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“Yes, I will marry you.”

It was not until that moment that David realized how much he had been hoping that Nicola would agree to his proposal. So much so that when he smiled, Nicola caught her breath at the change it wrought in his appearance. She was hardly to know it was a smile that only a few close friends and family members were ever privileged to see.

“There is…something I should like to ask you.”

“You may ask of me anything you wish, my dear.”

The endearment caused the strangest flutter in the pit of Nicola’s stomach, but she forced herself to concentrate on what she had to say.

Blackwood’s Lady
Gail Whitiker

www.millsandboon.co.uk

To Mom and Dad, the best parents in the world

And to Ron, for encouraging me to strive, and for

never forgetting the little things that are so important

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Epilogue

Chapter One

‘So, my boy, are the rumours true?’ a beaming Sir Giles Chapman enquired of the younger gentleman sitting across from him. ‘Have you really decided to do it or is the story nothing more than hearsay spread on the lips of fools?’

A brief flicker of amusement lit the silvery blue eyes of David Penscott, fifth Marquis of Blackwood, as he settled back into the comfort of the deeply padded armchair and reached for the glass of brandy his uncle’s manservant had just refilled. ‘I’m afraid you’re going to have to be more specific than that if I am to give you an intelligent answer, Uncle Giles, since I’ve no idea which rumours you’re referring to.’

‘No idea! My dear boy, I am referring to the ones that have you marrying the Earl of Wyndham’s daughter. Everyone knows how loath you are to enter the wedded state, and given that the lady is something of a mystery to Society circles the subject is generating considerable interest. So, I am asking you straight out. Are the rumours true?’

David raised the cut-crystal glass to his lips and smiled at his uncle over the rim. ‘That depends. Does your interest stem from the fact that you’ve money riding on my answer or from a genuine interest in my welfare?’

‘Money riding on my— Egods, sir, you wound me!’ Sir Giles cried, clasping his hand over his heart as though he had been grievously injured. ‘You know I don’t wager on my family.’

‘I know that you have been warned not to,’ David replied, his smile broadening, ‘but I wasn’t sure how seriously you were taking the threat.’

‘I am taking it very seriously indeed, considering that it was levied by your aunt Hortensia. That meddlesome woman has threatened to sell off my entire collection of snuff boxes if I so much as look at another betting book. And she’d do it too,’ Sir Giles muttered, the tips of his silvery moustache bristling with indignation as he thought about his eldest sister and her much publicized campaign to reform his character. ‘Hence, I fear I must consider myself cured of the dreaded vice. But, as regards these rumours, I do admit to being curious. I never thought to see you brought to heel by a woman, David, and certainly not by a dark horse like the Lady Nicola Wyndham.’

‘I hardly call making the decision to marry at four-and-thirty being brought to heel, Uncle,’ David replied, choosing for a moment to ignore the latter part of his uncle’s comment. ‘It simply suits my purposes, that is all.’

‘I see. Then is it indeed the Lady Nicola upon whom you have set your heart?’

‘It is, though I fail to see why you would doubt one part of the rumour if you believed the other.’

‘Because I would doubt anything that was being hailed as the truth by the likes of Humphrey O’Donnell and his cronies.’

‘O’Donnell!’ David’s smile faded as an image of the handsome but far too cocky young dandy appeared in his mind. ‘I am surprised that young scapegrace would trouble himself over my affairs. He has been overheard to say that no intelligent woman would be foolish enough to take me on.’

‘Yes, and so he would once he’d learned that the lady in question was the Earl of Wyndham’s daughter. Are you not aware that O’Donnell has been casting after Lady Nicola himself these past few weeks?’

David frowned. ‘As a matter of fact I was not.’

‘No, I thought not. I hate to sound like an interfering old busybody, David, but you really should pay more mind to what goes on in the drawing rooms of London if you are at all serious about this marriage business,’ Sir Giles advised. ‘The hunting fields can wait.’

‘I am very serious about this marriage business, as you call it, Uncle Giles, but no man could possibly be expected to keep up with all the rumours drifting through London’s drawing rooms,’ David objected. ‘As for the hunting fields, I take leave to tell you that this proposed alliance with Lady Nicola may well have been forged through the very sport you now decry.’

‘Really? I was not aware Lady Nicola rode to hounds.’

‘She doesn’t, but her father does, and I thought perchance the number of times he and I have hunted together might have made him look more favourably upon my suit.’

‘More favourably? My dear boy, an offer of marriage from the Marquis of Blackwood would be viewed as exceptional even for the daughter of an earl. Especially one who, at five-and-twenty, is—’ Sir Giles broke off in mid-sentence and stared at his nephew. ‘Tell me that you are at least aware of the lady’s age?’

A glimmer of mirth danced in David’s eyes. ‘I am well aware of the lady’s age, Uncle, and I considered it a point in her favour, rather than against it.’

‘You did?’

‘Most assuredly. At five-and-twenty, Lady Nicola is far more likely to possess the qualities I seek than any of the simpering young ladies making their bows at court. And, while I know that it is well past time I settled down, having had it pointed out to me time without number, and by people whose opinions I value, that does not mean I intend to plunge into the situation with my eyes closed. Marriage is far too important a decision to make based solely upon the feelings of the heart.’

Sir Giles couldn’t help smiling. ‘Some gentlemen consider it the only way to make this particular decision, David.’

‘Possibly, but I am not one of them. I can think of nothing worse than leg-shackling myself to a vapid young woman whose head is filled with silly romantic nonsense and little else.’

‘I see. Then what kind of wife do you seek?’

‘I seek a competent hostess and a loyal companion,’ David replied, without hesitation. ‘A woman who will be a good mother to my children, and who will discharge her role as Marchioness of Blackwood with dignity and style, as my mother did. And I believe Lady Nicola to be precisely that type of female.’

‘She also happens to be a remarkably beautiful young woman,’ Sir Giles remarked idly. ‘Or had you taken time to notice that during your rather clinical assessment of her many other fine attributes?’

‘I have most certainly taken note of the fact that Lady Nicola is an exceedingly lovely young woman, but more important to me than her beauty is the fact that she has been raised in a nobleman’s house—an upbringing which will have equipped her with the knowledge and refinement necessary to take her place in mine.’

‘Knowledge and refinement. Dear me.’ Sir Giles regarded the only child of his much loved younger sister, Jane—who, sadly, had succumbed to a virulent lung infection eight years ago—with an expression akin to pity. ‘Is that all you can say about the woman you intend to marry?’

‘Is that not enough?’

‘Have you spoken to the young lady?’

‘Of course. I accompanied her on the pianoforte at Lady Rutherford’s musicale last month, and we danced twice at Lady Dunbarton’s ball just a few weeks ago.’

‘And you feel that to be a sufficient foundation upon which to make a decision that will affect the rest of your life?’

David’s brows drew together in a dark line. ‘I take it you do not.’

Sir Giles shrugged eloquently. ‘Doesn’t matter what I think, David; I’m not marrying the girl. I simply thought you might have…well, taken time to get to know her before offering for her hand.’ Then, seeing the look which appeared on his nephew’s face, Sir Giles chuckled. ‘Forgive me. I thought love and marriage went hand in hand.’

‘Only in penny romances,’ David retorted dryly. ‘I am not looking to fall head over heels like some moonstruck young cub, Uncle, or to cast away duty and obligation in the name of undying love, as my father did.’

‘Your father did nothing of the sort,’ Sir Giles replied mildly, having had this conversation with his nephew before. ‘Richard was as respectful of the title as you are, and he was well aware of the obligation he owed to the family. But when he met Stephanie de Charbier nothing else mattered to him except that they be together.’

David stiffened as he always did at the mention of his father’s second wife. ‘I do not care to discuss her.’

‘I know, but I will not have you accusing my brother-in-law of shunning his responsibilities. Your father was a lonely man, David. Jane had been dead for over four years, and not once in all that time did Richard so much as look at another woman. Until he met Stephanie—’

‘I said, I don’t want to hear—’

‘But you will hear it, sir,’ Sir Giles said, with more firmness than he usually employed when in conversation with his favourite nephew. ‘Stephanie brought happiness and joy back into your father’s life. The family didn’t approve of her and neither did you, but she stood by him regardless. Even you can’t deny how much her love changed him.’

‘No, I can’t deny it,’ David agreed, the bitterness evident in his voice. ‘Because it was that same love that turned his life upside down and eventually killed him.’

Sir Giles shook his head sadly. ‘Love didn’t kill your father, David. Grief did. Surely you understand that now? He never recovered from the shock of losing her.’

‘What I understand is that he locked himself away in a room refusing to eat or drink, until there was nothing left of him,’ David said woodenly. ‘And all in the name of love. Well, if that is what passion does to a man, you can keep it. I have neither the time nor the inclination for such foolishness.’

‘Then why bother to marry at all?’ Sir Giles asked quietly. ‘You say you are content as a bachelor. And as your cousin Arabella is happy enough to act the part of your hostess when you do trouble yourself to entertain, why spoil such an amicable arrangement by bringing in a wife?’

‘Because there is the matter of progeny,’ David said, his brief spurt of anger deserting him as the melancholy he had never quite been able to overcome moved in to take its place. ‘It is my duty to marry and produce the requisite heir, and I can’t very well do that with Arabella, even if I were of a mind to.’

‘No, I dare say there would be those who would take exception. First cousin?’

‘Second, but it is of no consequence. Belle’s always been like a sister to me.’

Pity she’s never thought of you as a brother, Sir Giles was tempted to say, but then thought better of it. If David wasn’t aware of his beautiful cousin’s affection, perhaps it was just as well.

‘Well, then, all things considered, I suppose there is nothing for it but to marry,’ Sir Giles said at length. ‘So, when does the courtship begin?’

‘There isn’t going to be a formal courtship,’ David informed him. ‘I am expected at Wyndham Hall tomorrow afternoon, at which time I shall set forth my offer of marriage. I have already secured the Earl’s blessing.’

‘Yes, and why would you not?’ Sir Giles said fondly. ‘You are considered a splendid catch, my boy, and I wager there will be many a broken-hearted young lady moping about Town when news of your betrothal appears in The Times.’

‘Perhaps, but, as there are an equal number of gallant young gentlemen to console them, I doubt anyone is in fear of losing sleep over it. Besides,’ David said, lifting his impeccably clad shoulders in an eloquent shrug, ‘it may be the Lady Nicola for whom you should be reserving your sympathies. I am not as dashing as some of the young bucks parading around Town, and I have never been known for my gay outlook on life.’

‘No, but what you lack in spontaneity is more than made up for by your cutting wit and rapier-sharp mind.’

One corner of David’s mouth lifted in a smile that could almost have been called wistful. ‘I hardly think wit and intelligence will endear me to a lady unless she happens to be something of a scholar herself. And I don’t know that I am predisposed to spending the rest of my life with a bluestocking.’

‘Rest assured, Lady Nicola has a fine mind and a lively sense of humour, but she is no bluestocking,’ Sir Giles assured his nephew. ‘In fact, I believe the only reason she is still unwed is as a result of her having been in mourning for so long.’

‘Yes, what a tragic set of circumstances,’ David observed soberly. ‘First her maternal aunt and uncle killed in that freak carriage accident, and, then less than a year later, her mother in a riding mishap. And then her paternal uncle, most unexpectedly.’

‘Tragic indeed,’ Sir Giles agreed. ‘Especially considering how close Lady Nicola was to her mother. But she has come through it all, and now Lord Wyndham is anxious that she marry and start a family of her own. And, given her devotion to him, I dare say she would marry you just to please him.’

‘Not the most flattering of reasons for accepting a man’s offer of marriage—’

‘But acceptable enough under the circumstances,’ Sir Giles pointed out sagely. ‘After all, you were the one who said that love was not a consideration in the asking, David, so why should the lack of it be a consideration in the acceptance?’

‘Why indeed?’ David agreed ruefully, admiring the finesse with which his uncle had just swung the argument in his favour. ‘And, with that in mind, I shall propose to Lady Nicola tomorrow afternoon in the hopes of achieving two goals. One, that she will accept my suit and agree to become my wife. And, two, that we may put an end to this matrimonial fussing once and for all!’

‘Alistair, you really are becoming quite impossible!’ Nicola scolded gently. ‘How do you expect to win Father over if you keep on misbehaving like this?’

The eyes gazing up at Lady Nicola Wyndham—while unquestionably bright and endearing—were patently devoid of contrition, and, recognizing that, Nicola shook her head in resignation. ‘Very well. I can see that I am not making any headway with you, so I’ll not waste my breath further. It would break my heart if we were to be separated, but we both know that Father will turn you out in a trice if your behaviour does not improve. Now, be a good boy and do not try to escape again.’

Fine words, Nicola thought ironically. A lot of good they were going to do a fox!

Picking up the wooden bucket, Nicola tipped fresh water into Alistair’s drinking bowl, shut the cage door and locked it, and then stood back to watch him. It was hard to believe that this glossy, bright-eyed creature was the same pathetic, shivering animal she had found close to death in the woods last year, his front leg having been cruelly broken in a trap. Now, after Nicola’s faithful ministering, the leg was all but healed. Even the fur had grown back, though for some strange reason it had come back white, serving as a permanent reminder of his injury.

Unfortunately, Alistair—as Nicola had affectionately named the cub—was showing no signs at all of wishing to return to his life in the wild. Rather, the little imp had become quite adept at getting out of his cage and turning up in the gardens near the back of the house—a situation which could only bode ill for both of them. After all, it was perfectly understandable that, as an avid hunter, Lord Wyndham believed the only place for a healthy fox was in the field. And, while he had long since resigned himself to the endless stream of small birds and injured animals she was forever bringing home, he had tried to draw the line at a fox cub—until Nicola had reminded him that her mother had never turned away any animal in need.

At that point, the argument had been as good as lost. Lord Wyndham had adored his beautiful wife, and had denied her nothing. Nor, it seemed, could he deny his only daughter, who was showing definite signs of having inherited both her mother’s affinity for, and skill with, animals.

‘Now, be a good boy, Alistair, and perhaps I shall come and see you again before I go riding this afternoon,’ Nicola told the young fox as she collected her supplies and made ready to return to the house. ‘No doubt I shall be in need of a diversion after my visit from the Marquis of Blackwood.’

Giving the fox’s silky ears an affectionate tweak, Nicola started back towards the house, her mind drifting ahead to the upcoming meeting with Lord Blackwood. She knew why he was coming, of course. Her father had already hinted at the marquis’s intentions, and, all things considered, she was not opposed to the match. She had always longed for a home and children of her own, and at her age she had almost given up hope of such things coming to pass.

But to think that the Marquis of Blackwood might actually be the man to make them happen…well, it was all but unthinkable. As a nonpareil and pink of the ton, Blackwood could have had his pick of any number of younger and—to Nicola’s way of thinking—eminently more suitable girls than herself. Why, then, would he choose to wed the countrified daughter of a widowed earl, who spent far more time in the country than she did in Town?

And what would the exceedingly correct marquis say, Nicola wondered, if he were to discover that his future wife was tending a menagerie of wounded animals, which at the moment included two silky black puppies she had found half drowned by the edge of the river, an assortment of injured birds—including a falcon with a broken wing—and a wily fox named Alistair? Somehow, she could not imagine him being pleased.

Wives of the nobility simply do not indulge in such pastimes, Nicola could almost hear her stodgy old governess saying.

Well, maybe they didn’t, but, if an alliance between the two of them was what he wished for, Nicola would certainly listen to his proposal. Her father seemed favourably disposed towards the match, and Nicola knew that he would never approve of a suitor who was not acceptable in every way. Clearly, Lord Blackwood had earned her father’s approval.

Now, all he had to do was earn hers!

David set out upon his mission of matrimony in a spirit of amiable resignation. Resignation because, to him, marriage was a necessity of life—an obligation one undertook for the good of the family. And to David Penscott, Marquis of Blackwood, Earl of Winsmore and Viscount Huntley, obligation was a duty that went before all.

His feelings of amiability stemmed from the fact that he believed his selection of Lady Nicola Wyndham to be a judicious one. Her past was unblemished, and if she had spent somewhat more time in the country than most young ladies of her class it did not seem to have affected her adversely. Certainly her manners were all that he could have wished. She neither laughed too much, nor too loud, she was lovely enough to suit his rather exacting standards, and, by all accounts, she was not prone to vapours. If these were qualities to be gained by sacrificing the first blush of youth, it was a sacrifice David was more than willing to make.

Reaching Wyndham Hall just before three o’clock, David was greeted at the door by the steadfast Trethewy—an elderly retainer who had been with the Wyndham family for over forty-five years—and relieved of his hat, gloves and whip. From there, he was shown into the spacious green salon where, as expected, Nicola’s father was waiting to greet him.

‘Ah, Blackwood, good to see you again,’ Lord Wyndham said in a rich voice that carried easily to every corner of the room. ‘Ready to do the deed?’

‘I am, my lord, though I admit to being somewhat anxious as to your daughter’s reply.’

‘Anxious? Good Lord, man, there’s no need for apprehension. Nicola didn’t seem at all unhappy when I informed her of your intentions. Once she had recovered from her surprise, that is.’

Surprise? David wondered ruefully. Or shock?

‘Now, before Nicola joins us, might I interest you in a glass of wine? I have just received a shipment from France and I would welcome your opinion on this particular Bordeaux.’

Already familiar with the size and quality of the earl’s cellar, David nodded in anticipation of a rare treat. ‘I should be pleased to, thank you.’

‘Splendid. I’ve not a bad nose for wine, but it doesn’t hold a candle to a connoisseur’s like yours,’ Wyndham said as he poured out two glasses. ‘Right, then, your good health, Blackwood.’

‘And yours, my lord.’

The wine proved to be of excellent vintage, and David was persuaded to enjoy another glass before Lord Wyndham resumed the conversation.

‘No, my Nicki’s not at all like those other flibbertigibbets at court. She’s a sensible lass, always has been. Takes after her mother in that regard. There were always rumours about her, of course, but I never paid them any mind.’

‘Rumours?’ David repeated cautiously.

‘Aye. Superstitious fools. Thought she was a witch.’

‘Lady Nicola?’

‘Nicola?’ Lord Wyndham frowned. ‘Good Lord, no. Nicola’s not been bothered by any rumours in that regard. At least, not yet.’

David cast a surreptitious glance at the older man. Yet?

‘No, I was referring to Elizabeth. Personally, I could never understand what all the fuss was about,’ the earl continued blithely. ‘Just because the parson’s wife saw Elizabeth feeding a wild buck at the edge of the common was hardly reason to think her odd.’

David’s hand stopped the glass halfway to his lips. ‘A buck?’

‘Aye. Magnificent beast. Twelve pointer, as I recall.’

‘And you say that Lady Wyndham was feeding it…by hand?’

‘As though she were holding out crusts of bread to a lamb. Amazing woman,’ Lord Wyndham said in a tone of mild bewilderment. ‘But a witch? Rubbish! And so I told them, for all the good it did me. Thick-headed bunch,’ he muttered as he crossed to the bell pull and gave it a tug. ‘Still, no point in standing here reminiscing; you’ve important business to get on with. Ah, Trethewy, there you are. Would you tell Lady Nicola that Lord Blackwood is here and ask her to join us?’

‘Very good, m’lord.’

When the butler had gone, Wyndham gruffly cleared his throat. ‘Sorry about that, Blackwood, didn’t mean to ramble on about my wife. It’s just that Elizabeth was very special to me. We were blessed, the two of us, and not a day goes by that I don’t miss her. But then, I’m sure you can understand what I’m talking about, given your father’s second marriage to Madame de Charbier. Now there was a love match if ever.’

The proffered statement—well intentioned as David felt sure it was meant to be—caused the words of condolence he had been about to offer Lord Wyndham to die on his lips, and he turned towards the window, fighting down his resentment. Stephanie de Charbier had been a beautiful young Frenchwoman who had come to England shortly after Napoleon’s banishment to Elba. The widow of an influential Parisian diplomat, she had been left a wealthy young woman, and had purchased a charming house on Green Street, where, along with a small staff brought with her from Paris, she had set about re-establishing her life.

Stephanie had been twenty years younger than his father, but her age had made no difference to either of them. They had met quite by chance at the Royal Art Gallery and had fallen in love almost immediately. They had been married a mere three weeks later.

To be fair, David had no doubt that Stephanie de Charbier had loved his father. She had not been deceitful by nature, and, given her great beauty and genteel background, he knew that she could have had her choice of any number of titled English gentlemen. Certainly enough of them had danced attendance upon her.

But it was Richard Penscott whom she had chosen. And that he’d loved her in return, David did not doubt either. One had only needed to listen to the sound of his father’s voice to know that he’d adored his beautiful French émigré. But what David had never been able to come to terms with was the fact that his father—whom he had loved and respected more than anyone else in the world—had perished because of that love. That on the day Stephanie de Charbier had died from a raging fever Richard Penscott had died too. By simply refusing to go on. By giving up on life.

That David could never forgive the young Frenchwoman for. Not even in death.

Moments later, blissfully unaware of her visitor’s agitation, Nicola walked into the room and hurried to her father’s side. ‘Good afternoon, Papa. I am so sorry to have kept you waiting, but I stayed rather longer at the stables than I meant to.’

‘You did not keep us waiting, my dear,’ Lord Wyndham assured her. ‘Lord Blackwood and I were just discussing your dear mother.’

‘Ah, then I dare say it is a good thing I came when I did, for it is a subject upon which you could converse for hours,’ Nicola said, a silvery ripple of laughter accompanying her words. ‘Good afternoon, Lord Blackwood, how very nice to see—’

The rest of the greeting came to an abrupt halt as Lord Blackwood turned and Nicola was given a glimpse of eyes that were so black, so…distant that they froze the laughter in her throat and caused her to take an involuntary step backwards. Good Lord, whatever could have happened to make him so angry? The tension was etched into his handsome face like lines carved into granite, and even under the impeccably fitted jacket Nicola could sense the rigidity of his broad shoulders.

A swift glance in her father’s direction provided no clue as to Lord Blackwood’s state. If anything, her father seemed blissfully unaware that anything was wrong. What, then, was the cause of it? Was the marquis unhappy about the deed he had come to enact today? Or was he—as a stickler for propriety and punctuality—displeased by her own tardy arrival?

‘Lord Blackwood, pray…forgive my delay in arriving,’ Nicola apologized uncertainly. ‘I fear I…lost track of the time.’

Her apprehension was palpable and, recognizing that he was the cause of it, David swore softly under his breath. How stupid of him to have allowed his emotions to get the upper hand, especially in front of her.

He quickly forced a smile to his lips and bowed over her hand. ‘On the contrary, it is I who should be offering you an apology, Lady Nicola. I did not give you a great deal of notice as regards my intention to call this afternoon.’

His words were all that were polite, but Nicola was not convinced that he had recovered from his anger. Whatever had caused his anger in the first place must yet be lingering in his mind. Still, he was obviously making an effort to be civil, which meant that the least she could do was to accommodate him. Her mother’s training had been too deeply instilled to be ignored.

‘Thank you, my lord, but certainly no great notice was ever required. I am always at home and happy to receive visitors. And you did advise my father of your intention to call, so I am not at all put out.’

It was a most gracious acceptance of his apology, and David bowed again, admiring the finesse with which she had handled his momentary lack of civility.

Here, then, was the woman he hoped to marry, the lady his uncle had referred to as a dark horse, and whom society deemed a mystery. How ridiculous, he thought contemptuously. There was nothing in the least dark or mysterious about Nicola Wyndham. She was unaffectedly gracious and warm, yet possessed of a lively good nature which would make for the kind of companion David could imagine spending the rest of his life with. And, most assuredly, in the fetching silk gown which suited her complexion and richly coloured hair to perfection, she was as lovely as he could have wished.

‘Well, now that the pleasantries have been exchanged, I shall leave the two of you alone,’ Lord Wyndham announced into the silence. ‘Don’t need me at a time like this, eh, what?’

Impulsively, Nicola reached up to press an affectionate kiss to her father’s cheek. ‘On the contrary, I shall always need you, Papa.’

The earl’s eyes softened as they rested on his daughter’s face and he reached out to stroke a shiny lock of her hair. Then, giving her an encouraging wink, he turned on his heel and walked out of the salon.

Left alone with her guest, Nicola offered him a tentative smile. ‘May I offer you some refreshments, Lord Blackwood?’

‘Thank you, Lady Nicola, but no. I have just enjoyed a glass of your father’s most excellent wine.’

‘Then, will you sit down?’

Her voice was pleasantly low-pitched, with a slightly husky overtone that settled well on David’s ear. It made a welcome change from the high-pitched giggles and titters that seemed all too prevalent in the drawing rooms of London.

‘Actually, I should prefer to stand given the nature of what I am about to say. You, however, may wish to be seated.’

‘As you like.’

With an unhurried movement, Nicola settled herself on the rose-coloured sofa and smoothed the skirts of her gown around her. She had taken a little longer with her toilette this afternoon and was glad that she had, if for no other reason than to lend herself extra confidence. She knew that the gown of Pomona green silk was the most flattering she owned, and that it became her very well. Even the thick, russet-coloured hair, which was so often the bane of her existence, toned perfectly with the shade. ‘I am listening, Lord Blackwood.’