“How will I last until Friday, Leah?” Nick asked softly. “The neighbors will swarm, as will the well-meaning friends. The house will be full of people, when all I want is to be alone with my family. I comprehend now why there is always libation at wakes and viewings and funeral buffets.”
Leah tightened her hold on him, feeling the kind of ferocious protectiveness she’d directed previously only toward her son. He might not know it, but Nicholas trusted her the way a man ought to trust his wife. With painful certainty, Leah realized she did not want to lose him. Whatever their marriage could become, she did not want to lose this trust and closeness.
“You’ll be all right. Nobody will stay for long, or your countess will make them sorry.”
Nick raised his head, his expression guarded. “You’ll stay?”
A thousand retorts circled in her brain: I’ll stay as long as you need me. Why wouldn’t I stay with my husband? And then: Nicholas, you need not be always so alone.
He’d leave the bed if she said that.
“Of course I’ll stay.” For as long as he’d allow it, she’d stay, and hope that the painful, impossible topic they’d raised in the kitchen at Clover Down was never, ever raised again.
“The kitchen isn’t keeping up with the guests at the buffet.” Nita drew a black handkerchief from her sleeve, a warning to any of the nearby neighbors thronging the house not to approach.
“I’ll get the footmen moving,” Leah said. “Nick’s in the parlor with your sisters, and probably passing around his handkerchief.”
“Oh, my poor Nicky.” Nita bustled away, her expression determined, which left Leah wondering where Ethan had gotten off to. She found him in the kitchen, sipping a cup of tea, effectively hiding in plain sight. Her first task was to find the head footman and put the fear of hungry neighbors in him, and then she made directly for Ethan.
“How’s Nick doing?” He moved over as Leah sat beside him.
“He did not enjoy seeing his father’s corpse,” Leah said, stealing a sip of his tea. “And he’s resting more than I’ve ever seen him rest, actually spending time in his bed. But other than that, I think he’s managing. He’s glad you’re here, but why are you dodging your sisters, Ethan Grey?” Leah stole another sip of his tea. “Gracious, that is good. Is the kettle on the hob?”
“Cook is keeping a pot going for the servants,” Ethan said. “I pinched a cup by special dispensation.”
“Nick will appreciate a cup. Shall I send your sisters down here for you to receive them?” She rose, determined that this day should pass with a minimum of difficulty for Nick.
“I…” Ethan dropped his gaze to his nearly empty teacup. “I haven’t seen them for years, Leah. My brothers, I’d run into in Town, but the girls… there’s such a crowd up there, all curious, no doubt, and I don’t want the girls to have to…”
“All right,” Leah interrupted. The late Earl of Haddonfield’s sons were a surprisingly shy bunch—shy and considerate. “I’ll send them to you in the music room, how’s that?”
When she half expected him to bolt, he set his teacup aside. “That will serve.”
Leah eventually shooed the siblings who were present into the music room, and had a tea tray sent to them laden with all manner of appealing food, as well as a brandy decanter. She was directing the restocking of the buffet when the head footman found her and drew her aside.
“Lord Reston…” The man paused, cleared his throat, and started again. “The earl is asking for you, my lady. He’s in the music room, and he said to tell you…”
“Yes?”
“You need to take a break, my lady, and get off your feet for a few minutes. His lordship’s exact words.”
She did not need a break, but his lordship just might need her by his side. Leah gave a few more instructions and found her way to the music room. She slipped inside and saw the family was assembled, seven tall blonds bearing a strong resemblance, and their youngest, Della, petite, dark haired, but still bearing the stamp of the Haddonfield family in her features. Because Ethan was in the middle of a story about Nick as a child, Leah took a quiet seat at Nick’s feet. His hand settled on her nape, and his brandy glass appeared before her eyes. She took a sip and passed it back to him, enjoying the smooth burn of the alcohol and the smoother heat coming from Nick’s fingers caressing her neck.
When Ethan finished, Nita spoke up, reminding them of an occasion when the earl had been spectacularly in error and held accountable by his second wife. Leah felt a draft and looked over to see that another handsome, strapping blond had slipped into the room.
As discreetly as she could, Leah caught Nick’s eye and nodded toward the door.
Nick rose and crossed the room. “Now we are complete.” He drew the fellow to the center of the room and slid an arm around his shoulders. “Our Beckman has come home.”
Beckman was not as tall as Nick, or quite as handsome. He had something of Ethan’s sharper features, and yet in his height, blue eyes, and blond hair, he was unmistakably a Haddonfield. He scanned the room as Nick’s arm slid from his shoulders. “We’re all home, every one of us, and it’s about damned time.”
The room went silent as Beck’s gaze fastened on Ethan, who was blinking at a portrait of a young blond man in old-fashioned regimentals.
Young Della held up her brandy.
“Here’s to family,” she said, “reunited, and isn’t Papa just laughing his harp off to know he’s the reason.”
Thank God and all his angels, Della’s toast had broken the ice, because Nick hadn’t known what to say. Nothing and everything. Love for his siblings swirled through his grief, through his marital woes, through his dread of assuming responsibility for the earldom, and all of it seemed to impair both his ability to speak and his ability to think.
As Beckman wedged into a place beside Ethan, the room once again settled in to storytelling, reminiscing, the occasional teary aside, and more frequent laughter. When Nick resumed his seat, he arranged a leg on either side of Leah’s perch on the floor, and drew her back to lean against his chair. His hands caressed her neck and shoulders, not idly, but because it soothed him to touch his wife.
Nick leaned down, his lips near her ear, his nose nearly buried in the lily of the valley fragrance of her hair. “Your behind has to be getting numb,” he whispered. “I’ll trade you.”
A man could say such a thing to his wife, and watch for the way she tried not to smile.
“Why don’t we shoo the last of the guests away and arrange for a late supper on trays in here for the family?”
“You shoo, Wife. I’ll get word to the kitchen.”
Leah shook her head. “You’re the earl, and I’m sure your letters patent spell out very clearly that you are in charge of shooing on all occasions of state. Come along like a good earl, lest I report you to the Regent.”
Oh, how he loved her, Nick mused as he trailed her from the room. Then his steps slowed and faltered as he realized exactly what he had admitted.
“Nicholas?” Leah eyed him curiously. “Are you coming?”
“Yes, lovey.” Nick took her hand and linked his fingers through hers. “A-shooing we will go.” They passed the family parlor, and Leah paused to close the door. Across the hall, neighbors were still eating, drinking, and visiting the day away, leaving Nick to frown in consternation.
“How exactly does this shooing work?” Because Leah would know.
“You find the vicar or the mayor or the local magistrate,” Leah said, “and ask them to clear the room as politely at possible. Their consequence will demand they see to it with all dispatch.”
“I did not learn this at university,” Nick muttered, his eyes lighting on the vicar. In five minutes, the crowd
