Anne Brear Read online

“Fran, don’t interfere.”

  “Then don’t be a coward, for God’s sake.”

  He straightened, fury burning with hurt. “If you were a man I’d knock you down for that remark.”

  “If I’d been a man I would have knocked you down first!” She scorned. “If you give up on this chance of happiness, I’ll never forgive you. I mean it, Nat. You need Nicola. She’s the only person who’ll save you from yourself.”

  “But she doesn’t need me.”

  “I believe she does. If she wanted Warner she’d have said yes the moment he asked, but she didn’t.”

  He threw his head back and groaned. Staying that way, looking up at the blanket of diamond stars, he let her words sink in. Could he fight for her? He’d never backed down from a fight in his life. Right from boarding school he’d fought for whatever he wanted, or sometimes just fought for the hell of it. Strangely, his father’s face swam before his eyes. Disappointment. That one word summed up his relationship with his father. They disappointed each other in every way. His father wanted a son he could be proud of, but nothing Nat ever did earned praise or even a smile. Of course he now knew that his father didn’t like him, never had from boyhood. As a child he expected that all parents tolerated their children, but this wasn’t so. He’d learnt at school that some parents actually cared for their children. But not his, and it was reaffirmed every holiday when his parents were too busy to spend any time with him. It didn’t take long for him to learn that loving them was a waste of time. In fact, causing scandal was a fun way to annoy them even further.

  “What are you thinking about?” Frances whispered, standing behind him.

  He blinked, refocusing on the stars and felt the ache start in his neck from his position. “Our parents.”

  “Why? Why now at this time?”

  He stared down at her. Loving her had proven he was capable of the emotion, something which he’d often wondered about when growing up. For her, he tried to be a good person, though at times it was hard to live up to her expectations as much as it’d been his father’s.

  Frances took his hands in her own. “Let go of the past, Nat.”

  “Is it possible though? They say we are shaped by our parents’ deeds.”

  “We are better than them. We care for others, not just ourselves like they do.”

  “I never wanted a family or a wife. I never thought I’d be competent at honouring either. Then I met Nicola and found something missing in my life.” He walked over to the bench and stood so still he could hear the music from inside and the odd horn from the ships in the harbour. “I would be a good father.”

  “I don’t doubt it.”

  “I would love my children, teach them, let them know they were important to me.”

  “Naturally you would. You are not our father, Nat.”

  “It hurts, loving her, Fran.”

  “I know, dearest.”

  “Do you remember one of my friends back in England, Donald Kilkenny?”

  “Vaguely.”

  “He killed himself when we were about twenty. I spoke to him only the day before he shot himself. I saw him at Waterloo train station. He looked simply awful, hadn’t washed or shaved for weeks. He’d lost weight, had grey skin, looked like a corpse.” Nat slipped his hands in his jacket pocket. “He’d been in love, you see. Adored this girl who had rejected him. When I’d heard that Donald had killed himself over that girl, I was disgusted. I was disgusted at Donald for being so stupid to allow his heart to rule his head. I didn’t understand, I couldn’t fathom how any man could feel as Donald did. But I do now.”

  Frances jerked, eyes wide. “You’re not going to kill yourself, are you?”

  “No. I couldn’t do that. I have to take care of you. Yet, I recognise the need to deal with the pain of loving someone who doesn’t love you.”

  “Oh, Nat.”

  “She is everything to me, Fran. I want to see her, be with her always. I hunger for her smile. I ache to hold her…” He shrugged and gave her a wry grin. “There now, you can never say again that I keep things to myself.”

  “Thank you for confiding in me.” She kissed his cheek.

  He drew in a long deep breath and gathered his courage. “Nicola promised me a dance.” He strode to the door, but quickly returned to Frances and kissed her cheek. “No sister could be better than you.”

  She gave him a lofty stare. “I know.”

  “Come, we Wests have a fight on our hands.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Nicola stood hand on hips, tapping her foot and fighting the urge to scream like a fishwife at the new kitchen maid, Bessie. This was the last thing she needed to deal with this morning. Hannah, the other maid stood in the corner of the scullery with Mrs Nesbit the cook, their eyes wide with anticipation of a ‘set to’. Nicola drew in a deep breath. “Bessie, I understand that you only started here yesterday, but at your interview you assured me of your competence and experience. However, the jobs you have done today show no evidence of this. The breakfast pots weren’t cleaned well enough, you left ashes in the grate in the drawing room, you refused to listen to Mrs Nesbit’s instructions and now you’ve been accused of stealing.”

  Bessie, one hand on her hip and the other hidden into the folds of her apron, smirked. “I ain’t stolen nothin’.”

  “Hannah is certain you’ve taken a piece of jewellery from Miss Peacock’s chest in her room. Is this so?”

  “Nope.”

  “Then to settle this matter I will have to search your belongings and your person.”

  “No, you ain’t.” Bessie edged backwards.

  Movement at the door leading into the corridor had them all turning. Miss McIntyre and Meg stood on the step.

  “Yes?” Nicola sighed. She’d had only an hour’s sleep since the ball last night and her eyes felt as though they had sand rubbed in them.

  Meg stepped down into the kitchen. “You’ve a visitor.”

  “I can deal with this, Miss Douglas.” Miss McIntyre strode forward, her height and stern manner seemed to shrink the room. “You go and deal with your visitor and then go up to bed. You need your rest.” She turned to Bessie. “You. Don’t think for one minute you have been forgotten. Miss Peacock has searched every room in this house and her brooch is nowhere to be found. However, Miss Shaw swears on the Bible she saw the brooch on Miss Peacock’s table this morning when you were in the room changing the sheets. So, let us start again.”

  Nicola slipped from the room with Meg following. They were content to let Florence deal with the servant. Nicola hoped Florence would never leave, she’d be lost without her help and support.

  “Nicola.” Meg halted her in the hallway.

  “Yes?”

  “I’ve hardly seen you this morning. We haven’t had a chance to speak of my engagement.”

  Nicola grasped Meg’s hand. “You know I’m delighted for you. I told you that last night.”

  “I know, but there were so many people around. Do you truly believe I’m making the right decision?”

  She glanced up the hallway. “Meg, I have someone waiting. Can we talk later?”

  Nodding, Meg stepped away towards the study. “Can I use in here to write to my mother?”

  “Of course.” She smiled. “I’m dreadfully tired, but later we’ll talk, I promise. Oh, and Meg?”

  “Yes?”

  “The captain is a fine man.”

  A wide smile lit Meg’s face. “Yes. He is.”

  Nicola turned for the drawing room, stifling a yawn behind her hand. What she wouldn’t give for a few hours sleep.

  As she entered the room, Nathaniel stood up from the sofa, a soft smile playing on his lips. “Miss Douglas.”

  “Mr West.” She didn’t expect him and immediately put a hand to her hair to tidy it. After leaving the ball at sunrise, it felt like she’d been asleep only a second or two before being woken by a frantic Miss Peacock, wanting her to confront Bessie. Her appearance wasn’t up to visitors, esp
ecially Mr West, who seemed to have slept well and looked rested and refreshed in his smart dark suit. Last night they had danced just once, but her heart skipped as she remembered how close her held her, how his gaze never left her face. He had smiled and complimented her the whole time and in his arms she’d felt secure, wanted, and she liked that feeling.

  Nathaniel softly tapped his hat against his leg. “I’m sorry to call unannounced, but I was wondering if you’d like to take a drive with me this afternoon?”

  “Oh…”

  “Frances will be with us also.”

  “I’m afraid I haven’t had much sleep and am frightfully tired.”

  “How about I promise to stop for a while to give us a chance to nap under the trees?” His smile spoke straight to her heart, which didn’t help matters.

  “Well…”

  “Three o’clock?”

  “Um…”

  “That’s settled then.”

  He stepped forward, took her hand and kissed it. “Until three.”

  “Er, yes.” She stared after him as he left the room. It had happened so quickly. She gazed down at the spot he’d kissed on her hand. He’d kissed just above the knuckle of her third finger on her left hand. Did it have a particular meaning or was she just imagining it? Lord, she must be tired. Sleepily, she turned for the stairs and her bedroom.

  Later, refreshed after a few hours sleep, Nicola washed and changed, taking extra care with her toilette, as the minutes ticked by towards three o’clock. She shouldn’t have agreed to go. Warner was expecting her answer and she was surprised he’d not called before now. Thankfully he hadn’t pressed her last night for an answer. He’d been surrounded by interested people the whole night and she was grateful for it.

  A soft knock preceded Florence, who quietly closed the door behind her. “Oh good, you’re awake.”

  “If there are more problems, Florence, I really don’t want to know.” She sighed, collecting her white lace gloves from the bedside table. With a last look in the mirror, she smoothed her dove grey skirt.

  “I had to let that trollop Bessie go.” Florence stood tall and determined. “I hope you don’t mind, or think I’m taking advantage of the trust you’ve put in me, Miss Douglas.”

  “Did she steal the brooch?”

  “Aye, it was in a secret pocket in the bottom of her skirt.”

  “Then you did the right thing.” Nicola heard the long case clock on the landing strike three times. From outside came the muted crunch of carriage wheels on the gravel drive. “I’m going out for a few hours with Miss West and her brother. But when I return I need to talk to you.”

  “Oh?” Florence followed her out of the room. “Is it bad news? Have I done wrong?”

  “No, it’s an offer for you. A position.” Nicola smiled. They descended the stairs together and at the bottom Nicola collected her parasol from the stand by the door. She turned to Florence. “If you are willing, Mr Belfroy has accepted my proposal to pay you a wage and be second in charge here.”

  “Oh my.” Florence gaped in surprise.

  “I’ll talk to you later about it, but it’ll give you something to think about.” Nicola patted the other woman’s shoulder and opened the door to reveal Mr West.

  “Afternoon, ladies.” He bowed.

  Nicola ignored the way her chest tightened at the sight of him and, after saying good-bye to Florence, accompanied him outside. She stared in confusion at the waiting transport. “A gig, Mr West?”

  “Yes, Miss Douglas.” He helped her up onto the seat and then ran around the other side to climb aboard. With a flick of the reins the horse trotted down the drive.

  “Where is Frances? Are we to collect her from somewhere?”

  “Unfortunately, my sister has business elsewhere and cried off. She sends her apologies.”

  Nicola held onto her straw boater and parasol when the horse picked up speed as they left the city behind. “So it is just the two of us?”

  “And the horse.” He grinned.

  “Mr West—”

  “Please don’t fret, Nicola. I promise you’ll come to no harm.”

  She swallowed with difficulty. That he’d called her Nicola affected her more than being alone with him on this drive. What were his plans, his intentions, by doing this?

  He glanced at her before concentrating on driving again. “Have you ever been reckless? Done something that raised people’s eyebrows in surprise?”

  “No.”

  He laughed. “You haven’t lived then.”

  “People can be happy without having to test the boundaries of what is right or wrong.”

  “Only someone as good as you would say that.”

  “Which shows how different we are, Mr West.” Her shoulders sagged. Why did he continually accentuate the differences between them? Why couldn’t he, just for once, be charming and attentive without any hidden undertones? Hilton managed it, why couldn’t Nathaniel? Was it so hard to do? Was he simply unable to have a polite conversation? “Please turn the horse around, Mr West. I wish to go back.”

  “Come, Nicola, don’t spoil the afternoon.”

  “You already have by—”

  “By wanting you to myself for a moment?” He shot her a quick glance. “Is that so appalling?”

  “If you wanted to talk to me alone, we could have stayed at the house and walked the lawn.”

  He laughed. “You, alone at that house? Impossible.”

  “Mr West—”

  “Nicola, please, allow me an hour of your time, I beg you.”

  Once the dirt road narrowed and became no more than a rutted track in the middle of dense bushland, Nat slowed the horse to a walk. The wheels creaked over the uneven path. “I have broken social laws, I know, but—”

  “But you’ve always done what you please, yes?” she snapped. “You may not care what people say, but I do, Mr West. I have a position of trust and respectability. I have a reputation!”

  “Nicola.” His eyes sent a message of apology.

  She took a breath, her anger wilting under his tender gaze.

  Reining the horse to a halt, they sat quietly. His hands dangled between his knees, holding the reins loose in his fingers. “Frances tells me Mr Warner proposed marriage to you.”

  She remained silent, knowing he didn’t need her to confirm it.

  “It felt like someone had stabbed me in the heart.”

  Staring at his profile, she didn’t know what to say. Was he sincere? Words were so easy.

  “Will you marry him?” His voice was barely a whisper.

  “No.” She closed her eyes against the knowledge of what her heart already knew. She couldn’t marry Mr Warner, not while Nathaniel West affected her such as he did. “I doubt I’ll ever marry.”

  “What a stupid thing to say.” He scoffed, leaning back in the seat.

  “Why is it stupid? A woman like me—”

  “A woman like you needs to be married, loved, adored. Don’t pretend otherwise. You’re passionate, caring, and intelligent. You’d make any man a fine wife.”

  “Thank you.” She smiled faintly, a little afraid by the depth of sincerity in his tone. Again her heart seemed to liquefy and she frowned at the response. Was this love or compassion? How could she know? “Let us walk.”

  Without waiting for his assistance, she scrambled down from the gig, nearly tripping on her skirt in the process.

  He quickly joined her, but his ready smile and usual witty remarks were lacking as they stepped though the dry undergrowth. She’d become used to the crisp clean air of the bush now, of the loud native birds that squawked their song instead of trilling it like English birds did. Sometimes she missed the damp density of the woods back home, but she also found a strange contentment in the harsh Australian bushland. Perhaps she identified with the struggle of the plants and animals to survive, the hardiness of their existence. Yet, their beauty still showed through as though resolute in letting nothing diminish their right to live.

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nbsp; Nicola stopped to study the unusual yellow flowers growing on a large bush. “Do you know what this flower is called? I’ve seen it before and always admired it.”

  Nathaniel stopped close beside her and studied the long cylindrical flower, that stood straight and proud amongst its needle type leaves. “It’s called a Banksia, I believe. There are red ones too, I’ve seen them along the coast, and they also have different shapes.”

  “It looks spiky.” She reached out to touch it gently and found the spikes were actually soft petals. “No, they aren’t sharp.” Smiling, she glanced at him under her lashes. “I should have brought my sketchbook. I’m ashamed at the small amount of sketching I have done since arriving. My mother would be displeased if she were alive.”

  He stood quite still. “Do you miss your parents?”

  “Yes, very much. My father was such a tremendous man, generous, knowledgeable, amusing. I adored him with every ounce of my being. His death was a blow I thought I would never recover from.” She looked up from the flower into his eyes. “You’re the first person I’ve been able to admit that to.”

  “Then I am deeply honoured.”

  “Oh, I’ve talked about him before, many times, but I’ve never acknowledged the pain of his death. When my father died, for the first time in my life I felt lost, without guidance, unloved.” Nicola walked on, amazed she’d spoken so personally to him. Her parents were a treasured part of her that she rarely shared with anyone, fearful of the ache that talking about them brought, but surprisingly, she had mentioned them to both Hilton and Nathaniel, and she didn’t know what to make of it.

  “Look at this one, Nicola.”

  She turned as he bent down near a large rock. Crouching beside him, she examined the fragile pink flower on a long stem. “No, don’t pick it, let it be.” The yellow wattle he’d given her on Frances’s birthday picnic was still in her diary, to add another would be accepting too much. “I wonder what it is called.”

  “It has the appearance of an orchid, don’t you think?”

  “Why, yes.” She grinned at him. “You are knowledgeable about flowers.”

  “No, not really. Though I grew up having access to a very impressive and varied collection of plants from all over the world. My mother collected them. She had an immense green house built adjoining the conservatory at the side of the house. My father used to rage at the amount of money she spent on paying botanists. She commissions them to find her beautiful and rare plants.” He carefully touched the tiny pink and white spotted petals. “The odd time I spent with her in the greenhouse was the closest I ever came to being her son, instead of a person sharing her house at holidays.” He stood abruptly and cleared his throat.