The Booklover’s Absolutely Amorous Affair (The Notorious Briarwoods #9)

Chapter 13

“W hen you marry Jean-Luc, I’d like to sit in the front of the chapel,” the little girl said. “I like weddings. I’ve been to several now.”

Nimue gazed down at the beautiful little girl, gaping and wondering who she belonged to. She’d all but popped out of nowhere and had launched herself into conversation without hesitation or any need for introduction.

She was bold, bright, and opinionated.

It was a wonderful thing to behold.

The child was clearly one of the Briarwood children, and there were a vast many of said children.

The house was, dare she say, crawling with them. Crawling sounded like a negative reflection, but these children were all vivacious, rambunctious, completely alive, and unapologetic for who they were. They were also polite, had good manners, and looked out for each other.

Or so it seemed as she stood on the lawn watching them run about like mad.

Still, it was a great deal of noise.

It was a good thing that she had been raised with several siblings, otherwise she would’ve been completely overblown by the Duke of Westleigh’s house on the Isle of Wight.

It was a beautiful building and set of grounds.

Everyone knew that. The local community was pleased with the construction. The grounds were extensive and well done. Or that’s what everyone had said.

Now, Nimue could affirm it with her own eyes. The house was beautiful, yet not ostentatious. It was large enough to house the family, but not so big that it sprawled.

The duke had bought a good deal of land and the children made excellent use of it. Everywhere she looked, there were children with blond hair, dark hair, or red hair running about wild. They were dressed in various states. Most of them, the small ones, had on pantaloons or breeches. The girls had on serviceable gowns that made it possible for them to climb trees, which several of them were doing at present.

Almost none of them wore cloaks or coats, having tossed them aside. Their own vigor and activity made the need for extra layers unnecessary. Luckily, the truly cold weather seemed to be passing, and the sun shone down upon them benevolently.

That glorious sun shone down upon them all and lifted spirits, bringing smiles and laughter.

The children were bouncing about, screaming, laughing, and reminding everyone that life was meant to be joyful and not endured.

The Briarwoods, much like her family, seemed to enjoy food at all their gatherings. There was a table set out with delicious offerings upon it. Crystal pitchers of lemonade awaited and hot drinks were also on offer.

There were many chairs so that the adults could sit and observe the children. But none of them were full because the adults were up and about, either playing with the children or doing activities of their own.

Archery was occurring in one corner of the large grounds, lawn bowl in another, and some form of tennis in another.

The Briarwoods, as far as she could see, did not like to sit down.

Jean-Luc was running wild with a pack of children behind him.

Nimue’s own mother was speaking with several of the Briarwood ladies. She had no idea what they were discussing. Novels likely. After all, the Briarwoods loved books just as much as her family did. In fact, the duke’s wife was a publisher.

A publisher! It was such a unique thing that such a powerful businesswoman could exist in such a family.

Of course, the truth was that her mother was a businesswoman. She often ran the farm. Nimue too, in her own way, would one day be a businesswoman because she would help to run the farm when her parents were too old to do so.

Her brother would inherit one day, but he was happy to let her run things, for he far preferred studying to cows.

Even now, she was certain that she would not marry. Truly. And so, she would have time to do all the organizing of the farm.

“Miss Nimue, what shall you wear to the wedding? I suggest something simple but bright in color.”

The bridal suggestion pulled her back to the rather odd conversation, and Nimue gazed back down at the little girl, cleared her throat, and started to reply that she was not getting married. But before she could, the dowager duchess descended upon the two of them, her beautiful bright green gown a cheerful nod to the coming spring.

“Do you like it?” the dowager duchess asked as she thrust her arm into Nimue’s elbow, linking them together as if they had been intimate acquaintances all their lives.

“I do,” she said, blinking. “Of course I do. It is wonderful. I had no idea that there were so many children,” she said, then nodded at the little girl standing opposite her. “I was just making this one’s acquaintance.”

“This is Portia,” the dowager duchess said brightly. “She is the eldest girl of all the children.”

“Well, Portia is a very interesting conversationalist.”

Portia laughed, her eyes dancing merrily. “She says that because I asked for a good spot in the church when she marries Jean-Luc.”

“Portia,” the dowager tsked kindly. “We must not insinuate such things. No one has told us that they are to be wed,” the dowager duchess added with a playful wag of her finger.

Portia’s brow furrowed. “But they’re getting married.”

“I have not been asked to be married,” Nimue said to Portia, then she smiled kindly, hoping to let the little girl’s fancies down lightly. “And besides, Jean-Luc and I are only good friends.”

Portia looked at her as if she’d lost her wits. This was an interesting thing to be met with in a child.

Portia was incredibly self-possessed, clearly intelligent, and did not brook with what she thought was nonsense.

“I don’t think that’s true,” Portia said. Then she shook her head and corrected, “It might be true that he has not asked you to marry him. He will.” Her eyes widened and she gasped with excitement. “Or you should ask him. That’s a very good idea, don’t you think? Why wait? I think it’s silly that ladies should have to wait.”

Portia was clearly precocious.

Most of the Briarwood children were. Their vocabularies were exceptionally large and all of them seemed to be very well-spoken. Even the ones that barely came up to Nimue’s knees.

“Thank you for thinking so well of me,” Nimue said to Portia, “that you think Jean-Luc would ask me to marry him, but we shall remain friends.”

Portia rolled her eyes and let out a sigh. “If you insist on saying so, I will allow it,” she said, “but when the wedding does occur, I beg of you, I would like the best seat if you please. I want to watch your face and his too. I quite like it when the couple gazes at each other and it’s clear how much they love one another.”

She gazed at the girl, perplexed by the child’s certainty. “You have been to a great many weddings and clearly pleasant ones too.”

“All Briarwood weddings are pleasant ones,” Portia replied matter-of-factly. “Because all Briarwoods love the person who they’re marrying.”

And with that, Portia turned and skipped off.

“You will recover from the unique experience of speaking with Portia,” the dowager duchess teased.

Nimue grinned. “She is clearly a young lady to be reckoned with.”

The dowager nodded proudly. “That is very true. She already has her wedding largely planned out. All she needs is the groom.”

“Oh?” Nimue asked. “I would’ve thought an independent lady such as that would not wish to wed.”

“Why?” the dowager duchess asked, beginning to lead her along the lawn in a surprisingly brisk walk.

She was rather glad. Standing still had begun to make her nervous. She didn’t know why, but here, with all the Briarwoods, she suddenly felt anything was possible. While that could be thrilling, it was also a bit disorienting.

She was used to the rules of the simple and comforting life of her community.

Nimue cleared her throat, surprised at how easy it was to share her thoughts with the dowager, despite how grand the woman was. “If one likes to be independent and have all the things that come with it, shouldn’t one stay independent?”

The dowager duchess let out a laugh. “Yes, of course. I suppose so, if one likes to be alone, but none of us Briarwoods likes to be alone. Sometimes we need a few moments to ourselves, of course. We are quite a lot to handle, but we also all know the benefits of having a good partner, and Portia knows this because of all the relationships she’s witnessed. She will settle for nothing less than the deepest love and the most respectful of relationships, just so you know. And we will make certain that she chooses well too. But that day is not for some years to come.”

The truth was that Portia looked like she could be somewhere between the ages of seven and ten years old. It was difficult to tell with such a small child and especially with one with such a vocabulary.

“And I’d like to point out,” the dowager continued, sashaying along the green, “that marriage doesn’t mean one relinquishes independence. Quite the contrary. Sometimes when one has the support of a good partner, one becomes even more capable in this life. Independence simply means being capable without being fettered. My husband never fettered me. None of my children are fettered. Quite the contrary. In many ways, marriage has freed them to be who they truly are.”

Nimue took in those words and tried to make sense of them. Could marriage free one? Make someone more truly themselves? She thought of how she was with Jean-Luc, and she was startled to find that he had made her feel more truly herself. She’d grown with him. He hadn’t taken anything from her. No, just as the dowager said, he’d freed her in many ways.

Her heart began slamming against her ribs, and she felt her entire worldview begin to slip away and alter. She felt as if her ears were suddenly ringing.

Did she wish to marry Jean-Luc?

The idea was most alarming… And appealing.

She thought of her own mother and her reason for approving of the affair. Her mother had wanted her to be certain of what she wanted.

She wanted Jean-Luc.

The thought slammed through her, and suddenly she couldn’t breathe.

“Are you quite well?” the dowager asked, pausing. “Do you need to sit?”

She gave a quick shake of her head and pulled herself together. She would not fall apart on the Duke of Westleigh’s lawn while conversing with the dowager duchess.

So, she forced a smile and said with as much enthusiasm as she could, “Well, whoever Portia marries will be exceptionally lucky.”

The look of concern eased from the dowager’s face.

“I won’t argue with that,” the dowager duchess said, “and whoever you marry will be exceptionally lucky, even if it is not Jean-Luc.”

“Has Jean-Luc not told you?” she replied, her mouth now dry at her shocking realization.

“Told me what?” the dowager duchess asked, her silvery brows rising.

“Like him, I do not intend to wed.”

Or at least, she hadn’t until moments ago! And surely, any sudden wish to marry didn’t matter, for Jean-Luc had no wish to propose.

“Ah, yes, he does not. Or so he says,” said the dowager duchess sadly. “You know, there is a saying that when you tell the gods your plans, they laugh. It is a saying I like very much. For over many decades, I have found it to be true.”

Nimue frowned. “Are you trying to tell me that I’m going to get married even though I thought I wasn’t?”

The dowager gave her a rather exaggerated look of horror. “I would never be so arrogant as to say such a thing.”

She had a feeling that the dowager duchess likely would be so arrogant but was somehow refraining at the present moment.

“I like Jean-Luc very much,” Nimue blurted.

The dowager smiled kindly at her and resumed their walk, slipping by the first shoots of flowers pushing up through the grass. But those flowers had not yet bloomed. They were merely a promise of color to come. “It is clear that you do, and it is clear that he likes you in turn. What is the difficulty then?”

She coughed. “I beg your pardon?”

“What is the difficulty between you two?” the dowager asked more firmly. “Personally, I think Portia is right. We should plan a wedding. I do love weddings. I have them as often as I can in the chapel at the Duke of Westleigh’s. We don’t have one here. So you will be married at your family’s chapel.”

“I beg your pardon,” she cut in. “I do not think that we should assume that…”

“Oh, I never assume anything my dear. I always aspire. Aspiring is far better than assuming. You’d do very well in our family, and I think that our two families would unite particularly well.”

She stared at the dowager duchess, wondering if the woman was addled at all or if she was simply so accustomed to always getting her way.

“Is that how you get around the gods’ laughter?” Nimue asked.

“You are very clever, my dear,” the dowager said, clearly pleased. “And yes. It is. Now, I shan’t push further. I shall warn Portia not to as well. I’ve also learned that pushing people into things, even if it is good for them, can have ill-intended results. It’s taken me years to learn that. Nudges are all right, but pushing really can cause a great deal of upset.”

The dowager gave a shudder.

Nimue couldn’t stop her laugh, but then she stopped suddenly and whispered, “He won’t ask me. He won’t ever ask. It’s part of our understanding.”

The dowager turned to her and took her hands. “It is impossible to know the future, my dear. So, do not say things that you don’t know to be true.”

But she did know it. He’d been very plain about it.

The dowager gave her an encouraging look. “At the end of the month, we will all depart for London. The Season is unavoidable for most of us. But first, we all look forward to attending your family’s book discussions.”

“Truly?” she said.

“Of course. Not all of us will come. Can you imagine? All of our family and all of your family chattering about books? It would actually be great fun, if unwieldy.”

She laughed again. “I think somehow we would manage it,” she replied. “My mother is very good at such things. No doubt, she’d simply put up a pavilion and arrange for hot bricks for everyone. She’s quite capable.”

“Oh yes,” the dowager enthused, “your mother is a treasure. I would love to have her on many a committee, and I’m sure she would do far better work than most of the gentlemen.”

A wave of pride filled Nimue. “You know my mother well already.”

The dowager nodded. “She and I have become bosom friends in but a short time and will continue to be so for years to come, I’m certain. I promise we are not conspiring to have you and Jean-Luc wed. Just so you know, your dear mama is very supportive of you. She has made it plain that you do not wish to wed.”

“Has she?” she asked, deeply grateful that her mother truly respected her.

The dowager patted her hand. “She told me right away because she did not wish me to be disappointed. I had asked her if you would need assistance in finding a wedding gown. After all, I do know all the best dressmakers in London. But your mother said such a thing would likely not be required, though it made her sad.”

Was the dowager duchess trying to make her feel guilty for making her mother sad? She could not tell.

The dowager’s eyes flared as if she understood her concerns. “Oh, my dear. No, I do not deal in guilt. Guilt is such a wasted emotion, as is regret. Make certain that you are doing what you actually want, not what you think you want. There is a difference.”

Nimue was beginning to see that. For it was her heart that was turning her thoughts, thoughts which had always been firmly against marriage.

“I promise,” she replied, surprised by how easy it was.

“Good.”

Suddenly the dowager’s look changed from one of gentle assurance to bright welcome, and she angled her body away from Nimue.

She followed the dowager’s gaze and spotted Jean-Luc and two young ladies bustling towards them.

The two young ladies were all but skipping across the green in their wool frocks to keep up with their brother, the cool air around them causing their cheeks to glow an apple red.

It was very clear they were not English young ladies. There was simply something about the way they moved and the way they laughed with each other that said this. Nimue couldn’t even describe it, but it was clear to her.

Jean-Luc stopped before them, and his two sisters gave quick curtsies.

He indicated his sisters and introduced, “This is Camille and Delphine, and they are eager to know you.”

“It is you!” one of them exclaimed. “I am Camille.”

“Ah!” Delphine gushed. “We have been waiting to know you for ages.”

Suddenly, the two girls took Nimue by the arms and urged her away, leaving Jean-Luc standing gaping by the dowager duchess.

“Do not drive her away,” he called.

Camille glanced over her shoulder. “She is too strong for that. We could never drive her away.”

Delphine gave a nod. “Exactly. Fortitude, this one has fortitude. She will not be intimidated by us. Will you?”

“No, I shall not,” Nimue agreed, feeling rather intimidated already but refusing to admit it.

The girls were remarkable and kind and quite a lot, much like the rest of the Briarwoods. Luckily, she was quite a lot too. And as they walked away, heading down towards the groomed trees, Camille and Delphine both turned to her at once and declared in unison, “You will be a wonderful sister.”

“What?” she gasped.

“We have longed to have a sister,” enthused Camille, her perfect Cupid bow’s lips turning in a captivating smile. “We have many, many English cousins, but we think that an English sister would be just the thing. We understand that you wish to be single. We wish to be single. So logically, we should support your decision to not marry our brother.”

Delphine cocked her head to the side, her perfectly curled hair bouncing about her elfin face. “But we cannot. We are not logical creatures. We are driven by intuition and feeling and a rather strong sense that life is not fair, so one must make the best of it.”

“The dowager duchess has taught us that,” said Camille.

“And life,” Delphine added.

“And losing all one’s friends and family will do that to one,” Camille said with a shocking sense of dark humor.

Nimue swung her gaze from girl to girl. “I’m not going to marry your brother.”

Delphine snorted. “Why? Has he been a clod recently? Men can be clods.”

“It’s not that I don’t like him,” she protested.

“Ha!” exclaimed Camille. “You love him. It is clear.”

Delphine nodded. “It is clear to everyone, and he loves you. So whatever silly nonsense the two of you are up to, it is best that you get rid of it immediately.”

She swallowed. Was it so very clear to everyone that they loved each other, or that they were having an affair?

She had not even known she…loved him until a few moments ago!

Love? Good heavens! It was true. She loved Jean-Luc. Loved him so much there were no words to describe it.

She must have looked distressed, for Camille gave her a sympathetic look.

“Don’t worry,” Camille said. “Not everyone knows. Just the family. We are good at deducing such things, but if you are not careful, everyone on the Isle of Wight will know soon.”

Her throat tightened and she felt suddenly overwhelmed. “You all will be leaving, won’t you? And then I won’t have to worry about hiding anything.”

Camille and Delphine grew grim.

“That is a disappointing reply,” Delphine murmured.

Nimue swallowed back the tightness in her throat, and the tears that were now coming, as she began to understand the fact that the end of February was quite close.

It might be disappointing, but it was the truth, and perhaps it was best if it happened sooner rather than later. For surely, she was not so far gone that she was lost to love.

She’d been so certain that she would be able to easily let him go when the affair ended. And it would end, and she would let him go. Love or no, she had no expectations of him. Even as her dratted heart began to whisper, perhaps…