Chapter Eleven
It seemed Nick still had absolutely no self-control around Miss Mackenzie. At least he had not turned into a beast tonight, but he had shared the one thing he had vowed to keep to himself. No one was supposed to know he enjoyed playing the pianoforte, yet he had just performed in front of Mrs. Hatch, ensuring all of London would know about his talent by teatime tomorrow.
How did Miss Mackenzie get under his skin so easily? He could maintain his composure around anyone, Catherine Barton included, but put him in a room with Emma Mackenzie, and all his good breeding went out the window. Something about her ruffled him, kept him nervous, had him wanting to throw away all notions of the man everyone else knew and be something entirely different.
And yet she stood on the other side of the room, laughing and smiling as half the party fell in love with her. She didn’t seem affected by him in the slightest.
The one person in the world who seemed to see the real man beneath all the pageantry, and she hated him.
“Do you not think so, Mr. Forester?”
Nick reluctantly dragged his attention back to the young women who had practically swarmed him as soon as the entertainment ended. He’d been correct about their ages, one seventeen and two eighteen years old, and yet all three seemed determined to snag the country’s most eligible bachelor. Although, Nick hardly considered himself that anymore. He was too old, hardly flush in the pockets, despite everyone’s belief, and not a soul in the world knew who he really was. Not even Harstone or Calloway, who were his closest friends.
Clearing his throat, he tried to think back to what their conversation had been about. Something about balls and gowns; he had been watching Miss Mackenzie for longer than he should. “Most assuredly,” he said, hoping his agreement was what they wished for.
The girls giggled, fanning themselves with practiced movements. “I thought so,” one of them said. Miss Ashton. She seemed to be the leader of the trio, more precocious than the others. “I didn’t think what they said about you could be true.”
Oh goodness, he probably should have been paying attention. It was difficult enough to keep up with the rumors he’d started himself, let alone those started by others. “That depends on what they said.”
Miss Mackenzie laughed again on the other side of the room, the sound as lovely as her singing voice. She hadn’t been nervous enough before she started to indicate her being a terrible singer, but as soon as she’d opened her mouth, he was captivated. He had nearly stopped playing so he could simply listen to the way her voice floated through the notes. But that would have made her stop, and no one deserved to be deprived of a voice like hers.
He would have to devise a way to hear her sing again.
“We heard you are a scoundrel,” Miss Ashton said with another giggle, followed by echoes from the other two girls. “Mother told me you break hearts wherever you go.”
That shouldn’t have made her more interested, but the way she batted her eyes at him had Nick wishing he could run away. “Perhaps that is true,” he murmured, and he meant that. So many women had fancied themselves in love with him, and he had rejected them all.
“But surely you would not call me beautiful if you did not believe it.”
Coughing, Nick fought for a response. Was that what he had agreed to? He hadn’t paid enough attention to have formed an opinion on whether these women could be potential candidates, and he didn’t want to lead any of them on without doing his due diligence. No heartbreaking allowed this time around. “Stating fact could be done by even the worst of men, Miss Ashton,” he said, giving her a smirk that made her blush. Too much. He took a step back, hoping that counterbalanced his smile. “Are you all enjoying London thus far?”
“Oh yes!” Miss Ashton said, grabbing his arm.
Nick froze. Was she really going to be so bold in a roomful of people? He shifted, tucking both arms behind his back and taking another step away from the girl.
“I’ll admit I do wish I had made my entrance during the Season,” she continued, undeterred, “but I can easily say London is far more exciting than anything back home in Shropshire.”
“I am sure you’re right.”
“Oh, Mr. Smith, you are too much!” Miss Mackenzie said across the room.
Nick turned without thinking, locking his eyes onto Miss Mackenzie as she laughed with Charles Smith. Somehow the crowd around her had doubled, essentially leaving Nick alone with the three ladies and their hovering chaperone, Mrs. Ashton. How did Miss Mackenzie do that? Usually it was Nick at the center of attention, even when he didn’t want to be.
“Oh, do continue your story, Miss Mackenzie,” Smith said. “My apologies for interrupting.”
Ah, she was telling stories again? She did seem to be good at that, though he couldn’t fathom what could be so amusing to keep even Smith’s interest. The man was an utter bore and considered himself a cut above the rest, hardly deigning to notice anyone beyond his close circle of friends because he had a good deal of money to his name. But there he was, hanging on the woman’s every word like a lovesick puppy. He looked as if he might propose on the spot.
Well, there’s an idea . . .
“Do forgive me,” Nick muttered and bowed, only realizing as he walked away that Miss Ashton had been in the middle of saying something. As a knot settled in his stomach—he had likely ruined his chances with any of the girls by being so incredibly rude—he skirted around the crowd and took his leave of Lord Gregory, who hardly gave him a passing glance and a nod. He, too, had been ensnared by the charm of Miss Mackenzie.
Nick slipped out into the corridor, trying to keep up with the plan that had sparked to life just now. While he waited for a footman to collect his things, he stood just outside the music room’s open doors and studied the men surrounding Miss Mackenzie. She had them at her mercy, and he had a feeling she didn’t even know it. She was too caught up in her storytelling to see Mr. Holden edge in closer with every breath or the glares Smith gave anyone who laughed loud enough to gain a smile from Miss Mackenzie.
There had to be a reason she hadn’t gotten herself married yet, but who could turn down an offer from someone who would provide a lavish life? Smith earned three thousand a year from his shipping company. Holden owned acres upon acres of high-yielding farmlands. Any one of these men could give Miss Mackenzie so much more than what she would receive from her grandfather.
If Emma Mackenzie found herself a husband in possession of a considerable fortune, she would have no need of Nick’s inheritance.
“You are either a fool or a genius,” he muttered to himself, taking his hat from the footman and stuffing it onto his head. But while he worked on securing himself a lasting love with a woman he adored, he would find the same in a man for Miss Mackenzie. It would not be easy, what with her apparent aversion to the idea of marriage. At the very least, he would find her someone she could tolerate enough to accept. Choosing to put any of his limited energy and time into finding her a husband would mean gambling on her good nature—not a very sure footing for him, he knew, but should he succeed, she might just give him a chance to argue his case: if she didn’t need the Mackenzie lands anymore, surely she would give them to him. He wouldn’t have to rush to find himself a wife, and they both could get what they wanted.
As he stepped out into the cool evening air, Nick shook his head. “I fear you will end up the fool,” he muttered to himself. With his luck, Miss Mackenzie would either reject any man who came near her or fall in love with a penniless man, leaving Nick with no chance at all. But what choice did he have? He had to try.