Yet the dark times ahead with Lord Tulk—and his own misgivings—told him he could not.
“And you, my lord?” Miss Jenny asked. “What is your dream?”
Nicholas sighed. “I want to see Lord Tulk brought to ruin.”
Miss Jenny clicked her tongue. “I understand that, but what about after? What will you do once you’ve exacted your revenge?”
Nicholas peered through the empty panes to where a light mist fell. “One day, I’ll move to Dover, perhaps purchase a merchant ship. Or an entire fleet. I love the sea—its scent, the sound of the waves, all of it brings a sense of peace.”
“And will you do this alone?” Her voice was so tender that it pierced his heart.
“I doubt that will be the case. After all, I must marry one day.” He shook his head. “But that won’t happen for some time yet.” Thunder rumbled in the distance. “We should be going before this storm worsens.”
Offering his arm, he led the two young ladies through the house and back out to the waiting carriage.
The return journey was quiet, except for Miss Jenny describing what they had seen during their excursion. After seeing them safely back to the school, Nicholas found himself sitting in the parlor of Rosling Estate an hour later, flames dancing in the fireplace.
Miss Jenny had indeed given him much to consider. What would his future hold once his mission was completed? He had believed marriage would be a simple task, completed so he would have an heir. Yet now that prospect did not seem as welcoming as he first thought.
Would he truly be happy marrying a woman in whom he had no interest? And what about that poor lady? How would she feel, knowing her husband did not care for her? Yet, Miss Jenny’s idea of nuptial bliss was foreign to him.
Letting out a sigh, he took a sip of his brandy, thinking of his future. And for the first time in many years, he considered the dreams he might have.
Chapter Twenty-Five
The wind howled outside the warm confines of the solicitor’s office as Mrs. Agnes Rutley added her signature to the last document and sighed. Finally, everything was in order. Henry, Lord Walcott was at her side, acting as witness to the finalization of her will.
Mr. Bromley, the solicitor, collected the quill and returned it to its holder. “That was the last. Everything is now in order for your estate upon your death.”
“Thank you,” Agnes said.
Her intention had not been to have a will drawn up, at least not before she grew old. Yet times were changing. One never knew what the next day might bring.
Henry cleared his throat. “May I speak with Mrs. Rutley alone, Bromley?”
The solicitor stood and fastened his coat. “Of course. I was hoping to go to the tobacconist, anyway. Will that be enough time?”
“Thank you,” Henry replied.
When the solicitor was gone, Henry walked over to the fireplace, his back to her. Something was amiss.
“Henry, what is it?” Agnes asked.
“You have me worried,” came his reply. “Here you are preparing a hasty will. I told you, my contact has assured me that the magistrates will not return.”
Agnes smiled. Henry had been a very good friend for a very long time, and she appreciated him more than he knew.
“There is Ezra,” she said.
Henry turned to face her. “Bah! He’s but one man. His tales of woe told to any who will listen are growing stale.”
Studying the lines around his eyes and the silver on his head, Agnes realized they both were growing older. Her students believed her to be ancient—which she most assuredly was not—but time did have a way of aging a person.
Despite their ages, Henry had remained a loyal friend. He was only concerned about her, just as much as she would be about him if their roles were reversed.
“When troubles come,” she said, “they come not with a single spy but in battalions. They may not arrive today or tomorrow, but theywillcome.”
Since the death of her late husband, Lord Ezra Blackstone had spread the nastiest rumors that Agnes was somehow responsible. Since Julia, Agnes’s former student, had married the Duke of Elmhurst, Lord Ezra’s ire had multiplied. For the duke, who was also Lord Ezra’s nephew, had banished him from the family home. And for whatever reason, he blamed Agnes.