoxicated.
What was he going to do about that?
The next morningLouis arrived from London. He found Nick in the stables, surveying the rotted hay racks, and handed him two sealed letters. “Reports from Mr. Grantham and Mr. Forbes, Mr. Dashwood.”
“Very good.” Nick opened both. Grantham’s included a note from his new newspaper partner, which was brief but very satisfying. “How fare things at the Vega Club?”
Louis grinned. “Well enough.” He glanced around with interest. “Everyone’s wild to know where you’ve gone off to.”
“As you see.” Nick eyed Louis. “What do you think of my stables?”
The younger man grimaced. His father had been a coachman at a large estate when Louis was a boy, and was now a stable master at Newmarket. Louis had grown up in stable blocks. “Absolute nightmare, sir.”
Nick grinned. They hadn’t been used in years, according to Stone, but once upon a time they had been magnificent—and could be again. The block was built of pale brick with a clock tower at the back side, forming three sides of a square with wrought iron gates closing in the fourth. Mr. Stone had kept the western side in order, while the rest had been neglected. But like the house, it was still sound, and would easily hold a household’s horses, with space for guests. Perhaps Charlotte would get her wish, about a ball. “Not for long.”
“Right, sir,” said Louis, grinning back.
“How is your father?” Nick turned away and strolled out of the stable courtyard.
“Tip-top,” replied Louis promptly. “He was pleased to hear from you, and hopes he can answer your question very soon.”
Nick nodded. “That’s very good of him. I’m greatly in his debt.”
Louis muffled a snort. “Beg pardon, but he said he was happy to do it,veryhappy.”
“And I am delighted he obliged me,” he told Louis. “Tell me how things have been at Vega’s.”
