Authors: Heather Cullman
“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.
“Perhaps.” She sighed and shook her head. “The only thing I know for certain is that you deserved far more respect and consideration than you received from me. I can’t imagine why you wanted to marry me. I was such a conceited little fool.”
So dejected, so very remorseful did she look, that he rushed to ease her conscience by confessing, “I wanted you because you were beautiful and because the ton had decreed you the finest of the Season’s Marriage Mart offerings. The shameful truth is that while I admired you, I didn’t love you. Not in the way a man should love the woman he marries. So you see, I was as much a fool as you. You couldn’t see past my scar, and I couldn’t see past your desirability.”
Rather than be mollified, she looked positively crestfallen. Certain that she’d misunderstood his reason for telling her what he had, he elaborated, “What I’m trying to say, Sophie, is that I’m as much to blame for what happened in London as you. If I had opened my eyes and really looked at you, I’d have seen your loathing for me and never proposed. Perhaps then you might not be in your current fix.”
“Perhaps. But I’d also never have opened my own eyes and discovered what a wonderful man you are,” she whispered. The instant she uttered the words, she wished she could take them back. What did he care that she’d had a change of heart? It wasn’t as if he were lovelorn and languishing over her. One couldn’t be lovelorn if they had never loved in the first place. Embarrassed, she bowed her head and pretended to smooth the scarlet silk cap ties.
After several beats of silence, he murmured, “Sophie?”
“H-m-m?”
“If I weren’t scarred, do you think you could have learned to love me?”