Nicholas didn’t stop until he stumbled out of the conservatory and stood gasping for breath under the obsidian December sky. Snow blew down on him from the barely discernible mists of the clouds that blocked even a hint of stars. He stared into the darkness and marveled at the deafening thud of his heart against his ribs. How could an organ beat and die in the same moment? Other parts of his body throbbed as well, but there was no marvel in that. Elizabeth could give the statue of Neptune frowning at him from across the way a cockstand with a single sigh or touch of her hand. Holding her in his arms was the nearest Nicholas would ever come to redemption. He’d never hold her again.
“We didn’t freeze our arses enough in Spain, you have to drag us out here on the coldest Christmas night in ten years?” Delacroix stood in the open French windows and blinked against the snow. “Come inside.”
“No.” He didn’t want company. He didn’t want anything save the one thing he’d never deserve.
“Winterbourne is pleading his delicate constitution.” Delacroix stepped beside him, hands shoved in his pockets against the cold. “He’s stopped to admire the daffodils.”
“He’s a pain in the arse.”
“So are you.” He turned and headed back inside, leaving Nicholas no choice but to follow.
They meandered through Ivy House’s considerable conservatory until they reached a grouping of old settees in the middle of a raised circular bed of daffodils in full bloom. Winterbourne shifted over, and Nicholas sat down next to him.
“You do realize, of course, she’ll be ‘my lording’ us until Twelfth Night and we’ll never know to whom she is speaking,” Winterbourne groused.
“I’ll know.” Nicholas’s friends considered him in the sort of silence they practiced when they had much to say and knew he had no desire to hear it.
“When did you acquire these?” He waved a hand at the brilliant yellow blooms all around them. Misdirection worked as a military tactic. Nicholas had no qualms about using it to stubble his two interfering friends.
“Spring after we came home from the siege at Rodrigo.” Delacroix gave Winterbourne a pointed look, which the man promptly returned. In happier times, Nicholas might have laughed at their lack of subtlety. He’d walked away from laughter the day he told Elizabeth her brother was not coming home.
“Why are they blooming now?” Winterbourne reached back to run his fingers along one row of the bell-shaped flowers.
“I have a clever gardener,” Delacroix replied. “I spent a great deal of time sitting here when I was home on leave.”
Something small and quiet passed between the three of them. The sort of thing only men who have shared the same corner of hell understood. He trusted them with his life. He had no choice but to trust them with the one thing more precious to him than that.
“I’m leaving at first light. I need to return to Leistonbury Hall. Delacroix, you will convince Elizabeth to marry you and you will make her happy or you’ll answer to me. I trust you to send Miss Tidings on when she is fit to travel. Hire a companion to travel with her, and I’ll pay the cost.”
“And Elizabeth? She has broken our engagement. I don’t think she will change her mind.”
“You will have to win her back. I suggest you forego further advice from the scourge of Almack’s here.”
“I’d beg your pardon,” Winterbourne snapped, and much to Nicholas’s amazement leapt up and began to pace. “But I’m too damned angry at you to care. Sterling is dead. There is nothing to be done that will bring him back. You love Elizabeth. You have for years. We all know it. Marry her.”
“You both know why I cannot, no matter what my feelings for her. One of you will have to do it. We promised Sterling we would take care of Elizabeth and Miss Tidings. This is the best way to do so.”
“Bollocks,” Delacroix said. “You did nothing wrong. She doesn’t know. She doesn’t have to know. She doesn’t want me. I proposed to get her away from her mother. I knew she’d never go through with it. Unlike Winterbourne, I have a few scruples. Marrying and bedding a friend’s lady is one of them.”
Nicholas stared at him. “You invited me here for Christmas.”
Delacroix made no answer.
Nicholas slung out an arm to stop Winterbourne’s pacing. “You made damned certain I came.”
“We are her friends as well as yours,” he said as he pushed Nicholas’s arm aside. “We want her happy. Sterling asked too little for her. You ask too much.”
“Your little conspiracy changes nothing. I cannot marry Elizabeth with such a lie between us.”
“Then tell her the truth and beg her forgiveness,” Delacroix said.
“She’ll hate me,” Nicholas rasped. “How could she not?”
“You underestimate our Lizzie,” Winterbourne said, his voice devoid of its usual cynical bite. “The survival of the human race depends on a woman’s capacity to forgive. Always has. Always will.”
Winterbourne had saved his life on countless occasions. Delacroix had as well. They did not intend to be cruel. Their honor was not in question. Their hearts were their own. They had everything. They were handsome, whole, and had no sins against Elizabeth plaguing their conscience night after night
Unbidden, her face as he put Estelle’s locket around her neck came to him. Every good thing in life shone in her eyes in that moment. How different it would have been had she known the truth. He’d been shot, stabbed, and burned on battlefields all over Europe. The pain of those wounds paled in comparison to this.
He struggled to stand, every bone in his body screamed the truth. Broken, crippled, scarred, and guilty he had no right to Elizabeth Sterling. He had no right to her forgiveness.
“I ask that she marry a man who is worthy of her,” he said as he walked away. “I am not that man.”
Elizabeth didn’t realize she’d begun to weep until two tears splashed onto the hands she clenched in her lap. She took the serviceable linen handkerchief Mary handed her and blotted her face. A heavy, trembling sigh eased through her body. When she looked up it was to find Mary wiping away tears as well.
“Mary, I am so very sorry.”
“Don’t be. I loved your brother and I believe he loved me.”
“I am certain he did,” Elizabeth assured her. “And he would have married you, if …” She fisted her hands in her lap.
“If not for Waterloo,” Mary finished for her. “I followed the drum with my father for six years, loved your brother for a year, and lost them both in the space of an hour. Napoleon has much to answer for where you and I are concerned.”
“He does indeed. Perhaps we should send Mama to him.”
“If she is half as bad as Michael described her, I think it a fitting punishment.” Mary crumpled her handkerchief and placed it on the bedside table. “But I am glad you know, Elizabeth. I am glad you will not shun me or this child.”
“I am glad as well.” She squeezed Mary’s hand. “And I could knock those three fools’ heads together for trying to keep you a secret.”
Mary laughed and adjusted the pillows at her back. “You cannot imagine how difficult it has been to pretend you have not visited me every day. They obviously don’t speak with each other either. The food trays have arrived nearly every hour. One of those poor maids told me each gentleman has issued orders to Cook who has been sworn to secrecy by them, you, Mrs. Holly, and that horrible butler.”
“Joseph has obviously enjoyed them.”
The wooly beast raised his head and woofed softly at Elizabeth’s mention of his name.
“I wish I had been there when you dressed them down in the library.”
“I think you would have enjoyed it. I know I did.” She had not enjoyed all of it, but Mary did not need to know. She liked her. This steady, courageous woman would have made her brother a wonderful wife. And she would make Nicholas a dignified and capable countess. Joy and misery were so closely mixed in her heart all Elizabeth felt was cold and far away from the Christmas she’d planned.
“I would have stood up and applauded.” Mary tilted her head and studied Elizabeth. “I cannot marry him now. You must know that.”
Elizabeth started. Her heart set to racing so quickly she barely caught her breath. “Oh, but you must.” The words worked round her mouth like day old porridge. She had to say them. Her future niece or nephew needed a father, and after all she’d suffered, Mary Tidings needed a husband.
“Just as you must marry Mr. Delacroix?”
“My situation is different. Delacroix can never love me, not the way a man should love his wife. I know that now. He sees me as quite the little sister.” Elizabeth snorted and fell back in her chair.
“And you think the major, rather the earl, could ever love me?” Miss Mary Tidings had been a governess for a time before she decided to follow her father to war. If the scrutiny with which she pinned Elizabeth was any example, she had been a dashed good one.
“I have no doubt of it.” Drat her shaky voice. “I think you are a fine, brave woman and he will be the most fortunate of men to have you.”
“Good Lord, you are a lady, aren’t you?” Mary rolled her eyes and shifted in the bed. “Delacroix and Winterbourne have crept in here to speak with me every day. Lord Leistonbury has visited exactly once, and in that one time, I was able to discern only one thing. He loves you to distraction.”
“Apparently that is not enough to sway him from doing his duty.” The last three words Elizabeth uttered in her best imitation of the irritating, stubborn man she loved.
Mary began to giggle. Elizabeth tried her best to hold it in. Soon they were holding their sides and drying their eyes once more. Joseph left his place by the fire to make certain they were well.
“Elizabeth dear, men love us as much as they are able. So long as that love doesn’t interfere with their love for the things they hold most dear.”
“Such as?” She had to admit Mary had her curious.
“Their honor, their reputation, their horse.”
“Well, Nicholas does have a very fine horse,” Elizabeth conceded.
“They made these bargains—Michael and the major and the other two nodcocks. It doesn’t mean we have to honor them.”
Elizabeth’s head had been muzzy from the moment Mary told her she’d had an affair of over a year’s duration with Michael, in the middle of a war, and was carrying his child. She hadn’t quite conceded to the idea Nicholas loved her, but she knew she loved him. She was also, however, quickly on the way to being furious at his confusing behavior and high-handedness.
“Why is it men believe us too stupid to make our own decisions and too delicate to encounter anything more distasteful than a summer rain?” she demanded.
“They need us to be stupid so they can think for us and they need us to be delicate so they can take care of us. Otherwise they might come to believe we don’t really need them for a damned thing.” Mary glanced down at her belly. “Well, save one.”
“If you will not have Nicholas, what will you do?” Elizabeth knew she would do anything in her power to help Mary and her child. With her broken engagement to Delacroix and Nicholas determined not to have her, she had little to offer.
“I saw a great deal of the three of them during the campaigns, but I didn’t get to know them very well. I spent most of my time tending the wounded when I wasn’t with your brother. But Lord Winterbourne is criminally handsome,” Mary mused, her lips pursed in a teasing smile. “I don’t know why some woman hasn’t snatched him up. I do fancy being a duchess one day.”
“There is a rumor he has the pox. It is a complete and utter falsehood, of course. But no respectable woman will come near him, future duke or not.”
“Oh dear. Who started the rumor?”
“He did. To thwart his father’s matchmaking efforts.”
Mary responded with a shriek of laughter. “It’s brilliant in a rather frightening sort of way.”
“He’s brilliant in a rather frightening sort of way. I can’t blame him. His father is a horror.”
“Oh?”
“Winterbourne has no brothers, only five sisters. His father refused to stop until he had his spare. A few weeks after the youngest girl was born, his mother refused the duke. When he insisted, she threw herself down the stairs to her death.”
“I’d have thrown him down the stairs.”
“As would I.”
“How old was Lord Winterbourne?”
“Seventeen. His father made his sisters’ lives miserable. Sent them away to some awful school. Winterbourne joined the cavalry, hired a governess and a cottage in Suffolk, and has supported the girls there with his own money ever since.”
“And the duke allows this?”
“He has no choice. If he interferes, Winterbourne has promised to shoot himself at five o’ clock in the afternoon in the middle of Hyde Park.”
“Humpf! I’d shoot the duke, rotten old bastard.”
“You are quite a violent person to be a governess.”
“Have you ever had your hair sewn to your pillow while you were sleeping?”
“I take your point.”
“Traveling from battlefield to battlefield with my father was safer.”
A sharp rap on the door startled them both. Masculine voices whispered in none too quiet argument. Mary raised one eyebrow in wordless inquiry. Oh yes, it was time the gentlemen received their comeuppance. Elizabeth nodded her assent and turned in her chair to face the door.
“Come in.”
Delacroix and Winterbourne stood in the doorway, their expressions of surprise comical beyond belief.
“Good evening, gentlemen,” Elizabeth purred. “Do come in. Mary and I have been expecting you.”
“Expecting—”
“We—”
To their credit they executed belated bows and edged through the door with all the enthusiasm of two bachelors entering a room full of matchmaking mamas.
“How long have you two ladies been acquainted?” Winterbourne finally asked.
“Since her arrival,” Elizabeth said. “Really, Delacroix, did you think the only kitchen crisis I could take care of was burnt lemon tarts?”
He and Delacroix looked at each other and shook their heads.
“Well done, ladies. Very well done,” Delacroix conceded. “Is there a reason you let us think we had succeeded in …”
“Maintaining this charade?” Elizabeth asked sweetly. “Duping me? Assuming I would be too much the proper lady to want to meet the woman my brother loved, the woman who is carrying my niece or nephew?”
“In my defense, I wanted to tell you the truth from the beginning, Lizzie.” Oozing rakish sincerity, Winterbourne took a seat on the blanket chest.
“Lickspittle,” Delacroix muttered.
“To what do we owe the honor of this visit, gentlemen?” Good. Mary was using her governess voice.
Elizabeth put on her best politely attentive expression.
Delacroix adjusted his neck cloth. He cleared his throat. He looked everywhere save at Elizabeth and Mary.
“Oh for pity’s sake,” Winterbourne groaned. “Fair Elizabeth, you have to marry one of us. If you don’t, Major St. Gabriel, the newly minted Earl of Leistonbury, is going to kill us or worse, never speak to us again.” He beamed at them benevolently.
Delacroix threw up his hands.
Mary leaned toward Elizabeth, as best she could in her condition. “I thought you said he was charming.”
“He’s having a few bad days. They are all having a few bad days.”
“You’ll get no argument from me,” Delacroix said as he none too gently smacked Winterbourne in the back of the head.
“And you’ll get no betrothal from me.” Elizabeth rose and straightened her skirts. “Either of you. In fact, Mary has decided she won’t have any of you either. Please convey our regrets to his lordship the Earl of Leistonbury, who in spite of being no relation to either of us, insists on ordering not only our lives but yours as well. You two may be content to do his bidding, but we are not.”
“Brava, Miss Sterling,” Mary said softly.
“This is ridiculous,” Delacroix sputtered. “You have to marry one of us.”
“No.” They said together.
“Good Lord, she’s in anticipation of an interesting event and not even she wants us.” Winterbourne was clearly enjoying himself. “My delicate constitution may never be the same.”
“I chose you, Lizzie,” Delacroix declared. “Major St. Gabriel, as he was at the time, chose Mary and I chose you. Winterbourne’s reputation saved him.”
Winterbourne groaned and covered his eyes. As well he should. They had not come up with this last hurrah on their own. Nicholas had kissed her as if his life depended on it, her first real kiss, and then he’d not walked but run away as swiftly as his injured leg allowed. Not because he didn’t love her, but because he loved his benighted honor more. She’d had enough.
“Are you fond of kissing, Miss Tidings?” Elizabeth jabbed a shaky finger toward her recently rejected fiancé. “You can sacrifice a dozen footmen to the hanging of mistletoe, and this one still won’t offer you more than a pat on the head.”
Mary coughed in an obvious attempt to cover the slight twitch of her lips. Simple enough for her to be amused. Elizabeth’s brother had done a great deal more than kiss her.
Delacroix opened his mouth a few times, only to fall into the safety of silence, thus proving wisdom could overcome a man in desperate circumstances. Occasionally.
Elizabeth turned her wrath on Winterbourne next. He, at least, gave her the satisfaction of flinching when she poked him in the arm. “This one, however, is all too willing to kiss any woman within ten miles of his lips. He’ll kiss your mother, your sisters, your grandmother, your dearest friend, and your vicar’s wife.”
“There is more to marriage than kissing and romantic fantasies, Miss Sterling.” Nicholas stood in the doorway. Even in anger, he drew her to that place where only she and he existed.
This time, he was the first to look away. She had power, something she’d never before suspected. She wanted to wield it, no matter the danger. She’d pay the cost, whatever it might be. At this point, she had little to lose.
“Yes, my lord. According to you, there is duty and blind obedience to the manipulations of those who decide to make decisions for you whether you ask them to or not.”
“There is security and care. Something you both need, especially you, Miss Tidings.”
“I appreciate your kind offer, my lord.” Mary reached for Elizabeth’s hand. “The price is simply too high—for me and for you.”
“What will you do, Lizzie?” Delacroix asked softly.
“Mary will help me find a position as a governess. She has friends with whom she can stay until the baby is born. Mama may be more willing to accept a grandchild who is already here.”
“Being a governess certainly worked out well for you, didn’t it, Miss Tidings?” Nicholas’s voice sent a cold chill down Elizabeth’s spine. Mary paled and released her hand. Delacroix strode to the other side of the bed and bent to whisper in Mary’s ear.
“That is unfair, St. Gabriel.” Winterbourne rose from the blanket chest and gripped Nicholas’s arm. “Don’t do this.”
“Delacroix and I are trying to make life fair for two women who have no idea how unkind it can be to women with no resources and no one to look out for them.” When had he grown so hard-hearted and superior?
“Life is frequently unfair, Nicholas.” Elizabeth took a step toward him. “What we are willing to do to make it fair—that is living. Settling for something less than wonderful is not living. My brother sacrificed his life to make life fair for others. Are you doing this to make life fair for us or for yourself?” She’d crossed the room and stood so close she detected the scent of his sandalwood cologne. Anguish flitted across his face so swiftly she might have imagined it.
“Your brother died because I paid for his commission.”
Elizabeth’s ears rang. Had he struck her? Surely not.
“What did you say?” Her eyes burned. An unseen hand squeezed her throat.
“He had decided to return to Sterling Hall and work the estate. I paid for his lieutenant’s commission so he could go off to war with the rest of us. And I paid for his captaincy as well. I killed Sterling, Elizabeth, as surely as if I’d cut him down myself.”