Page 10 of More or Less a Countess
“It is her ladyship’s considered opinion a healthy young gentleman does not remain abed until sunset. Do you require a doctor, my lord?”
Nick groaned. “For God’s sake.No. No bloody doctor. What time is it?”
“Noon, my lord.”
“Noon!Is that all? Get out, Gibbs, and don’t return for at least seven more hours.” Nick was willing to indulge his aunt’s whims to some degree, but this was barbaric.
Gibbs didn’t move. “Her ladyship has requested your presence in the drawing room in one hour, Lord Dare.”
Nick snorted. “My aunt neverrequestsa damn thing.”
Still, there was no point in fighting it, and Nick let his head fall back against his pillow with a feeble sigh of resignation. He didn’t care for his aunt’s high-handedness, but it was too much effort to argue with both her and Gibbs, and he’d have no more luck refusing her now than he had when he was a boy. Either he rose from his bed at once, or this would end with a dozen leeches and a bloodletting.
He threw the blankets back with a defeated sigh. “All right then, Gibbs. Make me presentable.”
Gibbs’s eyebrow ticked up a fraction, but somehow the tiny movement was enough to convey a world of skepticism. “Perhaps a wash first, Lord Dare.”
It took the better part of an hour and a heated argument with Gibbs over an irregularity in the knot of Nick’s cravat, but at last his clothing was deemed gentlemanly enough to present himself to his aunt.
“Such a bloody fuss over a cravat.” Nick’s head was still pounding from the surfeit of whiskey he’d drunk the night before, and the absurd tussle with Gibbs hadn’t improved his temper in the least. “Damn nonsense…refuse to wear one at all next time, and see how the old boy likesthat.”
He was still muttering curses when he entered the drawing room, but he forced his lips into a polite mask as he approached his aunt, who was seated on a settee with the silver tea service on the table in front of her, looking as serene and elegant as ever.
“Ah, Nicholas. Here you are at last.”
“Good morn—that is, good afternoon, Aunt.”
She graced him with a regal smile. “Tea? I’m afraid it’s a bit cool now.”
“My apologies. Gibbs insisted on retying my cravat until he was satisfied each fold was arranged to mathematical perfection.”
“Gibbs takes great pride in his work.” She swept a critical gaze over him. “You look well. Every inch a respectable earl.”
“Misleading, isn’t it? If proper clothing were all it took to transform me from a wastrel into a respectable earl, there might be some point in forcing Gibbs upon me. As it is, I’d just as soon dispense with him.”
Lady Westcott replaced her teacup in her saucer with a quiet click. “Yes, I imagine you would, but Gibbs’s presence tends to discourage too much…excess, and so one likes to keep him about, despite your objections.”
Nick settled onto the settee across from her and crossed one leg over his knee. “I’m not a child, Aunt. I don’t require a nanny.”
“I’m afraid I don’t agree, Nicholas.”
Nick’s eyes narrowed to slits. Her tone was carefully reasonable, but a storm had been building between them since he’d returned to England, quietly gathering strength as he’d pursued his usual pattern of unchecked debauchery, and now it was about to break over his head with a vengeance.
They regarded each other in silence for a tense moment, then Lady Westcott lifted her teacup to her lips and took a calm sip. “Perhaps you may dispense with Gibbs once you’re married.”
Nick managed a short laugh, but a cold sweat broke out on his neck. “That won’t happen for years yet, and in the meantime I doubt Gibbs will get on well in Italy. He’s too English by half, and he looks like the sort who’d wilt under the sun.”
His aunt’s cool gray eyes held his, and she slowly shook her head. “You’re not returning to Italy, Nicholas.”
Nick went still as he stared at her, but underneath his forced calm panic fluttered in his belly. “That’s not your decision to make, Aunt.”
“Certainly it is. Your father left you an ancient, respectable title, a dilapidated country estate, and precious little else. I hold your purse strings, and I’m afraid I can’t approve another prolonged Continental sojourn, under the circumstances.”
Sweat dampened Nick’s cravat until it felt as if a clammy hand were gripping his throat. “And what circumstances are those?”
But he knew—of course he knew. This moment had been bearing down on him like a runaway horse for weeks now, and he was a bloody fool not to have seen it coming.
Lady Westcott raised an eyebrow, as if she were surprised she had to clarify this for him. “You’re the Earl of Dare now, Nicholas, and the only surviving member of your family. As such, you’ll remain in England, and do your duty to your title by marrying and producing heirs.”
