Blackwood's Lady

‘Perhaps, but just because Lord Blackwood has a wife does not mean I shall no longer have occasion to see him, Your Grace,’ Arabella said sweetly. ‘We are cousins after all, and no doubt his wife will appreciate my being there to help smooth her transition back into London Society. I understand that she has been keeping a very low profile since putting off her blacks.’

‘Oh, Belle, how generous of you,’ Mrs Harper-Burton said. ‘I thought you might have been…well, resentful of another woman taking your place.’

‘Taking her place. Really, Clara!’ the Duchess of Basilworth snapped. ‘How can Arabella be resentful of someone taking a place which was never hers to begin with?’

‘Indeed,’ Arabella said lightly. ‘I merely came to Lord Blackwood’s aid at a dinner party, and, much to my surprise, he asked for my help at his next one. I really just…slipped into the role.’

‘Well, you are just going to have to slip right back out of it again,’ the Duchess said smugly. ‘I am sure the future Lady Blackwood will not be looking for assistance in domestic matters. I understand she is a sensible young woman. No doubt she will be able to hire a competent staff to attend to such matters.’

Arabella’s smile never faltered. ‘Yes, I am sure she will. More tea, anyone?’

The conversation moved off into other areas and the topic of Lord Blackwood’s upcoming nuptials was forgotten. But as soon as the ladies took their leave and Arabella was left alone the scowl which had appeared on her face upon receiving her cousin’s note abruptly reappeared, wiping out all traces of her earlier complacency.

How could David spring the news on her like that! He had never even made mention of the fact that he was thinking of getting married, and here he was, engaged to some country chit, without so much as a private word to her beforehand. Did he care nothing for her feelings?

Arabella stood up and began to pace the room with the fury of a caged tigress. It was simply too galling! True, there had never been anything of a romantic nature between them, but Arabella had always hoped that, given time, their relationship might develop into something…warmer. But that wasn’t likely to happen now. Because David was replacing her with a wife. His politely worded letter, thanking her for everything she had done, and assuring her that they would continue to see each other on a social basis, did nothing to lessen her humiliation. She had not just imagined the pity in the Duchess of Basilworth’s beady eyes this afternoon. It had been there, as plain as day. The old biddy had been laughing at her; enjoying her fall from grace, as it were.

Well, David wasn’t married yet, Arabella reminded herself, and, until he was, she intended to make very sure that she did not slip quietly into the background. Her cousin was a stickler for propriety, and he would expect his wife, as the future marchioness, to behave in a no less honourable fashion—the way Arabella herself had taken pains to behave every time she had been in his company. Duty meant everything to David and, given that Arabella had heard some very interesting stories about the late Countess of Wyndham, and about the daughter who was rumoured to have inherited some of the mother’s more eccentric qualities, Arabella decided that she would be well advised to stay close to the proceedings. If Nicola Wyndham put a foot wrong, Arabella wanted to be there to point it out.

She wasn’t going to lose David without a fight. And she intended to make very sure that the ladies all laughed on the other side of their faces before this was over!

Chapter Three

At long last, the day of Nicola’s betrothal ball arrived and, with it, the agreement that Lady Dorchester had outdone herself. The servants had been kept busy from morning till night, polishing and dusting, fetching and carrying, and helping to transform the ballroom at Wyndham Hall into a glittering fairy-tale forest, complete with bubbling fountains, miniature trees, and endless pots of white and pink roses which lent their colour and delicate perfume to the exquisitely decorated room.

Lady Dorchester herself had supervised the creation of Nicola’s new wardrobe, and had taken her to her own modiste for the selection of the magnificent gown Nicola would wear on the night of the ball.

‘You simply cannot be seen wearing anything that is not strictly au courant, my dear,’ Lady Dorchester had informed her as the modiste had brought forth yet another bolt of exquisite material. ‘This is the beginning of your new life. You must start as you mean to carry on.’

But as she studied her reflection in the cheval-glass on the night of the ball Nicola was not sure that she was making quite the right statement. ‘Is it the fashion to be so revealing, Aunt?’ she asked in dismay, eyeing the outrageously low décolleté of the gown and feeling that there was considerably more flesh above the neckline than below it.

‘My dear girl, as the Marchioness of Blackwood, you will set the fashion, not follow it,’ Lady Dorchester told her confidently. ‘I only wish your dear mother could have been here to see you. She would have been so very, very proud. But we mustn’t stand here dithering. I am sure Lord Blackwood is anxiously waiting for you to appear.’

As it happened, David was in the hall when Nicola and her aunt made their descent down the grand staircase. He had purposely arrived early in the hopes of spending a little time alone with his fiancée before the arrival of their guests, since there was one more thing he wanted to do before making their betrothal official. But as he stood and watched Nicola walk down the staircase towards him, looking a vision in a magnificent gown that flattered every sensuous curve of her body, he almost forgot what he had come early to do.

‘You look…stunning,’ he said quietly and with complete sincerity. He raised her gloved hand and pressed his lips warmly to the back of it. ‘I am honoured to be at your side this evening, my lady.’

Nicola blushed prettily at the charmingly old-fashioned gesture, and then withdrew her hand. ‘Thank you, my lord. I am delighted by your approval. I wonder, are you acquainted with my aunt?’

‘I most certainly am,’ David said, turning now to bow towards Nicola’s aunt, who was equally resplendent in a gown of emerald-green satin. ‘It is a pleasure to see you again, Lady Dorchester. And, may I say, looking every bit as radiant as your niece.’

There was a twinkle in Lady Dorchester’s eye as she curtsied and said, ‘And you are every inch as charming as I remembered, Lord Blackwood. My niece is a lucky young lady indeed to have secured the affection of such a gentleman. But then, I believe you to be even more fortunate in having secured hers.’

David chuckled deep in his throat. ‘Indeed I am, Lady Dorchester, and, if I may be so bold, I would like to have a few minutes alone with Nicola before the evening gets underway. There is something I should like to give her.’

Lady Dorchester beamed. ‘I would not mind at all. As long as you promise to have her back in time to greet your guests.’

‘I give you my word.’

Thus assured, David took Nicola by the hand and led her through the house to the conservatory, which was located well away from all the hustle and bustle of the festivities.

‘My lord, what is this all about?’ Nicola asked when they stood alone in the middle of the spacious, plant-filled room.

About to make the formal presentation of the ring, David turned towards her, and then abruptly went silent. The room was illuminated by nothing more than the glow of the full moon shining in through the glass windows, and by the flickering light of the candles in the sconces lining the walls. Even so, it was enough to show him how truly beautiful was the woman he had asked to be his wife. In the shimmering silk gown, with the high-waisted bodice delicately beaded and hugging a creamy expanse of bosom, and the skirt falling in gentle folds to reveal tiny feet shod in dainty satin slippers, Nicola’s loveliness nearly took his breath away.

And then there were those eyes. Deep-set and fringed with the most impossibly long, gold-tipped lashes he had ever seen, they were eyes that stirred the passion in a man’s heart and coaxed the soul from his body. Eyes which, in the soft light of the moon, glowed a deep, luminous green.

Witch’s eyes.

‘My lord?’

‘Mmm?’

‘You’re staring at me.’

‘Am I?’ David shook his head, wondering at the turn of his own imagination.

Witches indeed!

‘Forgive me, Nicola, I fear my mind must be wandering tonight.’

‘Well, I think even the great Marquis of Blackwood should be allowed to daydream once in a while. Don’t you?’

David smiled to himself. What would she say, he wondered, if she knew exactly what he had been daydreaming about? He quickly thrust such frivolous thoughts aside, and said, ‘I wanted to have a moment alone with you to give you something.’ He drew forth a small velvet bag from his breast pocket and tipped a ring with a magnificent square-cut emerald surrounded by sparkling diamonds into his hand. ‘I chose it with your eyes in mind.’

Nicola gasped as she caught the flash of diamonds and gold in the pale moonlight. ‘Oh, my! This is…for me?’

‘It is.’ Slowly, Blackwood reached for her hand and reverently slid the ring onto her slender finger, knowing that it was only the first of many such heirlooms he would bestow upon his new marchioness. ‘Now we are officially betrothed.’ Then, to Nicola’s astonishment, he bent his head and kissed her full on the lips.

Nicola had not been expecting his kiss, nor was she prepared for the devastating effect it had on her senses. As his mouth moved gently over hers, teasing her with its warmth, a strange new excitement began to stir within her body. She felt his arm close firmly around her waist and pull her close; so close that she could smell the clean masculine fragrance of his soap and feel the warmth radiating from his body. Goodness, no one had ever told her that a kiss could be like this, and, flustered, Nicola drew back.

David drew back too, though he didn’t release her hand. He continued to gaze down into her face, committing to memory the elegant line of her nose, the feathery curve of her eyebrows and the intoxicating dimple at the left side of her mouth, and felt an inexplicable tightness in his chest. ‘Does that please you, Nicola?’ he whispered hoarsely.

‘Y-yes. It was…very pleasant indeed.’

‘Was?’ Puzzled, David paused for a moment. Then, realizing what she was saying, he began to chuckle softly in his throat. ‘I was referring to the ring, my dear.’

Nicola was eternally grateful for the darkness which hid her blushes. What a widgeon he must think her. Of course he was referring to the ring. He would hardly need question the expertise of his kisses.

‘It is…truly beautiful, my lord,’ she said, glancing down at her hand to avoid the dark, probing eyes.

‘I am very glad to hear it. But, now that we are officially betrothed, do you think you could bring yourself to call me…David?’

It was such a silly oversight that Nicola started to laugh. ‘Oh, dear, yes, I think I most probably could…David.’

And so, in a spirit of mutual charity, and much pleased with the events of the last few minutes, Nicola accompanied her fiancé back to the ballroom to await the arrival of their guests.

It did not come as any surprise to David that the evening—and Nicola—were a complete success. Chatting easily as the seemingly endless flow of people made their way down the reception line, David watched his future bride smile and greet their guests, and knew that he had not been mistaken in his assessment of her abilities. The confidence and the poise with which Nicola carried herself would have made any man proud, and, indeed, a duchess could not have been more dignified.