“I can’t imagine why,” his loyal sister said with an impish smile. “You are extremely impressive.”
Nicholas chuckled.
“Perhaps it was wise not to waltz with her.” Her eyes became dreamy. “I fell in love with Winston the first time I waltzed with him.”
He smiled. “You always were a hopeless romantic. With the fear of repeating myself, nothing of that nature has occurred between us.”
She looked thoughtful. “Perhaps not yet?”
He rubbed his neck. “Shall we find another topic of conversation? Or are you needed elsewhere?”
“How charmingly put.” She put her glass down and rose. “Very well. You seem set on your course. I can only feel sad about it. You would make someone an agreeable husband, Nick, and a wonderful father. How patient you are with Bartholomew, and he adores you. There’s also the matter of an heir. Surely you don’t want Eustace to inherit?”
“What’s wrong with Eustace?”
She firmed her lips. “I never cared for him. And he isn’t a Pennington. Not really.”
He smiled. “You’ve grown rather toplofty of late.”
“Oh, pooh,” she muttered rudely, not quite under her breath, as she stalked to the door.
Nicholas eyed the closed door for a moment and then leaned forward with the poker to nudge a burning log that collapsed in a shower of sparks. Gwen was annoying, but he understood it was concern for him that drove her.
He might waltz with Carrie in London after she married, and it was safe to do so. Safe? Now, why did he think that? Because having her living here would invite speculation, he supposed. And under the eagle eyes of the ton, he had to be careful to give them nothing to gossip about which might affect her future.
With an annoyed groan over how his life had turned topsy-turvy, he stood and left the library, planning to ride out and discuss the condition of his birds with the gamekeeper. As he headed for the stables, his thoughts returned to Max, who had placed such trust in him. Nicholas had faithfully promised his friend to see his first-born daughter safely married to an excellent fellow. And so he would.
***
After Bella returned to the schoolroom with Scotty, Carrie had an hour to herself before dressing for dinner. She left the house to wander along the paths and admire the gardens’ vivid displays of spring color, the beds planted with lupins, delphiniums, and cornflowers. It was good to be outdoors, the fresh breeze stirring the boughs overhead.
She allowed her bonnet, held by cherry ribbons, to slip back onto her shoulders, enjoying the sun on her face. Her concerns lessened as she watched a pair of wrens fluttering about a nest high in an oak tree. But despite her best intentions, her mind returned to the episode in the music room when Nicholas declined to waltz with her. While dancing the quadrille when their hands touched, her heart pounded strangely, and she’d felt quite unlike herself. Except for her father, no man had ever held her hand in his without gloves. At dances, men always wore them, and so did she. His long fingers had curled around hers, his skin warm. His bergamot soap teased at her, making it difficult to meet his eyes. While relieved that most of the steps of the quadrille kept them apart, it disappointed her they didn’t waltz. But that was because she’d never danced it. At least, that was what she told herself.
She strolled on. It was difficult to form an opinion about Nicholas. Learning from Anna about the way he treated a member of his staff worried her, but he could be irresistibly charming. His smile drew one to him. Was there a reason he didn’t wish to waltz with her? Was it really because he was busy? She imagined it was a lot of work to manage this big estate. Her fear of becoming a nuisance tightened her ribcage. It would not be surprising if he loathed the responsibility of her family placed on his shoulders. But if that were the case, why did he agree to it in the first place? Did he believe as she did, her father would live for many more years? With a heavy sigh, she walked on toward a gate in the garden wall, which gave access to the drive.
As she stepped onto the gravel, Nicholas came around a turn in the road, leading a big chestnut by the reins. He wore his riding clothes well and walked with an athlete’s grace.
“Taking the air, Carrie?” he called as he approached.
“Yes, it’s such a lovely day. I am on my way to see the lime walk I spied from a window. Was your ride agreeable?”
He stroked the horse’s powerful neck while being nuzzled. “Until Whiskey here picked up a stone. When your brother arrives, I’ll take you, Bella, and Jeremy riding.”
“I would love to see more of the estate, thank you.”
“Then you shall. Care to walk to the stables with me?”
She fell into step with him. “Bella thinks Jeremy will be in seventh heaven when he sees your stable of thoroughbreds.”
“And what about you? Do you enjoy riding?”
“Yes, although my enthusiasm is not quite equal to Jeremy’s.”
Nicholas laughed. “I was as keen as mustard as a boy.”
Carrie liked his deep laugh. It made him seem more
