“I-I see.” She bowed her head again, but not before he saw her face. If ever a woman looked contrite, it was Sophia Barrington. “To be honest, I did think you tedious. Intolerably so. But that was because I never bothered to listen to you. I was too — too — distracted — by your s-scar to notice anything else about you.”
He smiled sardonically at her use of the word distracted. If she were indeed being honest, she’d have said repulsed.
“I was a fool, the worst kind of one to have dismissed you in such an unjust manner,” she continued. “I see that now. I have also discovered that you are a most charming man and that — that I like you very much.” When he didn’t immediately respond to her declaration, she looked up and earnestly added, “I shan’t blame you at all if you never forgive me for treating you as I did. I know that I shall never forgive myself. I do want you to know, however, regardless of what you choose to do, that I am deeply sorry for everything and that I now think you the most splendid man in all of England. Not that I expect my opinion matters to you.”
Little did she know that at that moment it meant the world to him, especially the one she’d just expressed. True, she hadn’t said that she no longer found his scar repulsive, nor had she indicated desire for him. Yet she had said that she liked him. Yes, and she’d called him the most splendid man in England. Surely she wouldn’t have said such a thing if she found his person offensive?
Would she?
Uncertain what to believe, Nicholas reluctantly met her gaze, hoping to read the truth in her eyes, yet terrified of what it might say. What he saw made his heart miss a beat.
There was anxiety and uncertainty and a look of appeal, as if she humbly begged his forgiveness and expected to be rebuffed. That she so clearly wished to make amends brought a smile to his lips. More than willing to grant her her wish, he exclaimed, “I like you, too, Miss Barrington, and gratefully accept your apology.”
At that moment, as he watched her face light with a smile more radiant than the sun, moon, and stars combined, he realized that it was true. He didn’t just desire Sophie as a man desires a beautiful woman, he liked her as a person.
He liked her for her honesty in the Mayhew disaster and respected the bravery it took for her to express it. He also admired the spirit with which she bore her servitude. Then there was the kindness she showed the other servants. How could he not like a girl who not only accepted, but befriended and cherished people who most in her class considered beneath their notice?
In truth, she surprised him daily by revealing new and praiseworthy facets of herself; ones that gave him reason not just to like her, but to love her. And love her he did, he realized.
Wanting nothing more than to take her in his arms and tell her of his feelings, Nicholas ripped his gaze from her glowing face and murmured, “We had best be off to the stables. Ming-Ming must be bathed soon if she’s to dry before Helene returns.”
“Yes, of course … and thank you, my lord.”
He nodded stiffly and resumed walking, not daring to look at her for fear of losing control and kissing her against her will. As for Sophie, she fell into stride beside him, wishing that she were in his arms again.
Thus they continued the rest of the way in silence, each aching for the other, neither daring to voice their desire. Once at the stables, both were too caught up in their bustle to prepare the dog’s bath to exchange more than a few hurried words.
It wasn’t until everything was ready and they were alone in the saddle room — he in his shirtsleeves, sitting on the floor brushing the brambles from the dog’s long coat, she seated on a clean saddle blanket nearby, trying without either hope or success to repair the animal’s cap — that they again conversed.
It was Sophie who spoke first. “My lord — ” “Nicholas,” he interjected, without looking up. “Excuse me?”
“Nicholas. Please call me Nicholas. Or if you prefer, Colin.”
“I couldn’t. It wouldn’t be proper.”
“It is perfectly proper if I ask you to do so. Unless, of course, you don’t wish to address me by my given name?” He looked up then to cast her a quizzical look.
Sophie felt herself blush, curiously warm and self-conscious beneath his gaze. “I would very much like to do so, but I’m a servant now and subject to certain rules. One of those rules is that I use proper forms of address. Mrs. Pixton would have my head if she heard me call you Nicholas.”
“Then, you must call me by my name only when you’re certain that you’re out of earshot of the other servants. Cook has called me Colin since I was no bigger than, well — ” -he nodded down at the dog ” — Ming-Ming, and the Pixie has never been the wiser.”
Sophie couldn’t help smiling at his referring to the housekeeper as the Pixie. “I see that the servant’s secret nickname for Mrs. Pixton isn’t such a secret after all.”
He smiled back. “Who told you it’s a secret?”
“I just assumed it was. I mean — ” she shrugged ” — no one ever addresses her so to her face.”
“No one except Quentin. He created the name, you know.”
“No, I didn’t know. How did he come to do so?” Ming-Ming whimpered then, objecting to her lack of attention.
His expression wry, Nicholas dipped down and whispered something to the dog, something that made it wag its tail. After giving its ear a friendly tweak, an action which would no doubt have given Lady Helene apoplexy had she witnessed it, he eased the animal into the tub of water next to him. To Sophie’s surprise, Ming-Ming didn’t emit so much as a yip of protest.
As he briskly worked the mud from her coat, he explained, “Quentin first called Mrs. Pixton ‘Pixie’ when he was about, oh, he couldn’t have been beyond one at the time. He was quite taken with her and would toddle after her at every opportunity.”
“Perhaps it was her hair that attracted him,” Sophie commented, resuming her efforts to fix the plume. “I’ve noticed that your brother has a particular fondness for women with red hair.”
“Perhaps. Or it could be that his preference stems from the kindness Mrs. Pixton showed him as a child. Whichever is the case, hers was one of the first names he said, or at least attempted to say. Since he was too young to form the words correctly, it came out as Pixie. She’s been his Pixie ever since.”
“In view of that fact, I suppose she doesn’t mind the nickname, not coming from him,” she murmured, trying to coax the bedraggled feather to curl in the proper direction. Blasted thing! Why must it be so obstinate?
“Mind?” He chuckled as he lifted Ming-Ming from the water to examine her paws. “She adores it, as she does him. Everyone at Hawksbury adores Quent. He is quite the favorite around here.” The statement was uttered without the slightest hint of rancor one would expect to hear in the voice of a person acknowledging their sibling as the favored child.
Surprised by his neutral tone, especially in light of his brother’s role in propagating his recent disgrace, Sophie inquired, “What about you, my — ur — Nicholas? How do you feel about Quentin?”
He shrugged as he set the wet dog before him. “I love him.”
“You do?” She stared at him, unable to believe her ears.
“Yes. Very much.”
“But — ” She shook her head over and over again. “How can you love someone who so clearly loathes you? Especially after the way he trumpeted your shame to the ton and gloated over your humiliation? I know he’s your brother, but — “
“To love is to forgive,” he interjected quietly. “And as I said, I love Quentin. Oh, I admit that I was furious with him for spreading the scandal. I am, after all, no saint. But then I remembered how very close we once were and the jolly times we had together, and I couldn’t stay angry with him for long.” He paused to pluck a bramble from Ming-Ming’s clean but matted fur, smiling wryly as he did so. “Of course, just because my wrath has cooled doesn’t mean that I shan’t dress him down the next time I see him.”
Sophie watched as he began
towel drying the dog, wondering what had set the brothers at odds. Though she longed to ask, wanting to know everything about the man before her, she was reluctant to do so. To make such an inquiry would be to pry into his private affairs, and simply being at peace with him gave her no license to take such liberties. Still, if she were to ever truly know him …
“What happened to make Quentin dislike you so?” she blurted out before she completely lost her nerve.
When he continued to dry the dog, refraining from response, she was certain that she’d angered him. As she opened her mouth to apologize, he replied, “Quentin grew up, that is what happened. He learned what it means to be the second son and became resentful that I, by virtue of being born first, shall inherit everything.” “Well, I suppose I can understand his resentment, but why hate you?” she said, aching at the pain in his voice. “You didn’t ask to be born first, nor did you make the inheritance laws.”
“True, but that doesn’t change the fact that I’m heir to the title and fortune he covets.” He tossed aside the cloth and picked up a clean brush. “Though it grieves me to admit it, I sometimes wonder if perhaps it isn’t my fault that he feels as he does.”
“Your fault?” She frowned. “I can’t imagine you doing anything to prompt his bitterness. Indeed, I’m certain that you were the most devoted of brothers. It isn’t in your nature to be less.”
He smiled wanly at her praise. “Perhaps I was a bit too devoted. In truth, I spoiled him terribly — probably worse than anyone else. Yet how could I not? I spent the first seven years of my life longing for a brother or sister, hoping as Mother delivered three babes who never lived past their first hour.” He looked up then and met her gaze, his dark eyes wounded and pleading. “After suffering so much disappointment, how could I not dote on Quent?”
“Of course you couldn’t help doting on him,” she declared, crawling nearer to where he sat. Ming-Ming growled and showed her teeth in protest, but Sophie ignored her. “Nicholas,” she murmured, laying her hand on his arm, “you did nothing but love him. Where is the wrong in that? Had I been blessed with a brother, you can wager that I’d have spoiled him until he was thoroughly rotten.”
He smiled. “You’d have been a splendid big sister, Sophie. It’s a shame that you never had the chance.” She felt herself blush at the warm approval in his voice. “Yes, well, at any rate, what I’m trying to say is that you mustn’t despair so for Quentin. I’m certain that, like you, he remembers what you once shared and will come about in time. I’m also certain that he loves you. How could he not when you care so for him?”
He returned her gaze solemnly for a beat, then laid his hand over the one she had rested on his arm. “When did you become so very wise, Miss Barrington?”
She smiled, savoring the feel of his hand against hers.
“I’m not wise, not in the least. I simply remember my own family and how it felt to be loved. That kind of love is something one never forgets or stops craving.” “My poor Sophie.” He twined his fingers through hers and gave her hand a squeeze. “You miss your parents very much, don’t you?”
“Not a day goes by that I don’t long to feel my mother’s embrace and hear my father’s laughter,” she softly declared.
For a long moment he simply looked at her, his gaze soft and expression thoughtful, then he murmured, “You’ve never spoken much about your childhood, but I can tell from your words that it was a happy one.”
“It was more than happy, it was perfect. I couldn’t have asked for more wonderful parents.” Her words came out a hoarse whisper.
“I would like to hear about them, if you wouldn’t mind telling me.” He smiled gently, as if asking to be trusted with her memories and promising to cherish them if she did. She smiled back, deciding that there was no one with whom she’d rather share them. “I would be honored to tell you, my lord.”
“Nicholas,” he corrected, his gaze boring into hers. “Nicholas,” she echoed, mesmerized by the tenderness she saw in his beautiful brown eyes.
G-r-r! Yip! Yip! Yip!
Both jumped, startled, and looked at Ming-Ming, who stood with her front paws braced possessively on Nicholas’s knees, growling and yapping at Sophie.
“Just like her mistress,” he muttered, eyeing the animal with annoyance. “She can’t bear it when a man so much as glances at another woman.”
Sophie grinned at his comment, secretly understanding both dog and girl’s desire to monopolize his attention.
Looking as if he’d like to strangle the beast, Nicholas resumed brushing. As he worked, carefully easing the tangles from Ming-Ming’s snarled coat, he reminded her, “I believe you were going to tell me about your parents.”
She started at the sound of his voice, blushing as she wondered if he’d noticed her staring at him. Certain that her face was as red as it felt, she picked up the cap and bent her head over it, trying to hide her embarrassment. “Yes, of course.” She gave the plume a tweak. Wonder of wonders, it finally fell into place. Grinning her victory, she inquired, “Where should I start?”
“Why don’t you tell me about your mother? I’m told that she was once considered the greatest beauty in England.”
“Yes. She was lovely. She had the softest, most beautiful blond hair in the world. And her eyes! Oh, you should have seen them, Nicholas. They were such an amazing shade of green. My father had his dyers concoct batch after batch of green dye, trying to capture that exact shade, but none ever came out quite right. He so wanted her to have a gown that matched her eyes.” Nicholas smiled, though he didn’t look up from his task. “It sounds like he loved her a great deal.”
“Oh, he did. And she him. They were constantly kissing and touching and looking at each other as if they wanted to gobble each other up.” She smiled wistfully, remembering those looks. What she wouldn’t give to see Nicholas look at her like that.
“How did they meet? Your father was from Leeds, I believe, and your mother from Oxfordshire.”
“They met at the Michaelmas fair in Leeds. My mother was there visiting a school friend,” Sophie replied, grateful for his tact. Most people used the couple’s differences in station rather than their geographical ones as a basis for their speculation at the novelty of the match. “They loved each other at first glance and eloped within the fortnight. And, well, you know the rest. Everyone in the ton does. Her father disowned her for marrying him.”
She smiled ruefully at that last. “I always thought it queer that he would do such a thing. The Barringtons were one of the wealthiest and most respected families in the county. Despite their lack of a title, they were every bit as noble as the Marwoods.”
“Probably nobler,” he countered. “It takes a far greater man to earn a fortune than to inherit one.”
“That’s what my mother used to say,” she replied, beyond pleased by his comment.
“I imagine that they were quite pleased when you were born.”
“According to my mother, my father was so thrilled that he rode through the village, shouting the news at the top of his lungs. Both told and showed me how much they loved me at least a hundred times a day.”
He glanced up from the dog, smiling. “How did they show you?”
“Well, my mother baked me Shrewsbury cakes every single day, even though we had plenty of servants who could have done it for her. Her cakes were special, you see, because she baked laughter and a kiss into every bite.”
Nicholas looked genuinely intrigued. “How did she do that?”
“Simple. She’d blow a kiss into the bowl, like this — ” she demonstrated ” — then stir. Then she’d blow another kiss and stir a bit more. She’d go on and on like that until we both collapsed into giggles. That was the laughter, you see, and we would both stir furiously to make certain that it was blended in as well.”
He chuckled. “Yes, I do see.” And indeed he did. He could just imagine Sophie, so small and pretty, giggling into a bowl of cake batter with a woman who looked much as she
did now. It was an exceedingly pleasant picture, one that made him long to see Sophie with their daughter carrying on the charming tradition.
“And then there was Sir Nightslayer,” she continued.
“Sir Nightslayer?”
She nodded, her expression a million miles away. “Sir Nightslayer was the small wooden knight my father slipped under my pillow when he tucked me into bed. I was afraid of the dark, you see, imagining it filled with all sorts of dreadful creatures just waiting to gobble me up while I slept. Sir Nightslayer was my protection against them.”
“I take it that Sir Nightslayer was magical?”
“Yes. Magical. My father told me that he came to life after I fell asleep and guarded me against monsters all night long. Of course he was seven feet tall when he was alive, and quite fierce.” She fell silent then, as if lost in that happier time.
Loath to disturb her reverie, Nicholas continued brushing the dog, wishing that she loved him so he could bring the happiness back to her days. And her nights. What he wouldn’t give to be her real-life Sir Nightslayer, to show her that the dark held not demons, but pleasure.
“Poor Sir Nightslayer,” she said on a sigh. “I wonder what became of him?”
“You lost him?”
“I left him under my pillow when I fled London. I’m afraid I quite forgot him in my rush.”
Nicholas’s hand tightened around the brush as he recalled the tale of her flight from London. As he’d demanded that night on the road, she’d recounted how she’d come to be in service at the manor as they rode back to Hawksbury. Even then, as much as he’d despised her, he’d been furious at her aunt and cousin for abandoning her as they had.
Now that he loved her, he wanted to strangle them. When he said as much, well, the part about strangling the Marwoods, she smiled wistfully and said, “Sometimes I think I got exactly what I deserved. I was such a vain, selfish, and altogether horrid chit.”
“No one deserves to be deserted like that, no matter what they have done, and most especially not by people who are supposed to love and care for them,” he protested hotly.
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