As the silk cloth drifted to the floor, a memory of another handkerchief came to Nicholas’s mind.
The previous month, he had encountered a young lady unlike any other. She was beautiful, with a single, long chestnut braid that hung over her shoulder and bright hazel eyes that spoke of an appealing mischievousness.
For some unknown reason, she had thrown that cloth over her shoulder. Wanting an excuse to see her face once more, Nicholas had retrieved it for her and was promptly rewarded. She had a heart-shaped face with finely sculpted high cheekbones and sensual lips.
It had been a long time since any woman had intrigued him as this young lady had, and he found himself tempted to kiss her right there on that spot. In fact, it was as if her lips were made for that purpose.
For him to taste.
Of course, he would not have done such a thing, for there was also an honesty about her that tugged at his heart. Her voice had been filled with sincerity as she swore to do whatever he wished in payment for returning the handkerchief to her.
She had been teasing, of course, but he could not stop himself from playing her game by pressing forward, promising to invoke that favor sometime in the future. To his surprise, she had readily agreed. That was when he recognized she was not only honest, but she was also naive.
But could she play his fiancée?
Mr. Bromley spoke, breaking Nicholas out of his musings. “Is there anything else I can do for you, my lord?” He gave a nervous glance toward the front door. “I’ve another appointment soon and will need time to prepare for it.”
“Not at this time, but thank you for your help with my… situation,” Nicholas replied, annoyed at the sudden dismissal, no matter how polite it was. “I’ll call in the next week to discuss any other matters which need attending.” He rose from his seat and waved off the solicitor when he stood. “I’ll see myself out.”
As he stepped out onto the main thoroughfare of Chatsworth, Nicholas drew in a lungful of air. The day was cold, though not overly so. Many of the residents perused the latest wares rather than seeking shelter, and his thoughts returned to the lovely young lady. What had been her name?
Miss Clifton. Miss Jenny Clifton. And she was a student at Mrs. Rutley’s School for Young Women if he remembered correctly.
He had sworn off ever romancing any woman again, not after Lady Ayles. So why did this girl consume his thoughts as she did? Oh yes, it was that blasted handkerchief the solicitor had dropped that had brought her to mind again.
It would be welcoming to pretend to romance her. To gaze upon her beauty and gain her trust. It was a risky endeavor, but Miss Clifton appeared so lovestruck that he ventured she would do anything he asked of her.
But could he use her in such a way?
As he approached the waiting carriage, Lewis Tibbons leapt from his seat and opened the door. “Congratulations, my lord,” the driver said with a wide grin.
A man of average height with a receding blond pate, Tibbons had been in the employ of the Dowding family since Nicholas was a boy. He and Nicholas’s father had grown up together and had been childhood friends. They often could be found playing together in the woods that surrounded Rosling Estate despite their fathers’ attempts to keep them apart. Noble and common boys simply did not play together.
In the end, the two remained friends even into adulthood, and Tibbons became a confidant to Nicholas’s father and later to Nicholas, as well. The driver played an integral part in the pulling down of the men Nicholas had pursued.
“Thank you, Tibbons,” Nicholas replied. “Now, only one remains. Once he’s ruined, all will be finished, and I’ll have my revenge.”
“And you’ll celebrate!” Tibbons shook his head in awe. “And what a day that’ll be, my lord.”
“Indeed. Then I’ll begin the arduous task of finding a bride.” His eyes scanned the street. “There must be a lady out there who will be happy to receive an allowance in exchange for giving me an heir.”
In truth, Nicholas would have preferred to remain a bachelor. It was better to be alone. No one was hurt that way. He sighed. No one but the estate itself. No wife meant no children, which meant no heir to take over once he was gone.
“Well, there is much to do before I worry about finding a wife,” he said, pushing aside the melancholy that tried to replace the euphoria of his recent success. “I must find someone to play my fiancée first.”
As the last word left his mouth, a woman with steel gray mixed into her otherwise brown hair came walking toward him on the footpath. She wore a well-tailored blue pelisse and a fashionable hat with a matching blue feather. Her heeled black boots made her seem taller than she was. Despite her lack of title, Mrs. Agnes Rutley was a lady in every sense of the word. The few times Nicholas had been in her company, he felt a certain… energy surrounding her.
She was wiser than she let on. Or perhaps her confidence made her seem so. Whatever it was, Nicholas took this chance encounter as a sign of what he had to do. Yet he had no choice. Time was of the essence. Either he attempted to woo Miss Clifton or bring about suspicion from Lord Tulk.
The stakes were simply too high not to proceed.
“Where to, my lord?” Tibbons asked.
“The school for young women,” Nicholas replied as Mrs. Rutley stood before the same solicitor’s office he had just left. What could she be doing there? “The one run by Mrs. Rutley. I’m sure you’re familiar with it.”
“Oh yes, my lord. Courtly Manor once belonged to the late Phillip Rutley. He’s a man I once knew.”
Nicholas barely heard, for Mr. Bromley had stepped out his door and extended his hand to Mrs. Rutley before ushering her inside.