Authors: Michelle Woodward
Nicholas Connols was well-known amongst the ladies of both the ton and the less reputable houses; his reputation was no secret to Ania, or rather, it wasn’t after her mouthy aunt had come to visit and gossip all about it. The aunt had been particularly jolly when recounting some of his more famous exploits, which made Ania feel a thousand times worse.
“They say he’s quite the animal,” the aunt had said with a wink that Ania felt all the way down to her stomach, which threatened to revolt as soon as she realized that this was the man who was destined to be her husband. Never before had she felt quite so trapped, quite so terrified of what was to come next. Animal? Oh, for heaven’s sake, what did she know about animals? She knew about feelings, certainly, but had only one outlet for releasing them, and it was not one that anyone would dare shout from the rooftops.
“Ania, if he is brothers with Brent, and Brent is as good as you say he is,” Margaret pleaded, “Then perhaps it stands to reason that Nicholas may have some good in him, as well.”
Ania peeked out from one mess of thick, dark eyelashes at her sister. “Do you really think so?” she asked, a bit stuffy from all the tears.
“Yes, well, I do hope so,” Margaret backpedaled. “Besides, he is quite a sight for sore eyes.”
Ania gaped at her sister slightly. “Margie!” she cried, using her sister’s childhood nickname that was shared only between the two of them. “You’re so bad! When did you even see him?”
“Oh, on the carriage ride to the park the day after you met Brent,” Margaret casually replied, a dimple creasing her cheek ever so slightly.
Ania recalled only the merest glimpse of a stocky, strong, dark figure fast astride a horse passing by. He seemed awfully reckless and dangerous; not at all the kind of qualities she felt would make a suitable union for her. But perhaps there was hope yet that a man who could understand the darker pleasures of life could also understand somebody like her.
Or was that ever too much to even dream about? Well, Ania was nothing if not a dreamer.
That, and the future Duchess Connols, a role she was being forced to take on in her family’s quest for financial reinstitution.
Well then. Ania squared her shoulders and wiped the rest of the tears from her eyes. A hero is a hero, even if he happens to be nothing more than a woman.
* * *
Nicholas had the acute sense that he had been called in front of a firing squad. The five plus solicitors that had gathered into the room all stared down the bridges of their noses through their spectacles, and the expressions on their faces were all so grim that Nicholas felt as if he was a schoolchild who had just done something naughty in the classroom. While it was true that he had indeed just done something naughty with a ripe little redhead, he was not so sure he deserved these particular glances.
“Your Grace, here are the papers that switch over the titles. Lord, ahm, Connols, has looked them over and given them his signature of approval. All that remains is for you to accept.”
Nicholas Connols winced at the mention of his father’s name. Ever since the whole ungodly ordeal had come out into the light, it had rocked his entire family off their feet. Although he knew that his parent’s marriage had been distant for many years, he was used to a certain kind of civility at home; now, he had the distinct displeasure of watching the usually calm and impassive Lady Connols appear disheveled, angry, and not a bit remorseful at the dinner tables while Lord Connols’s mouth appeared like a gathered set of purse strings whenever he and his besmirched wife had to appear out in public together. Thank heavens his relationship with Brent had not suffered; Nicholas did not know by what miracle he and his brother had grown up in such camaraderie, but it appeared that Brent bore him no ill will despite the sudden switch of their fortunes. Perhaps it was because Brent relished all the aspects of life that a title did not necessarily provide—the thrill of a good marketing scheme, numbers and ledgers, and books; having a fortune and a title would leave him no time at all to pursue such decidedly dull pursuits.
Nicholas was of a different breed, a little more aimless, a little less likely to wake up at the indecently early hour Brent had forced him to on this day to meet the solicitors who were sorting out the inheritances in light of the changed circumstances. As the wealth of boring paperwork was spread out before him for his perusal, Nicholas felt panic rise up again in his throat. There was so much, it seemed, involved in becoming his father’s heir; suddenly, more was expected of him in a week than had been in the sum of his entire natural life. He nodded and attempted to make his expression interested, but the truth of the matter was that Brent was far better suited to understanding all the legal specifications of the case than he was. Ye gods, perhaps he should name his brother manager of his estate, thought Nicholas, and as soon as the thought crossed his mind, he realized it was the perfect thing to do. Brent would be happy as a clam, considering workings like these were as exciting to him as reading the latest serial, the more dramatic the better, was to Nicholas.
“What’s this?” Brent suddenly demanded, and this snapped Nicholas’s attention away from his musings to the present. “What manner of incestuous nonsense is this?” Nicholas had rarely heard temper in his brother’s voice, so the matter must be concerning, to say the least.
“It says there is a betrothal involved,” said one of the solicitors drily, cowering a bit at Brent’s fierce look. “To one Lady Ania Cromwell.”
Nicholas felt his chest squeeze as he heard the name of his brother’s betrothed spoken aloud. Although he knew that Brent had not felt any great love for his fiancé, he had been looking forward to an easy friendship and a calm relationship with the lady in question. That fact was no secret as Brent began to bluster and go red in the face. “And now—now she is to be wed to Nicholas?”
The solicitor did not appear to be happy to be the bearer of the news. “It appears that Lord Connols had invested a great deal of money in propping up the lady’s family holdings and has entered a clause into the documents that reads that if the marriage between Nicholas—Your Grace—and the lady does not take place, then the dukedom will not be settled on anyone.”
The brothers Connols looked at each other, aghast. It appeared that their father had quite the vindictive streak in him, and was determined to break apart what was left of the family. If Nicholas did not marry Ania Cromwell, then his holdings would go into back taxes for the Queen, and neither Nicholas nor Brent would see a penny of his money.
“Well, surely my father cannot expect that I would fulfill this wish. She was to be my brother’s wife, it’s—it’s indecent!” cried Nicholas, feeling a vein throb in his temple. It was the same vein whose pulse he tried to slow by many stress-releasing visits to the brothels.
“It appears that it is so,” answered the solicitor, and Nicholas felt his heart drop in his chest.
“And what of the lady in question?” he asked, trying desperately to call to mind the face of Ania Cromwell, and coming up blank. “What if she decides that she does not want to agree to this?” Even as he asked, Nicholas understood the futility of the situation. Surely, the state of the matter was that while noble, the lady’s title held no monetary value and she would need to marry him in order to supply her family’s coffers in some steady supply. Furthermore, within their circles, nobody asked the young wives to be of their opinions on their upcoming nuptials or husbands, for that matter.
It appeared that in addition to inheriting a dukedom, he would also be inheriting a wife. An interesting proposition, providing his brother wasn’t so attached to the lady that it would cause an unspeakable rift between them.
“Is she quite the girl, then?” Nicholas asked his brother once the two of them had cleared out into the park outside.
For a moment, Brent did not say a word, but simply ran his hand through his close-cropped blond hair. When he spoke, his voice was low. “It’s not her, Nick,” he said, and Nicholas felt his heart catch at the old familiar name tossed between them. “She’s a nice enough girl, smart even, and quite the looker, if you can learn to appreciate it. It’s just this whole damn mess between Lord and Lady Connols.”
Nicholas knew what he meant. Members of Society liked to pretend that just because they had money, the ordinary mortal troubles of the world did not concern them at all, and nothing could be more human than his mother being unfaithful to his father. In many ways, he admired her gumption, but perhaps that came from reading so many dramatic novels. Still, his father cut an imposing figure, and if Lady Connols was brave enough to risk his wrath and not only be with another man, but also bear that other man a child, well, he had to hand it to her, it was likely she possessed a steel pair of something only gentlemen were supposed to have.
He found it surprising that he could admire such a quality about her, but the fact of the matter was that members of their class never did marry for love. In spite of the little matter that Brent had gone from being his brother to only his half-brother, Nicholas did not feel any more distant from him and the only rage he felt for his mother was directed at the fact that her indiscretion had been discovered and was causing such upheaval in all their lives. But for the fact that she had found love? No, he could never hate her for that.
Maybe that was the elusive element that had escaped him with every woman he had ever been with. Renowned as an egalitarian lover, he had never wanted for a warm body in his bed; the women from the houses asked for him back sans charge, and many a lady had sidled up to him during a party to request a few clandestine moments alone with him. Something, however, was always missing, and as he wondered what it was, his thoughts turned to his prospective bride, Lady Ania Cromwell. If Brent held her in high enough regard to acknowledge her intelligence, then perhaps there was a chance something could be forged between them that could last. He knew that if anything, what he had learned from this whole mess with his family was that he would never stray if he could help it. And so he would let Ania Cromwell know. In due time. After she had warmed to the marriage bed, as he sincerely hoped she would, knowing full well the capacities of the female body for pleasure, both his own and theirs. He would give her the money her family desperately needed, and perhaps she would be the companion he had been looking for this whole time.
“This has been quite a lot to digest,” Nicholas finally said to his brother. “Not only have our fates switched, but now there is a third party involved. This is what not having at least a civil relationship with your lord leads to,” he muttered, feeling the bitterness rise sharply on his tongue.
“Nicholas, you’ve been reading those damn serials again!” Brent cried. “All this talk of fates and civil relationships, what nonsense. This is what our lives are; this is what they will eventually turn into. Look, Ania is a nice enough girl, but she’s a gentle-bred lady. So she spies in the bushes on romantic trysts—it doesn’t mean a damned thing! She’s still a frigid little member of the ton, just like her impoverished parents.”
Nicholas was a bit shocked. He knew that once the day was over and the dust had settled, Brent would return to his normal, jovial self. But what sparked his interest was more what his brother had just mentioned about Ania Cromwell. Perhaps that natural curiosity she seemed to have would bode well for them both in the bedroom and out; he admired an inquisitive mind and always found that the more intelligent a lady was, the more inventive she was in the bedroom.
“I say, Brent, you’ve gone quite sour. What if I asked you to manage my estate?” Nicholas asked.
His brother’s light blue eyes lit up. “You mean it, Nick?”
“Yes. I can’t be bothered with any of that, and you know all the ins and outs of it. You will be my right-hand man. I’ll have enough on my hands with this impending family you know Lord and Lady Connols will want me to start right away.”
His brother nodded slowly. “That will leave me free to read, and everything else. Nick, it would be an honor.”
Nicholas let out a sigh of relief. His brother’s face had returned to its normal, serene expression, and the tumultuous world around them returned to its epicenter on them both. Finally, they had narrowed down the fallout after the disaster to just the two of them. While it had affected them, surely it would affect no one else.
Surely.
* * *
From the edited version of the Illustrated Lady’s serial:
The Princess and the Pirate
The pirate’s hands closed roughly around the breadth of her hips, and Marguerite gasped, equal parts outraged and excited at what was happening. Ever since three days ago, when she had been taken prisoner aboard the ship, she had been unable to ignore the handsome captain’s dark blue eyes and chiseled chin. It was only the fact that he was a damnable scoundrel who had robbed her father’s ship of goods that kept Marguerite from pursuing all manner of indecent thoughts whenever he strode into a room.