Nicola swallowed. Tightness in her chest made breathing hard. Seek calmness, she thought, and slowly inhaled the way Yogi Yakshi had taught.
Though the official mourning period for her father had ended, she knew no day would pass when she didn't miss him.
* * * *
The message Drew both dreaded and desired arrived from London along with two carts of furniture, carpets and trunks. He and Jem assisted the carters in carrying the items to a room in the unused west wing of the house. When his future wife arrived, they could discuss where to place the furniture. He clenched his fists. In little more than a month, he'd be a married man.
As he walked to the library, he considered the upcoming ceremony and his unknown bride. He paused at the bookshelves lining one wall from floor to ceiling. Gaps in the rows showed where volumes had been removed by the former Earl and sold. Cases, paintings, furniture, anything of the slightest value had been wagered on the turn of a card or the roll of dice.
Drew walked to the window. Nicola Gordon was in London awaiting his arrival. What kind of woman would she be? He couldn't believe she would fit easily into London society. Her father, though distantly related to some Scottish earl, had been a merchant. In defiance, her mother had run away rather than marry the man chosen by her father. His bride-to-be had been raised in a heathen land. How could her nature have failed to be colored by the land of her birth?
He wouldn't countenance a wife who looked at other men with flirtatious glances. He recalled the day he'd slipped into his mother's room and seen her writhing beneath the naked body of a stranger. Years had passed before he'd understood what the pair had been doing. As a child, he'd been frightened and as a young man sickened.
At least there would be no fashionable London wedding with the ton in attendance to peer through their quizzing glasses and examine every move his bride made. Aldora wanted the wedding to follow Denmere tradition and take place in the village church. This decision had pleased him. Before the ton met his bride, he and Aldora would drill her in the proper manner of behavior to make sure she created no scandals.
He clutched the note from Mr. Grey, walked upstairs and rapped on the door of the Dowager's sitting room. Bertha, her aging abigail, opened the door. A smile lightened her usual grim features.
"My lady has sent for tea. Should I add a cup for you, my lord?"
"Not this morning." He stepped inside to allow her to leave the room. "How fares she today?" For the past week, Aldora had kept to her rooms. Though he'd visited her every day and noticed no sign of illness, he felt concerned.
Bertha shrugged. "She's dreadfully worried about her granddaughters and fears they have been lost at sea. If she continues the way she has, she will become ill."
"Then my news will cheer her." Drew stepped into the room and closed the door. Aldora lounged on a sofa in front of the fireplace. A lavender shawl covered her legs. The shabbiness of the room troubled him. The carpet had bare patches the furniture failed to hide. Mended draperies hung at the windows. Though he'd wanted to spend some of the money the solicitor had advanced on the house, she had refused.
"Take care of the land and the land will take care of us," she had told him. The only purchase she had not protested was the new carriage.
"I hope Bertha hasn't alarmed you with her doom-saying, Drew. I have been tired these past few days from all the arranging we've been doing, nothing more."
Her smile warmed him. "Your granddaughters are in London with Mr. Grey."
She pressed her hand to her chest. "Oh, la, we must leave at once." Tears trickled down her cheeks. "I never thought to see --" Her voice broke.
He knelt beside the sofa. "Aunt Aldora, don't cry."
"For joy. These are happy tears."
He didn't understand. The only tears he'd ever shed had been ones of anger and anguish on the day he'd learned his mother would never return. There had been no tears when his father had died.
She kissed his cheek. "When do we leave?"
"In the morning."
"Why wait? I'll summon Bertha to ready my things. We can leave immediately after luncheon. Oh, Drew, they have come." She leaped to her feet.
All color drained from her face. She crumpled. He caught her before she hit the floor. "Aunt Aldora."
Her skin felt feverish. Her pulse bounded against his fingers. He lifted her to the sofa. The door opened. Bertha backed into the room. She turned and set the tea tray on a table. "What happened, my lord?"
"When she heard the news of her granddaughter's arrival, she jumped up. Without warning, she collapsed."
The abigail reached for the small vial on the table near the sofa. "She has overset herself with excitement."
"Her skin is hot. I believe she's ill."
Bertha waved the vinaigrette under the Dowager's nose. "Perhaps she caught a chill when we aired the rooms she chose for the girls."
"Send Jem for Dr. Rodgers."
Aldora moaned. Her eyelids fluttered open. "Drew," she whispered.
He reached for her hand. "Don't worry. I'm sending for Dr. Rodgers. Then Jem will go to London and direct Mr. Grey to bring them here."
She tried to sit up. "'Twill not do. They are in a strange land. They are alone. You must go."
"I won't leave until I'm sure you're well."
"Please go for them." She closed her eyes. "If you refuse, I will rise from my bed and go myself."
Drew kissed her cheek. "We'll discuss this after Dr. Rodgers has been here. What if this is the start of some illness? You wouldn't want your granddaughters to take the sickness."
She nodded. "You are right, but I want so much to see them."
"And you will." He rose and strode to the door. No matter how much she pleaded, he wouldn't leave until he knew the severity of her illness. Though her granddaughters were important to her, they could wait. What would it be like if he could believe he mattered as much to someone?
* * * *
Nicola sat on the edge of the bed and once again counted the money she and Sarad had received for the two rubies sold to a jeweler Mr. Grey had recommended. She had asked him for the name of someone who could repair her mother's pin as a present for her newly found grandmother. Though Mr. Grey had been generous about providing them with clothes and books during the fortnight they'd been at his house, she wanted money to tuck away for an emergency. The rubies had brought more money than she'd expected. With a smile, she put the money in the sandalwood box her father had given her.
She stroked the smooth, scented wood. The box had a secret compartment. Her father had shown her how to open it but she'd forgotten the trick. One day, she would remember.
With a sigh, she set the box on the dresser and went to find Elizabeth and Margaret. Seeing they were occupied with their lessons, she went to the morning room.
She stood at the window that looked into the square. A fortnight and the Earl hadn't come. What would she do if he never arrived? Her sisters' safety depended on her marriage to him. She didn't believe Cousin Fergus would forget his plans.
At breakfast, Mr. Grey had mentioned that two of the ships in which her father and his partner had shares were due from India. Her heart thudded. Would her father's cousin be on one of them?
She sank on the carpet and twisted into a semi-lotus position. She wished for the shirt and dhoti she wore at home, but they were packed in one of the trunks sent to Denmere. After a series of calming breaths, she felt less on edge. She returned to the window.
I'm sick of the idles, she thought. She craved stimulating activity and new responsibilities. She would never be an English lady and sit with idle hands. But here, there was nothing. Mr. Grey's housekeeper needed no instructions. The small garden behind the house waited for spring. A dressmaker had completed the wardrobe Mr. Grey had ordered.
A carriage halted across the street. A man climbed from the perch. Nicola's breath caught in her throat. His greatcoat swirled as he turned and stared at the house. He reached the sidewalk. She caught a gli
mpse of sun-tanned skin. His hair gleamed like polished jet.
Siva! Dare she hope? She felt like Parvati must have the first time she had seen her consort. Nicola turned from the window. Elizabeth's remark about her dreams arose. Just for a moment, she would allow herself a fantasy and the hope she would find the kind of love her parents had had for each other.
"Nica, Nica, I saw him. The Earl is here." Margaret dashed into the room.
"I thought you were at your lessons. What will the Earl think when he sees you acting like a romp?"
The child grinned. "I doubt he'll be troubled. I'm not to be his bride."
Nicola swallowed a laugh. Trust Margaret to make her forget for a second what she faced. Nicola crossed to the sofa and sat with her hands in her lap. Her thoughts rattled like gemstones in a pouch. Should she stay or hurry to her room and wait to be summoned? Was her morning dress of pale yellow calico with a deep green embroidered band at the hem suitable for meeting an earl? She thought of the dozen day dresses in the wardrobe. Would one of them be better? She looked at the watch hanging at her waist and wished the meeting were over.
Margaret bounced on the sofa. "When will we meet him? He's tall and not at all like I thought he would be."
"Sit still or I'll send you upstairs."
"Aren't you excited? Don't you wonder what he'll be like? We'll see our grandmother soon. Do you think she came with him? Do you --"
Margaret's chatter drove Nicola from the sofa. She had to distract her sister before the chatter produced a scream. Nicola attempted to calm her racing thoughts but this time the calming breaths had no results.
"He went into Mr. Grey's study. You know the place with all the books and where I spilled the ink. He looked most serious."
Nicola clasped her hands. What did it mean? She walked toward the door and then turned and walked back to the sofa. She sat beside Margaret and chewed on her lower lip.
Finally, the door opened. Mr. Grey entered. The man Nicola had seen outside the house followed him. She grabbed Margaret's hand and pulled her to her feet.
"My lord," Mr. Grey said. "May I present Miss Gordon and her sister, Margaret?"
Nicola curtsied. "I am pleased to meet you, my lord."
"Miss Gordon, Drew Barlow, Earl of Denmere." Mr. Grey completed the introduction.
The Earl bowed over her hand. "Welcome to England."
Nicola looked into eyes the same shade of blue green as her own, though his seemed hard as glass. Not knowing what to do or say, she stared. Her heart fluttered. Her thoughts churned. Seen at a distance, he had been an answer to her dreams, but up close, he made her feel giddy and light-headed.
Margaret darted into the space between Nicola and the Earl. "Are you really an earl? I thought you would be old. I saw an earl in Calcutta. He had white hair and walked with a stick. Where is my grandmother? Does she want to see us?"
"Your grandmother is most eager to see you, but she has been ill," the Earl said.
"I can not bear another death." Nicola didn't realize how loud she'd spoken until she saw the Earl's stare.
"She had a fever and a chill but she has recovered and awaits your arrival at Denmere." He flipped open a watch case. "I plan to leave in an hour so we can reach our first stop before dark."
Nicola places her hands on Margaret's shoulders. "Tell Prabha and Elizabeth to finish the packing. I will send a footman to the mews for Sarad and ask Mr. Grey's cook to pack a luncheon basket for us." She released her hold and turned to the Earl. "Will that suit you, my lord?"
He nodded. "First a word or two, Miss Gordon. Has Mr. Grey explained the terms of your father's Will? Do you understand what is expected of you?"
Nicola stared at the floor. Could she marry him? Did she have a choice? "I believe so, my lord."
"Then all will be well." He opened the door. "One hour, Miss Gordon."
"We'll be ready, for we're most eager to meet our grandmother."
The hardness vanished from his eyes. "I doubt she will rest until you arrive. That's the reason for the rush."
"Then I must make sure everyone moves quickly." She ran down the hall.
Chapter 3
The sway of her yellow skirts made Drew think of spring and daffodils dancing in the breeze. Except for the eyes of Denmere blue, the chit resembled a young Aldora. Nicola Gordon's hair, the color of rich, fertile earth, made him itch to see the tight braids loosened. He ached to plunge his hands into the mass and feel the tendrils cling to his skin.
He stood in the doorway of the morning room. Why had this chit accomplished what no other woman had ever done? Her shy glances had severed the tight ropes of his control, something the sultry looks of other women had never done. He couldn't afford to let his emotions run rampant. His mother had. So had his father.
At eight years of age, Drew had vowed never to let anyone or anything control his life. The surge of lust for this chit had set him on his heels, but he wouldn't succumb.
Enough, he thought. He couldn't afford to give this woman the power to excite him into lust. For lust his mother had abandoned her husband and son. Desire was a lure designed to destroy control. He turned away.
Mr. Grey studied him. "Your bride is a taking young woman, my lord."
Not trusting himself to speak lest something in his voice betray his inner turmoil, Drew sat on the brocade sofa and cleared his throat. "She says she understands the terms of her father's Will and the marriage contract. Does she know that even if we don't wed, I'll have complete control of her sisters? Does she realize if she doesn't marry me, she must remain in England as my dependent? Why would her father have set such terms?”
Mr. Grey studied his hands. "He feared his daughter's love of India would see her eager to return once her sisters were settled. For her to return would put her in danger. India is no place for a woman alone."
"Nor is England. How can she be fool enough to think she can have charge of her life?"
Mr. Grey's brow furrowed. "Since I stand as Ian's friend as well as his solicitor, perhaps I should tell you about her. Her father wrote often and in glowing terms about her abilities."
Drew stretched his legs and crossed them at the ankles. "She seems quite ordinary." He hoped he'd managed to inject the bored tones affected by Cairnton into his voice.
Mr. Grey moved from the fireplace. "She's sensible and practical. Since her mother's death, she has managed the house and cared for her father and sisters. Her sense of duty to those she loves has kept her from seeking her own desires."
Drew's hands clenched. Is he trying to tell me there was a man she loved and would have wed? There was no reason for this idea to trouble him. Marriage had nothing to do with love.
"Besides her skill at running a household, she's an excellent gemologist. She can also read and speak the languages of India and several others as well. Her father was proud of her accomplishments."
A bluestocking, he thought. Some members of the ton looked down on educated women. In the past, he'd found pleasure in discussing intellectual matters with women. He didn't believe he would feel threatened by a wife who had an interest in matters other than gossip.
His shoulders tensed. He'd heard his future wife issue orders and saw how quickly her hoyden of a sister had obeyed. Was Miss Gordon so used to being in command he and she would clash over who held control?
"If she is all these things, why did her father not name her as guardian to her sisters?"
"She is a woman and hardly of an age for such responsibility. And of course, there is her father's partner, a most unsavory man. If Fergus Crawford could find a way to be named guardian, the girls would never see a penny of their fortunes."
"I see. As her husband, I'll have a closer claim as guardian. So be it."
Mr. Grey smiled. "I knew you would understand. I have prepared a packet describing each of the investments I made for Ian. I've also included suggestions for maintaining and changing them, according to your desires."
Drew nodded. "Let me take them
for further study. One more thing. I would like to purchase estates for each of my wards. In Oxfordshire, not too distant from Denmere."
"An excellent suggestion. I'll send a man to investigate possibilities. With luck, I should have a list of suitable properties when I arrive for the wedding. Ian gave me the honor of escorting his daughter to the altar." He poured two glasses of brandy and handed one to Drew. "A toast to your bride, my lord."
Drew accepted the glass. Though he seldom indulged in strong spirits, he could think of no polite way to refuse. Memories of his father's drunkenness had kept him from sliding into a bottle in search of solutions to his problems.
Mr. Grey raised his glass. "To Miss Gordon, a most delightful young woman who will make a charming countess and a helpful life companion."
Drew sipped and put his glass down. Charming, perhaps. Helpful, maybe. His thoughts roiled with objections to the marriage. First there were the feelings that enticed him to surrender the rigid control he maintained over his emotions. Then there was her managing nature. He would not abide a wife who sought to rule. All decisions about the estates, the houses, their social life, her sisters, and the use of the monies she brought with her belonged to him.
Mr. Grey cleared his throat. "Will you be leasing the London townhouse this Season?"
"No."
"Then you will be renovating?"
"I'll let the Dowager decide what must be done."
"Not your wife?"
Drew resumed his seat on the sofa. "I had thought to send the Dowager and the younger girls to town for several weeks while Miss Gordon and I become better acquainted."
"I do not deem that proper."
"I'm afraid I phrased my intentions badly. I meant after the wedding. My wife and I will need time to learn how to go on with each other without having to deal with children."
"Will the Dowager be willing to part from one of her newly found loved ones so soon? Perhaps 'twould be best if you were all to come to town."
Drew looked away. "Perhaps I could take my seat in the House while my wife learns how to conduct herself properly in polite society." He wondered what had brought the frown to the older man's face.
Gemstones Page 3
