He was betrothed! Even if he wasn’t, he’d never pick Miss Wilson as his bride. She was about to end up ruined and disgraced, and what would happen to her then?
She’d be expecting a different conclusion, but Nicholas would never ride to her rescue. Even if he promised her a commitment, he wouldn’t keep it.
“Oh, for pity’s sake,” Stephen grumbled. “What next?”
He foresaw a lengthy line of trouble, of scandal and recrimination and debts that would have to be paid, but he didn’t want any of it to flare up. Nor did he want to be the one forced to deal with the situation, and Stephen always had to sweep up Nicholas’s messes.
His brother needed a stern talking to. He had to remember who he was and who Miss Wilson was, and Stephen was the only person who could make him listen.
He had to return to the manor with all due haste, and he’d mounted his horse when Jo strolled out of the church with Benedict Mason. She was holding his arm, grinning as if he was humorous and witty. For his part, Mason seemed completely altered from the man he actually was.
The gruff, stern land agent had become the doting swain.
Were they courting? They had to be. How long had they been attached? How deep was Jo’s affection?
She’d never mentioned the relationship. Why not? What kind of woman was she? If she could tumble into a barn with Stephen, while being wooed by another, she had to have no integrity at all.
A surge of fury rushed through him. He kicked his horse into a gallop and raced from the cemetery. He flew by the cooing couple, his horse’s hooves spraying them with rocks and dirt, but he didn’t care and he didn’t glance back.
“We need to talk.”
Nicholas stared down the hall to where his brother was standing in the doorway to the library. Obviously, Stephen was peeved over some budding disaster, but Nicholas was in no mood to hear about it.
He started off, prepared to ignore his brother’s summons, and Stephen added, “Now, Nicholas.”
“Later. I’m busy at the moment.”
He’d spent a near-perfect afternoon with Emeline, chatting with tenants who’d fallen on hard times. Her view of the estate had given him an entirely new perspective, and he wasn’t ready for the encounter to end.
It had been a delicious torment, sitting with her, pretending no heightened acquaintance, and he was weary of the distance she’d imposed.
She’d gone to her room, to wash and rest before tea, and he planned to join her there for a bit of naughty dallying. His brother could wait.
“Get your ass in here,” Stephen snapped, “or I will grab you and drag you in.”
“Have you finally decided you’re man enough?”
It was an old taunt, frequently hurled.
He and Stephen had often quarreled in their lives, but they rarely engaged in fisticuffs, because Stephen knew better than to brawl. Nicholas was the elder brother, but also the tougher, stronger brother. He fought dirty. He delivered low blows. Stephen was too honorable, and he could never win against such an unprincipled opponent.
Yet to Nicholas’s surprise, Stephen loomed toward him, as if he was eager to give it another shot. Nicholas couldn’t fathom what was needling him, and he raised his hands in mock surrender.
“All right, all right. Have it your way.”
Stephen returned to the library, and Nicholas followed. He was crossing the foyer when the front door opened. Benedict Mason entered.
Nicholas nodded in greeting and said, “I need to speak with you in the morning.”
“As always, Lord Stafford, I am at your service. May I ask the topic?”
“I’m lifting the restrictions as to hunting and fishing in the park.”
“I don’t believe that’s wise, milord.”
“I’m not concerned as to whether it’s wise, Mr. Mason. It’s what I want.”
“People will come to expect such a benefit. They’ll grow accustomed. If circumstances change in the future, you’ll never be able to rescind it.”
“Why would I ever rescind it? I have more than enough. I can share; it won’t kill me.” Mason looked as if he might argue, and Nicholas decreed, “Spread the word. Make sure everyone knows.”
“If I may, milord, I should like to review the financial ramifications, so I can present a more complete case for my position at our morning meeting.”
“No.”
Nicholas walked on, and though he caught a glimpse of Mason’s dour expression, he wasn’t worried by Mason’s reluctance.
Mason might disagree with Nicholas’s decision, but he’d implement it. He was aware of who paid his salary, who provided him with his fine house behind the manor, and he wouldn’t jeopardize it over an issue as silly as fishing.
Over the prior year, Nicholas had let Mason convince him that harsh austerity measures were warranted. But Emeline had persuaded him to try a different path.
He didn’t have to be cruel or ruthless. Prosperity could be achieved as quickly with mercy and compassion as it could be with spite and malice.
Just that easily, Mason was forgotten. Nicholas burst into the library and kicked the door shut with his boot. It banged hard enough to rattle the windows. He stomped to the sideboard and poured himself a whiskey. Then, fortified for battle, he seated himself at the large oak desk.
He hated the ostentatious room, with its expensive chandeliers, soft carpets, and bookshelves that rose to the ceiling. It stoked a pretentiousness he didn’t feel, as if the space was grander than he was and he didn’t fit in it.
He swiveled and gazed out at the park. From his vantage point, he could see the gate at the end of the driveway. On that horrid long-ago day, when he and Stephen had stood there like beggars, had the old earl sat in the same chair, callously observing as they’d been turned away?
Disturbed by the image, he whipped around to face his brother.
“What is it?” he demanded.
