Sophia James - A Secret Consequence For The Viscount

‘Take my carriage.’

‘Oliver offered me the use of his yesterday.’

‘Will you live there this time, do you think? Put down roots and stay?’

Nicholas shrugged his shoulders because he truly did not know.

‘My advice would be to find a wife like mine, Nick. A woman who can be the better half of you, for without Georgiana at my side I’d still be lost.’

As I am, Nicholas thought, and felt the shiver of ghosts walk down his spine.

Frederick leant forward, swirling the brandy around in his glass. ‘We can move the club on into other hands, younger ones. It’s probably past time.’

‘Do you have anyone in mind?’

‘Half the upcoming bucks of the ton would jump to it in a second, but it has to be the right people. A group of friends like us maybe, people who could work together.’ He smiled, his brown eyes soft. ‘For so long we all feared you were dead, Nick. For so long we talked of you with sorrow and regret even as we relived your wildest exploits. It is good to have you back again and in one piece.’

‘Well, perhaps not quite one piece, Frederick.’ That truth settled between them.

‘The bits will come back to you, but give it time and don’t force it. One day you will rise in the morning and realise life is easier and that the demons that once threatened to engulf you are more distant.’

‘Less insistent?’

‘Then you will also understand that life carries on, different from before maybe but still valuable, and that there are people in the world who never stopped loving you. Myself included.’

Frederick waited until he nodded before carrying on.

‘But enough of this maudlin emotion and confession, for I think we now need to get down to this afternoon’s business and find you some more appropriate clothes to wear.’

Thus the mundane allowed an end to the extraordinary truths of the conversation.

* * *

Nicholas could not remember ever taking this long to dress, but the Challenger valet was both insistent and persuasive and, although he had no clothes of his own to speak of, the man soon conjured up an array of cast-offs that fitted him well.

‘Just a slight tuck here, my lord.’ His grip was firm on the side seam of the jacket. ‘You don’t quite have the girth of Major Challenger. The trousers have been lengthened, but a good steam has taken care of any tell-tale signs of alteration. They give a fine impression of being your own clothes, Lord Bromley. Tailored to perfection if I might say so myself.’

‘Thank you.’ He gave this quietly. It had been years since he had had a servant fuss over him in such a way and it made him feel strangely odd. He had never given those who worked for the Bromley estate much thought before, but now he did. He hoped his uncle had treated them well and that there might be a few familiar faces at the Manor when he went up there on the morrow.

The luxury of London unsettled him and he fought for a touchstone. He wondered if Eleanor Huntingdon might come to Frederick’s soirée with her brother. He would like to see her dressed in finery with her hair arranged to show off the colour of it. He would like to dance with her. He would like to have her near.

Frederick came into the room he had been assigned just as the valet had finished the last stitch and broken off the thread, smoothing down the fabric.

‘A fine job, Masters. The Viscount looks as though he should fit in nicely.’

When the man collected all the assorted spools and left, Fred poured them each some wine in ornate cut-crystal glasses.

‘For fortification,’ he said and raised the tipple. ‘Most of those present tonight are friends and acquaintances, but there are always the certain few outsiders who might want to rock the boat.’

‘Are you warning me, Fred?’

‘You’ve been away a long time and stories have formed around your disappearance that have no bearing on the truth.’

‘For that I am glad.’

‘But a word of advice. If you do not wish to be the continued censure of the gossipmongers perhaps you could think of a reason for your injuries that may be more palatable. An army wound? The sanctity of government violence goes a long way in suppressing criticism, I have always found. The Seminole Wars, perhaps? The time frame would fit.’

‘You have thought about this already?’

When Frederick began to laugh he did, too.

‘The legends that abound about you as the reckless and dissolute Viscount Bromley are also a protection. No one will know quite who you are.’

‘Including me.’ He said the words quietly and finished his drink.

Frederick’s frown was deep. ‘You can’t do this alone any more, Nick. You have to let us all help you.’

‘You are already doing that and I will be fine.’

Chapter Four

Eleanor had dressed as carefully as she ever had, her maids watching her with puzzlement on both their faces. Usually she barely cared. Normally if she went out it was only with much chagrin that she suffered even an hour of the business of ‘getting ready’.

Today she had spent most of the afternoon changing her mind from this dress to that one, from a formal hair style to a far less structured one. Even her shoes had been swapped from one pair to the next.

And now with only a few moments before she needed to go downstairs and join her brother and sister-in-law she was still unsure. Was the gold of her gown a little gaudy? Did her hair, set into up-pulled ringlets, look contrived? Was the diamond choker at her throat too much of a statement for a woman of her age?

She looked away from her reflection and breathed in deeply. No more. No other changes. She was exhausted by her uncertainty.

Jacob smiled as he saw her descending the staircase.

‘I have not seen you look quite as beautiful for a very long time, Ellie.’

Rose beside him looked as pleased as her brother did. ‘It is going to be so lovely to have you with us at Frederick and Georgiana’s, Eleanor. I wish you were with us more often in London.’ Her sister-in-law was in blue tonight and her fairness made her look like an angel. Every time Eleanor saw Rose she could understand exactly what her brother had seen in her as a choice of wife. She was kind and quiet, a woman who did not push herself forward, but waited for others to come to her.

With a laugh Eleanor took the offered hand and felt immeasurably more confident, an emotion she would need if she were to be any help to Nicholas Bartlett.

‘Nick has gone on already,’ Jacob said. ‘Frederick had a set of clothes that he needed to see if he fitted and he wanted Nicholas to meet Georgiana before this evening’s function.’

‘I am sure the Viscount will look well in anything he chooses. From all the accounts I have heard from my maid this morning as I was dressing he is a most handsome man.’

Rose’s statement was firm and Eleanor glanced at her. She herself had not seen Nicholas Bartlett in the house all day as he had left in the mid-morning for the Challengers. She hoped he had found a barber at least to shave off his beard.

Her nerves started to make her worried again. If people were rude or worse to him she could not quite think what she would do. Her brother would hardly tolerate such behaviour, of course, but still there was a difference between being accepted for who you were and being gossiped about behind raised fans and turned heads.

‘I hope Lord Bromley will enjoy himself,’ she finally said and left it at that.

It was only a short ride from Chelsea to St James’s Square and the rain and wind had held off enough to allow them a quiet passage into the house. After the death of her brother and father the family had been largely in mourning so it felt good to be able to go out again. The Challenger soirée would have a lot of people who were known to them attending, but it was not as formal as some of the grander balls.