Chapter 2
CHAPTER TWO
“Far be it from me to point out the obvious,” George drawled, rushing to keep up with Nicholas as they walked down Cornmarket Street. “But it would have been highly possible—and infinitely simpler—to remain in London and conduct operations from there.
“I have never known you to leave the big town for longer than a few weeks. Now you are telling me you wish to move here for six months? There is something queer afoot, old friend, only… I do not know what.”
Nicholas smiled, glancing down the street. Market stalls lined either side of the busy thoroughfare, merchants peddling all manner of goods and services. A bootblack called over to Nicholas and George as they passed, though he was quickly approached by another well-dressed man, perhaps a student.
Oxford was much smaller than London—too small to Nicholas’ taste, as he already missed the constant cultural amusements of home. But it was much more vibrant than he remembered from his childhood.
Perhaps it shall be no burden at all, Nicholas thought miserably, to settle myself here a while until the trouble has passed in London.
The specifics of that trouble, however, were not something Nicholas was ready to share with his friend. George had always been a good-natured fellow—too good-natured to understand the reason for Nicholas’ exile.
“Are you tiring of me already?” Nicholas deflected, slowing his pace as they retraced their steps to his carriage.
“I thought you of all people would have been glad for my return. Or are you concerned that the mere presence of me here will sabotage your acquaintance with Miss Ashford? You spoke of little else over luncheon.”
“Her name is Miss Ashwood,” George corrected, his cheeks turning pink at the mention of the woman who had supposedly captured his heart. “And there is scarcely an acquaintance to sabotage for now. No, I fully intend to keep my business with you and my business with her quite separate...”
He paused a moment, adjusting his coat. “It was my mistake to mention her to you in the first place at the club. You have always been rotten when it comes to women. I say this, partly, with affection.”
“And partly with the utmost sincerity,” Nicholas surmised, not in the least bit offended. “That being the case, I shall not bother trying to change your view of things. The disappointment of learning that I have grown tired of that life may very well kill you.”
“Tired of that life?” George held Nicholas by the shoulder as they rounded the corner, arriving on a much quieter street. His long, serious face contorted in confusion. “Is that why you have come to Oxford? You cannot be seeking a wife!”
Nicholas laughed. “No, certainly not a wife.”
George looked confused, glancing over his shoulder before he leaned in conspiratorially. “Are you implying that you have changed your ways? Because what I have heard out of London recently—”
“Are rumors by which you should not abide,” Nicholas warned, scowling.
He looked toward his carriage, parked outside a row of white-washed houses, mind flashing with thoughts of his rakish past—and the unbridled flames of desire that burned in him still, despite his attempts to reform himself for his own sake.
“Suffice to say that I have grown weary of London and will welcome a reprieve from the society there,” Nicholas continued in a lie.
“And let us not go over, again, the disarray in which I have found my father’s estate.
Six months at least will be required to set things to order.
The number of properties he left uninhabited boggles the mind. ..”
Nicholas was far from a shrewd businessman.
He enjoyed politics, attended sessions, and participated in debates, not only out of duty but because he was good at it and enjoyed putting lesser men in their places.
Business, however, had never appealed to him.
His father had been traditional to a fault, looking down his nose at the new-money, industrious aristocrats who were quickly taking London by storm.
And while Nicholas was very different from his father—not nearly as well-regarded among the ton—he agreed that there was nothing so crude as an obsession with coinage.
But his father had been perhaps too lax in the management of their large estate. The stewards had been ordered to leave the estate exactly as the late duke had found it, and there were Avon properties all over Oxfordshire lying abandoned, waiting to be renovated and sold.
The sooner I can sell off those unentailed properties, the sooner I can be rid of Oxford for good. Though it remains to be seen what will become of my life once I am free, and who will be waiting for me...
“You have gone quiet,” Nicholas heard George say beside him.
Nicholas looked up and blinked, laughing softly at the errant train of his thoughts.
“Forgive me,” he said, proceeding toward his carriage. “There is much to consider. For now, you must return home and begin devising a plan to ensnare your Miss Ashwood. And I must return to Riverside Court and meet with the land agents.”
Satisfied, George nodded and bid his friend farewell. Nicholas watched him disappear the way they had come, smiling to himself at their fortuitous reunion.
Upon entering the carriage, he waited a moment before setting off, collecting his thoughts. A copy of the deed to the Avon dower house in Kennington sat beside him on the bench. He had tasked his late father’s land agent with managing the finer points of the estate without his supervision.
But the dower house was another matter entirely—too important, too delicate, to be handled by the agent alone.
He thumbed the edge of the deed, the parchment sharp against his skin, his thoughts turning to the long-unoccupied house.
If my mother had not left, he thought sourly, would she have been living there now? Would Oxford have felt like a home to me rather than a place I refused to return for so long?
Suddenly, voices sounded from outside, so close that the people speaking must have been just outside his door.
Nicholas discreetly pushed the curtain aside, admitting a sliver of daylight into the carriage. Outside, he saw two bodies, their heads just outside his view. His driver, in his familiar, modest attire, was arguing with a well-dressed woman.
A crease formed in Nicholas’ brow as he tried to listen, their voices obscured. His curiosity got the better of him as their conversation escalated into an argument, and he cracked open his door, stepping outside.
“What the deuce is happening out here?” he asked, looking first at his nonplussed driver before addressing the woman before him.
His breath caught in his throat at the sight of her, before an amused smile played on his lips.
The circumstances being as they were, he had expected her to be some sort of old crone, arguing with Mr. Blaire about parking outside her house. But the woman before him was young, too fair for her own good, with hair the color of toffee and grey-blue eyes that flashed murder at poor Blaire.
A beauty spot decorated the soft skin beneath her right eye, and his gaze lingered there a moment as he recovered from his surprise.
He wondered what sound she’d make if he kissed it. If he bracketed that little waist with both hands and backed her against the nearest wall until she stopped spitting fury and started gasping his name instead.
It was the exact type of thought he had sworn not to entertain while in Oxford.
Despite this, he could not help but stare at her. Half with curiosity, half with desire.
She seemed more perturbed than he felt, looking up at him in shock. Her cheeks colored a familiar, satisfying shade of pink as Nicholas waited for an answer, and he felt a prickle of shame for having embarrassed such a delightful creature.
But only a prickle.
“Forgive me for the disturbance,” she began.
Her voice was pleasing, and the way she rounded her words made it clear she was well-bred. He gestured for her to continue, not giving any ground in this well-practiced dance between man and woman.
“I asked your driver to speak with the occupant of this vehicle, at which point he told me to...” She paused, frowning up at Mr. Blaire.
“I shall not repeat what he told me to do now that I have your attention. I fear it would be adding insult to injury to hear a woman emulate such vulgar language.”
Nicholas suppressed a laugh, sending a damning look his driver’s way. Mr. Blaire looked apologetic but mostly annoyed. With a nod, Nicholas sent him back toward the front of the carriage, wanting to speak with the curious woman alone.
“I would like to apologize on behalf of my driver for exposing you to such uncouth behavior.” He saw the tension lift from her shoulders, and this pleased him. “But… I cannot excuse your behavior until I learn what caused you to accost my driver in the first place.”
The woman blinked up at him, unimpressed, perhaps, by his playful tone.
“I told you, sir. I had hoped to speak with you.” She looked past him at his carriage. “This is an impressive contraption.”
He smiled. “You are a vehicle-enthusiast, then? Most strange...”
“No, you misunderstand me,” she pressed.
“The quality of the carriage led me to believe that the quality of its occupant must be… equally fine. By all appearances, you look a gentleman. I would like to introduce myself.” She gave a shallow curtsey.
“My name is Miss Amelia Tate, and I volunteer at the establishment you see behind you.”
Nicholas nodded, though he was confused, staring up at the signage that read St. George’s Home for Children.
“Go on,” he murmured, crossing his arms.
“The orphanage survives on the generosity of this county’s charitable souls. Most among them are titled gentlemen who donate regularly to the—”
“So, it is a donation you are after.” He rolled his eyes, his impatience getting the better of him. And, he had to admit, he liked the way her face twitched angrily at the interruption.