One Golden Ring (13 page)

Read One Golden Ring Online

Authors: Cheryl Bolen

BOOK: One Golden Ring
12.52Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
“Do you think he'd allow me to assist him?”
She gave him an odd look. “As in a reverse dowry—or do you mean you'll provide financial counseling?”
“A little of both, I suppose.”
“I can't let you give him any more money. Twenty-five thousand is quite enough.”
“I can't allow my viscount brother to live like a pauper. We Birminghams have a certain image to uphold,” he said, a lazy grin softening his face.
She did not say anything for a moment, then finally sucked in a breath and said, “I'm not at all sure my brother would allow you to assist him. He's a terrible snob, you know.”
“Yes, I know.” He remembered that day at Tattersall's when Randolph had been so reluctant to introduce a Cit to his refined sister.
“I'm somewhat concerned that at first he might even be hostile toward you for marrying me.”
“I would expect him to be.”
Her brows nudged together. “And still you'd be willing to help him?”
“I'm a very rich man, Fiona.”
She cupped his face as delicately as a butterfly's touch. “You're also a very generous man.”
He offered her glass to her and she drank, then handed him back the glass. “Dearest?”
“Yes, love?” he answered.
“If we . . . have a son, I would like to name him Jonathan.”
He felt like he was in one of those balloons soaring over Hyde Park. Until this moment, he had not allowed himself to hope for a son. Especially a son with Fiona. A son with Agar blood. “Jonathan was my father's name,” he said solemnly.
“Yes, I know. I would like our child—if we're blessed in that area—to be named after him.”
His lighter-than-air heart was hammering against his chest, and he was almost overwhelmed with a sense of well being. “But you never even knew him.”
“But I owe him so much.”
Those few words conveyed more than he'd ever dared to hope for. She understood about his father's careful molding. She was pleased with the final product. “What makes you think I'd entertain such a proposal? Do you even know if I was on good terms with my father?”
She allowed her torso to sink into his lap as she languidly stretched out on the sofa. “Tell me about him, about your relationship.”
He had never told anyone about the strange father–son relationship before, but for some reason he began to try to put it into words. “The man who raised me was
not
the same father who raised Adam and William—and especially not the same man who doted on Verity. The others were allowed to be children, allowed to be less than perfect.” His face hardened. “But not me. When we were students, if Adam carelessly hurried through his assignments with less than adequate results, our father would be disappointed but never outraged. If I were to botch an assignment, I would be angrily chastised—and often beaten. Were Adam to tie his cravat sloppily, our father would shake his head, but if my cravat wasn't perfect, my father would go into a rage.”
“How could your mother have allowed such injustice?”
Nick gave a little laugh. “Because she was as browbeaten as I. Their marriage was never a partnership. My father was completely and thoroughly dictatorial. She was allowed to spend her generous settlement in any way she chose, but in all other matters, my father made the decisions.”
“Then . . . you had no affection for your father?” she asked.
“There were times when I thought I loathed him, but not anymore. My biggest regret is that his sudden death prevented me from thanking him for making me the man I am now. I'm sorry that we were never close.” His voice was anguished when he said, “I wish to God he'd lived longer so we could have shown affection toward one another.”
Fiona's eyes glistened. “How old were you when he died?”
“He died five years ago—when I was seven and twenty.”
“He must have been terribly proud of you.”
Nick's voice lowered, his fingers combing through her fair locks. “It was the deucest thing. During his last few years, our roles reversed. He became strangely reverent toward me.”
“His own creation,” she said pensively.
“I,” Nick continued in a somber voice, “was to be the embodiment of all his aspirations. I was to become the gentleman he would have been had he been born into more genteel circumstances.”
“I wish I could have known him,” she said.
“Despite all his money, he neither dressed nor spoke like a gentleman, but he paid dearly to ensure his children would be indistinguishable—at least physically—from those of the upper classes. Of course, your brother and others like him know the difference.”
“Once Randy understands that I was completely in favor of this marriage, and once he gets to know you, he'll adore you.”
This wife of his was talking like
she
might be learning to care for him. A Cit. Dare he hope?
Chapter 13
Stretching out her legs on the sofa in the blue saloon, Fiona looked up gratefully at Trevor as he handed her a cup of tea. “Tell me, Trev, do you have as beastly a time sleeping as I? Ideas for completing these rooms keep flashing into my head as I'm trying to fall asleep at night.”
“Oh, darling, I go to sleep the minute my head hits the pillow,” he said, dropping into a chair in front of the tea table. “Then I dream about the rooms. I must say the most scrumptious ideas come to me in dreams.” He poured tea into a fragile cup and began to drink.
Fiona wasn't being entirely honest with Trevor. For several nights now the arrangement and decoration of the rooms had kept her awake. But not last night. Last night she'd thought about the boy Nick had been. Her heart went out to the little boy who'd been so cruelly groomed by a fanatic father. She wondered if either his father or mother had ever praised Nick or shown him the affection that should be every child's birthright. Her knowledge of the icy Dolina Birmingham rather convinced her that Nick had been denied such affirmations.
As Fiona had lain in the dark room beside him last night, she'd wanted to smother him with the affection so lacking in his childhood. She had never felt closer to another human being. Not even Warwick, who during the three years of their engagement had shared with her every hope for the future, every disappointment of the past.
Last night she and Nick had kissed passionately and had greedily taken pleasure in each other's bodies, but Nick had refused to cover her body with his. “It won't be long now before you're healed,” he had whispered. “I can't do something that would jeopardize your recovery.”
After he had fallen asleep, his arm stretching across her, his hand secured at her waist, she felt as if she were drowning in pleasure.
“Tell me, my lady,” Trevor began, a devilish glint in his eyes, “that Cit you've married indulges in that middle-class practice of sleeping with one's spouse all night, does he not?”
She scowled at him. “I fail to see what business it is of yours whether my husband and I sleep together.”
“Czar Nicholas himself let the cat out of the bag yesterday when he said you weren't sleeping properly. Is he as good a lover as he's purported to be?”
“You can't really expect me to discuss that with you! And I don't like for you to call him Czar Nicholas.”
“But the man's so completely dictatorial!”
Perhaps Nick was dictatorial.
Like his father.
It came with being so supremely confident. But unlike his father, Nick had a huge capacity for affection. He had shown it in his dealings with Emmie and his siblings, with his mother, and most of all, with her. He had only been controlling toward her when her welfare was at stake. The very thought wrapped her in a blanket of deep contentment. “And I don't like you dredging up Nick's old lovers!”
Trevor cocked his head to one side and gave her a decidedly mischievous gaze. “I believe you're jealous.”
“If you must know, I am. I don't know why I should be jealous over something that occurred before we married, but the fact is I am.” Her voice became forlorn. “I can't bear to think of him with those other women. I have no right to expect fidelity. He only married me to help Randolph and to align himself with the Agars.”
“Don't be silly! The man obviously cares for you.”
“Oh, he does, but he also cares for his child, his brothers, his mother, and his sister.”
“What he feels for you is decidedly different, I'll vow. The man seems to be perfectly besotted. You, my dear friend, must be devilishly good in bed!”
“Trevor!”
“Can you deny that the sex has been sublime?”
“I refuse to have this conversation with you.” But sublime did seem to describe their lovemaking.
He did not say anything for a moment. “Darling, I believe you've fallen in love with the czar!”
Her shoulders slumped. “Oh, Trevor, I believe you're right.” How stunned she was to admit it, but now that she had, she realized she'd spoken the truth. She had indeed fallen in love with her husband.
 
 
Now that the move was complete and most of the rooms were finished, Fiona needed to catch up on her correspondence. She stayed in her study this afternoon, her throbbing leg propped up, while she wrote the first letter to Verity, urging her to come stay at Menger House. Knowing her new sister's preference for green rooms, Fiona had seen that Verity's chamber be done up in varying shades of fern green. Her first thought of doing the room in emerald she discarded after reflecting on Verity's subdued taste. Emerald was too striking. The more natural shades of green would suit Verity much better.
Fiona's next letter was to Miss Peabody, urging that young lady to call at Menger House and explaining that her own broken leg prevented her from making morning calls. As she began to close the letter, she set down her pen. Should she extend the invitation to Miss Peabody's sister, Lady Warwick? Six weeks ago she could not have done so, for the hurt of losing Warwick to the beautiful brunette was too painful. But now Fiona held no animosity toward the countess. Now Fiona understood Warwick had not been the man for her. Nick was her destiny, just as the countess had been Edward's.
She picked up her quill and added,
It's been a long time since I've seen Lady Warwick. It would give me great pleasure to show her Menger House.
She signed it,
Mrs. Fiona Birmingham
, not just to let the countess know she now belonged to another man but because doing so filled her with pride.
As she was sealing the letter, Biddles announced a caller.
“Who is it?” she asked.
“Lord Agar, madame.”
Randy!
She was seized with a feeling of profound, explosive joy. Her brother was alive—back on English soil! “Please bring him here directly, Biddles.”
At the stunned look on the butler's face, she realized he found the impropriety of directing a gentleman to his mistress's private chambers distasteful. “'Tis my brother—back from The Peninsula!” she added.
A sliver of a smile tipped the butler's lips. “Very good, madame. I shall bring him here directly.”
When Randolph came limping into the room a moment later, her heart caught. When she saw the fury in his eyes, the breath caught in her lungs.
He stood just inside the doorway and glared. “So it's true. You've married that pompous bastard.”
Her chest tightened. “I'll not have you speak of my husband in such a manner.”
“It's obvious that he demanded you as payment for my freedom, damn him.”
Randy must have realized the timing of his release corresponded with the timing of his sister's marriage. “He did no such thing. He offered to
give
me the money, Randy, with no strings attached. He was too much the gentleman to profit by my misfortune. It was I who begged him to marry me.”
Randolph came into the room and stood before her, glaring. “You're only saying that to ease my mind.”
She had once been prepared to feign an attraction to Nick in order to relieve Randy's guilt, but such deception was no longer necessary. She drew in a deep breath. “I'm very sorry you've suffered, but I've come to think your abduction the luckiest thing that ever happened to me, for it brought me Nick.”
Her brother winced. “Good Lord! You can't possibly be in love with him. He's the spawn of crude, ignorant parents, and you're the daughter of a viscount.”
“I'm not judging Nick on the basis of who his parents were. I've never known a more gentlemanly man than Nick. Can you tell me one thing in his demeanor that points to low origins?”
“Money can buy a lot, Fiona, and it appears that along with his privileged education, it has now bought him an aristocratic wife.”
Her hands fisted into tight, moist balls. “I understand your displeasure, but I will not tolerate it. Nick spent a great deal of money and jeopardized his brother's safety to secure your release. I will expect you to be civil to all the Birminghams—and especially to Nick. Whether you approve of him or not, he is now your family.”
He sank into the chair across from her. “Dear God, this is worse than being captive.”
“It most certainly is not, Randolph Hollingsworth! You've returned to those who love you. Now tell me why you're limping. What did those beasts do to you?”
“ 'Tis nothing. A superficial wound that will quickly heal.”
“I thought you'd be going back to your regiment.”
“I thought so, too, but that didactic William Birmingham had other plans.” Under his breath he grumbled, “Demmed Birminghams think they rule the world.”
“I suppose he wished you to return to England for medical attention.”
“That . . . and he had the audacity to suggest I might wish to return to England to attend to my grave financial matters. Tell me, Sis, how much of the twenty-five thousand came from my estate, and how much from Birmingham?”
She swallowed as if she were gulping down bitters. Would that she did not have to tell him. “There was no money in your estate.”
He dropped his head into his hands. “I wish they'd killed me in Portugal.”
“I'll not allow you to talk like that! You're alive. You've been restored to your loved ones. Nick will help you rebuild your fortune.”
He jerked up and glared icily at her. “I'll not take another farthing from him!”
“Don't be so obtuse! If there's one thing the Birminghams know all about, it's money. If you won't accept his charity, at least accept his loan—a loan to help restore your holdings to productivity. Then you can pay him back.”
Randolph stood up and began to storm from the room. “I'll bloody well do that. I'll pay him back the entire twenty-five thousand quid!”
 
 
At dinner that night Fiona was unusually quiet. Nick was fairly certain he knew the source of her uneasiness. “Did your brother come to you today?” he asked.
She answered without looking up. “Yes, he did. He's walking with a limp, but he tells me it's a superficial wound that will quickly heal. I didn't dare ask how he received it, for, I assure you, I did not want to know what those beastly men did to him.”
She was babbling, trying to divert him from the true source of her worry.
“If it will make you feel any better, William confirmed that Agar's wound is nothing more than a trifle.” William had also confirmed that Randolph was seething over his sister's marriage.
“I cannot worry over his wound when I'm so relieved he's been rescued from those vile creatures.” She looked up and favored him with a smile. “I do thank you, dearest, for making his release possible.”
“There's nothing I wouldn't do for you, Fiona.”
Her pulse leaped. “You're such an exceedingly gallant husband.”
She would discuss anything but what was uppermost in her thoughts: Her brother thought Nick unworthy of Fiona. Nick had hoped that when Agar saw that Fiona seemed happy, that when he saw she resided at the finest address in London, he would not be displeased over the union.
But he'd thought wrong. Randolph's reemergence only solidified Nick's own doubts. He wasn't good enough for Fiona. She should be married to an earl like Warwick. Damn the man.
“Did you and your brother compare leg injuries?”
“Actually he only stayed a few minutes, and I had no occasion to stand so he's not aware of my stupid misfortune.”
If her brother left quickly that could only mean one thing. They had quarreled over her marriage. “I would have thought you and he would have had much to discuss.”
“I daresay he had much that required his attention. He's been away for almost a year.”
So she was not going to apprise Nick of her brother's discontent. Was she foolish enough to believe it would go away? “I hope you told him my brothers and I are eager to offer our services for financial advice.”
“I did mention it.”
“And?”
“I believe he's considering it, but you must know my brother is beastly proud. It won't be easy for him to come to you.”
“But we're family now.” Though Agar would as lief not admit to it.
After dinner, instead of their usual game of cribbage or chess, Fiona cried off with a headache.
No doubt brought on by that insensitive brother of hers.
Though he seldom drank, Nick ensconced himself in his library and got exceedingly drunk.

Other books

The Reunion by Newman, Summer
Gabriel's Regret: Book 1 (The Medlov Men Series 2) by Latrivia Welch, Latrivia Nelson
Sinister Heights by Loren D. Estleman
Calling Home by Michael Cadnum
The Horror in the Museum by H. P. Lovecraft
The Big Dip by Melanie Jackson
Kindergarten Baby: A Novel by Cricket Rohman
Grave Doubts by John Moss