“You, and your . . . soldier. I’m insulted to the marrow of my bones.”
“He’s an old friend, down on his luck. What was I supposed to do? Ignore him?”
“Yes, that’s precisely what you were supposed to do! You permitted him to speak to me! He ruined my entrance and soiled my gown!”
“Your gown is fine,” he tersely said.
She peered over her shoulder, to where her mother was lurking. “See what I mean, Mother? See how he treats me?”
He raised a brow, daring the woman to comment, and she wisely kept silent.
The butler went on ahead, and Nicholas could hear them being announced to the supper guests. As if a magic wand had been waved, Veronica’s rage evaporated. Suddenly, she was all grace and smiles, and he trudged along at her side like a lapdog.
He should have walked the other way, out of his engagement and out of her life, but his predicament was his own fault.
He had deliberately sought her out to be his bride. He had proposed. He could have picked any girl in the world, but he’d picked her. Stephen had vociferously counseled against it, but Nicholas never listened to anyone, and his chickens were coming home to roost.
He was a fool. He was an idiot. He was getting exactly what he deserved.
They entered the salon, and there was a smattering of applause, but apparently, it was much less than she’d anticipated. She frowned, irked that more people weren’t gushing. Obviously, her mother hadn’t informed her that he’d been tossed out prior to her arrival. He was nobody’s favorite.
Her father was at the front, offering a toast, and Veronica dropped away and went forward without him. She was in her element, preening, and so absorbed in the moment that she didn’t realize he’d moved away.
He slipped to a rear corner, observing the proceedings as if he had no connection to them. The letter in his coat crinkled, reminding him that it was there, and he pulled it out and flicked at the seal.
The news was so peculiar—and so unexpected—that he had to read it three times before it made any sense. Emeline had been . . . arrested? Over her illicit affair with Nicholas? The twins had been sent to an orphanage?
It didn’t seem possible, yet the plea for assistance had come from Josephine Merrick. Nicholas didn’t know her well, but she wasn’t the type prone to fantasy or exaggeration.
What the bloody hell had happened? Were Blair and Mason insane? Did they actually imagine that Nicholas wouldn’t care? That he wouldn’t react?
“Nicholas!”
He shook his head, as if the sharp sound of his name had yanked him from a deep sleep.
“Nicholas!”
He glanced up. Veronica was standing with her father. Everyone was gaping at him.
“What?” he asked.
“Father made his toast,” she hissed like a petulant toddler, “and now, you have to make yours.”
He stared at her, at her father, at the portly, stuffy men surrounding him. He stared at her mother, at the festooned, arrogant matrons surrounding her. He assessed their clothes and their jewels and their expensive wine glasses and fussy hors d’oeuvre plates.
Melancholy swept over him. He missed Emeline, and he wanted to be at Stafford. Why was he here when he could be there? If he’d stayed where he belonged—with Emeline—she’d be safe and he’d be happy.
“What am I doing?” he muttered to himself.
“Nicholas!” Veronica nagged again. “Why must you constantly embarrass me?”
“Look, a situation has come up.” He crumpled the letter and pitched it into the fire. “I have to go.”
“You have to . . . what?” Veronica gasped.
“I have to go.”
“You can’t leave. I won’t allow it.”
“Now see here, Captain Price,” her father blustered.
“No, you see here.”
Veronica gave an ear-splitting shriek. “Mother!”
“The wedding is off,” Nicholas told her father. “I’ll contact you in a few days, after I’ve dealt with this emergency. We’ll work something out.”
“Work something out?” her father railed. The veins in his neck were bulging, as if he was about to suffer an apoplexy. “Listen to me you cur, you beast, you . . . you . . . interloper!”
“I’ll contact you,” Nicholas repeated.
He spun and dashed out, and behind him, he could hear shouting and incensed exclamations, but he didn’t slow down. The stupid dullards had never deemed him worthy of their darling Veronica, and after they calmed down, they’d all be relieved that she’d escaped his dastardly clutches.
He raced outside, glad to note that the mob had dispersed. There was no riot occurring. He ran into the street and peered around, searching for Ted and finding him down on the corner.
“Ted!” he called, and he hastened over.
“Captain!” Ted extended his hand in welcome, and Nicholas clasped hold.
“Sorry for the trouble. I didn’t mean to bother the lady.”
“Don’t worry about her. She’s nothing to me.” He started them toward his carriage that was parked down the block.
“Where are we going?” Ted asked.
“To my house. You’ll remain there, while I sort out a problem at my estate.”
“Really, Captain? Are you sure?”
“I’m absolutely sure.” Nicholas patted Ted’s shoulder. “My servants will feed you and get you back on your feet. Then once I return to town, we’ll figure out what’s to be done with you.”
“Thank you, Captain,” Ted murmured. “It seems as if all my prayers have suddenly been answered.”
They neared the carriage, the lamp giving off a soft glow, and Nicholas saw tears in Ted’s eyes, but he pretended not to notice.
He helped Ted climb in, then climbed in himself. The door was slammed, and they rushed for home so Nicholas could locate Stephen, saddle their horses, and depart for Stafford right away.
“Let us pray.”
Oscar whirled away from the altar to face the congregation, although congregation was now an incorrect description for the handful of worshipers scattered in the pews.
Six people! Six people had deigned to attend Sunday service. In the past, the church would have been filled to capacity. On special occasions, such as Christmas or Easter, there often wasn’t enough space to accommodate the large crowd.
In a form of protest, everyone had stayed away. The community was flaunting its displeasure over his actions toward
