Thunder and Roses (27 page)

The countess leaned forward and kissed her son’s cheek. “Amazingly inventive, isn’t he?” she said proudly.

”’
Ventive
, ‘
ventive
, ‘
ventive
!” the child echoed.

“So this is my godson.” Laughing, Nicholas took William away from the nursemaid. “Considering how much he hates wearing clothing, he’s going to be inexpensive to dress in years to come. Maybe he has some of the Gypsy love of freedom.”

Clare couldn’t stop herself from looking for a resemblance between Nicholas and William. If there was one, she didn’t see it; the child was blond and blue-eyed, a proper English baby. He was also too young to be the product of a four-year-old liaison.

The countess’s light voice interrupted her thoughts. “Forgive my rudeness, Miss Morgan. As you can see, everything is at sixes and sevens, but would you care to join me for tea? Nicholas and I have a great deal to talk about.”

Nicholas chuckled and handed William back to his nurse. “It’s clear what you’ve been doing for the last several years.”

The countess blushed like a schoolgirl as she ushered her guests into the drawing room and rang for refreshments. Clare sipped tea and nibbled cakes while the other two exchanged news. Was this why she was in London—to watch Nicholas charm other women? The thought made her feel distinctly hostile.

After half an hour, Nicholas drew a round, brightly painted wooden object from his pocket. “I brought a small present for William. It’s from the East Indies, where it’s called a yo-yo.” He looped the silk string around his finger and made the toy run up and down the string, accompanied by a soft singing sound.

The countess said, “My brother had a similar toy when we were children, but his was called a
bandalore
. Let’s see if I remember how to make it work. Her attempts were unsuccessful. The third time the yo-yo ended up hanging limply from the string, she returned it to Nicholas. “I’m afraid I’m out of practice.”

“If you don’t object, I’ll take it up to the nursery and demonstrate it for William.”

“He’ll be enchanted.” The countess rang for the butler and ordered him to take Nicholas to the nursery.

Clare felt uneasy about being left alone with the countess, but that faded when the other woman turned candid hazel eyes toward her. “Please forgive Nicholas and me for our rudeness—four years is a long time, and the scapegrace hardly ever wrote.”

“I’m sure you’re glad that he’s home again, Lady Aberdare,” Clare said in a neutral tone.

“Yes, even though it reminds me of that dreadful time.” The countess picked up one of the butter cakes. “Incidentally, I don’t use the title anymore, Miss Morgan. Now I’m plain Mrs. Robert Holcroft. Or Emily to a friend of Nicholas’s.”

“You’ve abandoned the title? That’s almost unheard of. I thought women in your position usually keep their former rank if they remarry commoners.”
                         

Emily’s face hardened. “I never wanted to be a countess. Robert—my husband—and I grew up together, and always knew that we wanted to marry. But he was the younger son of a squire with few prospects, while I was the daughter of a viscount. When Lord Aberdare made his extremely flattering offer, my parents insisted that I accept it even though he was forty years older than I.”

“I’m sorry,” Clare said awkwardly. “I had no idea. You looked so serene that no one in Penreith guessed that the marriage was not to your taste.”

“Lord Aberdare wanted a young brood mare to give him more children.” She began crumbling the butter cake between her fingers. “He was quite … conscientious about exercising his conjugal rights, but I proved to be a disappointment to him. It was a difficult time. Nicholas was a … great comfort to me.” The butter cake had been reduced to a mound of golden crumbs.

To Clare, it sounded like an oblique confession that Emily and Nicholas had been lovers, but that the affair had not been casual, lustful seduction. At least, not on Emily’s part. Though Clare could not condone adultery, she understood how an unhappy woman could slip into an affair with a handsome, charming step-grandson who was close to her own age. Not knowing what else to say, she remarked, “William is proof that it wasn’t your fault that there were no children borne of your first marriage.”

“Don’t think I haven’t found satisfaction in that knowledge,” Emily said dryly. “Wherever the fourth Earl of Aberdare is now—and I suspect that it’s a very hot place—I hope he knows that I am not barren.” She touched her abdomen. “And in the autumn, William will have a brother or sister.”

“How lovely. Congratulations.” No longer able to contain her bemusement, Clare continued, “But why are you telling all this to a stranger?”

Emily shrugged. “Because you’re easy to talk to. Because Nicholas brought you here. Because you’re from Penreith. I suppose the last reason is the most important. If you live in the valley, you must know the scandal surrounding the death of my husband and Nicholas’s wife. Heaven only knows what stories went around, though the rumors could hardly be worse than the truth. I left Wales as soon as I had buried my husband. At the time I was too numb to care what anyone thought, but this seems like a chance to set the record straight.”

Clare wondered how Nicholas had felt about the affair. Had he loved Emily? Did he still? But of course she couldn’t ask. Instead, she said, “There was a great deal of wild speculation about what had happened, but the scandal is half forgotten by now. With you and Nicholas gone from the valley and no one else knowing the facts, the gossips had precious little to work with.”

“Good.” Emily’s brows drew together. “Robert helped me put that dreadful time behind me. Nicholas, I think, has been less fortunate. Perhaps you can help him, as Robert helped me.”

A little helplessly, Clare said, “This is a very strange conversation.”

“I suppose it is.” Emily smiled. “I don’t know exactly what is between you and Nicholas, but he wouldn’t have brought you here if he didn’t care about you. He needs someone to care about him. Someone he can trust.”

Before Clare could explain that the situation was not what Emily thought, Nicholas himself returned from the nursery. As conversation became general again, Clare decided it was just as well that she had been unable to respond, because she didn’t know what to think, or what to say. She had been raised in a world of blacks and whites, where right was right and wrong was wrong. Unfortunately, the area around Nicholas was all shades of gray.

A few minutes later, as Clare and Nicholas were taking their leave, Emily’s husband returned home. Robert Holcroft was a stocky blond man with a contagious smile. When introduced to Nicholas, he shook hands eagerly, saying how much he had looked forward to this meeting. If he knew that Emily and Nicholas had been lovers, it didn’t show in his manner.

As they drove away in the curricle, Clare said, “I’m glad to know that Lady Aberdare is happy now. When she left the valley after burying her husband four years ago, it was as if she had dropped off the face of the earth. No one in Penreith had any idea what happened to her.”

“She wanted to forget her years in Wales, and one can hardly blame her,” Nicholas said dryly. “She married Holcroft one year to the day after my grandfather’s death. He’s a barrister by training, but now he’s a rising star in Parliament. Someday he’ll be a cabinet minister.”

“What district does he represent?”

“Leicestershire.” Nicholas slowed the curricle, then turned left into a quieter street. “I control the seat, and when Emily wrote that Holcroft wanted to go into politics, I gave it to him. From what I hear, he’s working out well—seems to be both cleverer and more principled than the fellow who preceded him.”

Startled, she said, “You control a district in Leicestershire?”

“Among others. Our corrupt political system gives me effective control of seats in three different counties. Though the Aberdare title is rooted in Wales, these days the majority of the family fortune is generated elsewhere.”

Clare was struck by how little she knew about Nicholas, or about the wealth and power a man in his position wielded. “No wonder Mr. Holcroft was so happy to meet you, since you’re his political patron. Is that also why you’re William’s godfather?”

Nicholas smiled. “I’d like to think that friendship enters into it. Emily was an island of warmth and sanity at Aberdare.”

He didn’t sound like a man suffering from a broken heart. Obviously he was very fond of Emily, but Clare took irrational satisfaction in the knowledge that she had not been the great love of his life. “If you were able to put Holcroft into Parliament, you must have kept fairly close track of your affairs while you were out of the country.”

“Every six months or so, a box of legal papers would catch up with me, and I would send instructions back to my man of business.” He gave her an ironic glance. “I’m not quite as irresponsible as my reputation implies.”

“No one could be,” she said tartly.

Nicholas laughed. “You’re a perfect Welsh rose: delicate, sweet-scented, and well-equipped with thorns.” He reached out and brushed her chin with his gloved knuckles. “And it’s the thorns that make you interesting.”

As compliments went it wasn’t much, but Clare cherished it anyhow. She was much better at thorniness than she was at conventional charm.

 
Clare carefully lined up the cue ball, then stroked. The cue stick skidded against the ivory ball and veered off, missing the object ball. “Drat! I
misstroked
again.” She raised the cue and scowled at the tip. “The problem is that the wood is so smooth and hard. Would it be illegal to put a different material on the end—something that would not skid as much as bare wood?”

“I think it would be legal, but no true billiard lover would approve. The challenge is to play well in spite of the equipment, not because of it.” Nicholas leaned over, his muscles flexing under his white lawn shirt, and neatly potted a ball. “At least this table is flat compared to the one at Aberdare, which resembled a plowed field in midwinter.”

“By the time we go home, that table should have its new slate top. It will be interesting to see how it works.”

Since her first day in London had been full of drama, it was pleasant to spend the evening quietly with Nicholas. And there were advantages to her being a novice billiard player, because she spent most of her time watching him shoot. Moving around the billiard table with easy,
pantherlike
grace, he was a sight to please any female. With a small tingle of pleasure, she wondered when he would collect today’s kiss. If he didn’t do it soon, she might kiss him herself. He seemed to like it when she did that.

Nicholas stroked again. After the cue ball bounced showily off three cushions, it knocked the object ball into a pocket.

Before Clare could compliment him, a lazy voice drawled from the doorway, “A certain skill at billiards is the mark of a gentleman, but to play too well is the sign of a misspent youth.”

“Lucien!” Nicholas dropped his cue on the table and went to give the newcomer an exuberant hug. “I see you got my note. I’m glad you could come by tonight.”

Lucien murmured, “Still as unrestrained as ever, I see,” but Clare noticed that he returned the embrace with obvious affection.

While the men exchanged greetings, she studied the newcomer, who was dressed with an elegance just short of dandyism. He was almost as handsome as Nicholas, but in a blond, utterly English way. Among the Fallen Angels, he had obviously been Lucifer, the morning star who had been the brightest and most beautiful before he had rebelled against heaven. He also moved as quietly as a cat, for neither Clare nor Nicholas had heard him approach.

After disentangling himself from his friend, Nicholas performed the introductions. “Clare, you’ll have gathered that this is Lord Strathmore. Lucien, my friend Miss Morgan.”

Were she and Nicholas friends? As a description, it left much unsaid. Smiling, she said, “It’s a pleasure to meet you, my lord. Nicholas has often spoken of you.”

“Lies, all lies,” he said promptly. “They were never able to prove anything.”

As Clare laughed, he bowed elegantly over her hand. When he straightened, she saw that his eyes were an unusual green-gold that made her think of cats again. He studied her curiously, as if trying to deduce her position in the household. No proper spinster would be spending an evening alone at a man’s house. On the other hand, even her new gowns couldn’t make Clare look like the sort of female with whom Nicholas would misbehave.