“Well, of course, Max,” Nicholas said, fighting to hide how shattered he was at the news. “Should it come to that, and I hope please God it doesn’t, you can rely on me to take care of them.”
Max sagged in his chair. “I knew I could, Nicholas. I have but one relative I might call on, my great aunt, Lady Penelope Grantly. But should I make her their guardian, Simon is bound to manipulate her into handing over control of their fortune to him.” He shrugged. “Who knows what he is capable of? You might think I’m overreacting.” He smiled, briefly, sadly. “But I don’t trust my brother. Gambled away his inherited fortune, lost the property he inherited from my father. He will do anything to get his hands on more money.”
“Don’t give it a moment’s concern, Max. You can count on me for this or anything else. Should you need me, send a letter to my father. He’ll advise me if I’m away from England.”
“Well, don’t get yourself killed in Spain, there’s a good fellow.”
Nicholas raised his glass. “I shall endeavor not to.”
“If I die before Caroline comes of age, I should like her to make her London debut. You’re what, twenty-five, Nicholas?”
“Twenty-six,” Nicholas amended.
“You could be in your thirties before this old heart of mine fails me. If it happens before Carrie is out, can you see she makes her Come-out? Ensure she marries a decent fellow? Not an old widower, someone who can share her dreams.” He smiled sadly. “I want the world for her. She is already an exceptional young woman, and I can only imagine how she will set the ton on its ear when the time comes.” He paused. “Have you changed your view on marriage?”
“No, Max. Marriage isn’t for everyone. It’s not for me.”
“It isn’t for everyone, I agree, but I think it would be right for you. If you’ll forgive my saying so. I believe my circumstances lend me a certain license. You were meant to give your heart to a woman, Nicholas.”
Nicholas shook his head slowly. “Never again.”
“I understand,” Max went on. “It’s because of your terrible loss, for which you hold yourself responsible. It was not your fault the girl you loved died. A tragic accident. I pray you make your peace with it one day.” He smiled. “And change your mind…”
“I doubt it, my friend. But if it becomes necessary for me to become your children’s guardian, and I hope with every fiber of my being it doesn’t, I will carry out your instructions for them to the letter.”
Max placed a thin hand on Nicholas’s arm. “I know I can rely on you.” He stood. “I have had the documents drawn up for you to sign. Afterward, you must come and meet the children.”
The legalities completed, Max had introduced him to his pride and joy, Caroline, who held the promise of beauty at fourteen; a younger girl of eight, Arabella, with an impish smile; and a serious little boy a year younger, Jeremy, Max’s heir. Caring for these children was beyond Nicholas’s comprehension, but as he could not believe in his heart they would lose Max, he pushed the thought away. After all, doctors were not infallible.
As he departed Yorkshire for his home in Surrey, a small face appeared in his memory. Caroline, or Carrie, as her father called her. Why had she scowled so fiercely at him?
Chapter One
Early Spring, 1818
Elm Park, Surrey
Nicholas Marquess of Pennington glanced up from his books as the coach, with two of the Pennington footmen accompanying the coachman, trundled past his library window on its way to the stables.
His whippet sat up in his basket, looking expectant. “No, Chester, you shan’t be accompanying me.” The dog settled down again with a sigh.
Nicholas finished the letters he’d been signing and left them for his secretary, Paul Williams. Steeling himself, he pushed back his chair and rose from the desk. Passing a mirror on the way to the door, Nicholas smoothed his dark hair and straightened his cravat. Would this put an end to the peace he valued? He had been on his own for so long, he’d grown accustomed to it and was entirely unsuited to family life. To keep his sanity, he must make it clear from the beginning, he was not to be disturbed while working in his library. He suspected it would be his last bastion of peace.
His butler met him in the corridor. “The ladies await you in the morning room, milord. I took the liberty of ordering the tea tray.”
“Good fellow.” Nicholas entered the room, expecting to find two young ladies. There was only one, whose freckled face beamed up at him, plus a dour-faced older female in black from head to foot—the governess.
“Uncle Nicholas!” The younger lady turned from the fireplace where she had been studying an oil painting and pranced coltishly over the carpet to him.
The governess cleared her throat.
“Oh.” As if her governess had struck a whip over her head, the auburn-haired sprite of some fourteen years fell into a low curtsey. “I forgot. But it is so good to see you again.”
Nicholas smiled. “And you, Arabella. But I am not your uncle,” he said, surprised she remembered him at all. Max had died almost a year ago.
Arabella and her sister, Caroline, had stayed with the vicar and his wife for the months following his death. Her mourning period over, Caroline was then to have gone straight to London, but the vicar wrote to him on her behalf. Because Arabella was so upset at losing her father, and then her sister leaving for
