Page 44 of More or Less a Countess
Against all odds, and against all expectations, he was taken with her. But his fascination with her didn’t change the fact that she was hiding something from him.
Lying to him.
He wasn’t sure why, or what about, but it hardly mattered, and it didn’t help that he was also lying to her about his own reasons for marrying.
But even putting his secrets aside, something was off about Miss Somerset.
To begin with, she had an astonishing amount of freedom for one of Lady Chase’s granddaughters. Why was she always alone at the Bedford Square house? Lady Chase was notorious for her tyranny, and yet no one ever seemed to be paying the least bit of attention to what Miss Somerset was doing, or to question her whereabouts.
That alone should have raised his suspicions at once, but it was the odd encounter with Lady Huntington last night that had nudged Nick’s vague uneasiness into grave doubt.
As it was, he’d simply called on Miss Somerset a few times, and taken her for a drive or two. He hadn’t declared any intentions, and he hadn’t been introduced to her grandmother. It wasn’t yet an official courtship, and, given his reservations, the wisest course of action was to drop his pursuit now, before he could no longer do so honorably.
He’d have to stop seeing Miss Somerset at once.
Heaviness settled in Nick’s chest, but his mind was made up. He rang the bell for Gibbs, dressed, and went downstairs in search of his aunt.
He found her in the breakfast room.
“Good morning, Nicholas. You’re up much earlier than your habit.” She offered him her usual serene smile and motioned the footman for coffee while he filled his plate at the sideboard. “You were out all day yesterday. Perhaps you’ve something in mind to occupy you today, as well?”
“No, nothing.” He didn’t have a damned thing to do now that he wasn’t going to call on Miss Somerset, and a quick glance at the window revealed a dreary, wet November day.
It stretched out before him, long, endless, and empty.
“You could call on Louisa and Lady Covington.”
“Lady Covington and Louisa? What, are they still in town? I expected they’d go back to the country once you made it clear to them Louisa and I will never make a match. Youdidmake it clear to them, didn’t you, my lady?”
“They decided to stay a while longer. You needn’t look at me like that, Nicholas. I had nothing to do with it, and they don’t stay for you, in any case. Lady Covington expressed a desire to do some shopping, that’s all.”
“If they don’t stay for me, then they won’t be expecting me to call.” His aunt must think him dull-witted indeed if she thought he’d believe her totally innocent in this.
“It’s common politeness for you to call, Nicholas. It doesn’t have to mean a thing.”
Nick let out a humorless laugh. “Louisa is my dead brother’s former betrothed, my lady, so it damn well does mean something. How could it not?”
Her lips thinned at the curse, but instead of scolding him she hesitated, then covered his hand with her own. “I don’t wish to upset you. If you don’t care to call on Louisa, then don’t do so. I just…I don’t like to see you lonely.”
The tightness in Nick’s jaw eased. His aunt might not be above manipulation to achieve her ends, but she’d only ever wanted to protect him, even if it meant protecting him from himself. “I know, Aunt. I beg your pardon.”
They drifted into silence then, Nick’s heart kicking listlessly in his chest as he watched the rain hit the breakfast-room window in slanted sheets. What a dismal day. Whatever Miss Somerset had planned would likely have had to be postponed anyway, even if he had called on her. No doubt she was tucked into some cozy corner of her house, pawing through the pages of her book, with cobwebs in her hair and ink-stained fingers.
He didn’t realize he was smiling until he heard his aunt’s surprised laugh. “You look pleased, Nicholas. I must say it’s lovely to see you smile. Why don’t you plan something pleasant for the day, despite the foul weather? A visit to the British Museum, perhaps?”
Nick took another glance out the window. The sky was a dark, heavy gray, and it didn’t look as if the rain were about to stop anytime soon. “Itisan ideal day to visit a museum, I suppose.”
Perhaps hewouldgo to the British Museum for the day, or to the Royal Academy. The idea didn’t hold much appeal, but he didn’t have any more intriguing options. It was a pity he’d already made up his mind not to call on Miss Somerset, because she was the type of lady who’d appreciate a visit to a museum, though perhaps something less conventional than either of those places, someplace like—
Nick went still, his fork frozen partway to his mouth.
Someplace like the Hunterian Museum, in Lincoln’s Inn Fields.
Skulls and skeletons. Amputated limbs. Surgical instruments. Dissected animal carcasses. Jars upon jars of bizarre anatomical curiosities.
Miss Somerset would be enthralled. She’d fall into raptures, into paroxysms of intellectual bliss, andhe’dbe the one who’d get to see her face light up with joy.He’dbe the one who had the honor of giving her that gift.
It was unlikely she’d ever seen the collection. It could only be viewed by invitation, and even if she’d been offered a ticket, her grandmother would never have permitted her to go. It struck Nick as enormously unfair she shouldn’t have the chance to view it, given he couldn’t think of a single person in London who’d be more delighted by it than she would.
