Blackwood's Lady. Gail Whitiker
fiancée here? I should like very much to spend a few minutes chatting with her, and getting to know her better.’
‘I am sure Nicola would enjoy that,’ David said, turning to look for Nicola. Unfortunately, a quick search of the room failed to reveal the whereabouts of his Titian-haired beauty.
‘How strange,’ he said after glancing around the room. ‘I can’t imagine where she would have gone. Excuse me for a moment, will you, Belle?’ Moving away, David did a quick circuit of the room, but to no avail. Nicola was simply nowhere to be found.
‘Lady Dorchester, have you seen Nicola?’ he asked, coming upon her aunt a few minutes later.
‘No, Lord Blackwood, I have not. At least, not for a little while. The last time I saw her she was sipping champagne with old Lord Wexler.’ Lady Dorchester glanced around the room and then suddenly began to frown. ‘Oh, dear, you don’t think the odious man has run off with her, do you?’
A faint smile briefly ruffled David’s mouth. ‘At sixty-eight, I doubt Wexler’s heart would stand the strain. Funny, though, her disappearing like this. Perhaps I should take a look outside.’
‘Yes, do that, Lord Blackwood,’ Lady Dorchester said, glancing around the room again. ‘I shall look for her father. Perhaps the two of them have gone away together for a talk. It would not be the first time.’
Little did either of them know, however, that at that precise moment the young lady in question was neither chatting to her father nor enjoying a stroll around the gardens. She was standing in the middle of the darkened billiards room, an expression of deep concern marring the tranquillity of her lovely features.
‘And you are sure you saw her fly in here?’ Nicola asked the young lad standing nervously beside her.
‘Aye, m’lady. Saw it as plain as the nose on me face.’
‘But how did she get out of the cage?’
The boy, who looked to be about eleven years old, fiddled anxiously with the cap in his hand. ‘I just turned me back for a minute to get the piece’v meat Cook give me, and when I turned back round there she was—gone!’
‘Oh, dear, this really is most inconvenient.’ Nicola cast anxious eyes towards the ceiling. ‘The wing was not set nearly well enough for her to fly. I am surprised she made it this far.’
‘I did see ’er go down once, m’lady,’ the lad admitted, ‘and then she kind of ’obbled, like.’
‘But how did she get in here?’ Nicola murmured, moving slowly about the room. ‘The windows are all closed.’
‘Aye, but the windows in the one next to this one aren’t. I saw ’er fly in there and I climbed in after ’er. Then, when she came in ’ere, I shut the door and nipped out to let Mr Trethewy know.’
‘Well, I am very glad you thought to get word to me, Jamie,’ Nicola said kindly. ‘Now, listen carefully. I want you to run down to the kitchen and tell Cook to give you a length of old linen. Ask her for as much as she can spare. Then bring it back up here as quickly and as quietly as you can.’
‘Aye, m’lady, I’ll do that!’
The young lad dashed away, stopping only long enough to close the door behind him. As soon as he was gone, Nicola resumed her search for the injured falcon, all the while chewing nervously on her bottom lip. This couldn’t have happened at a worse time. What ever must David be thinking? Surely he had noticed that she was gone. And poor Guinevere; she must be scared half to death. The sooner Nicola got her safely back into her cage, the better for all concerned.
She was just on her way towards the door, when a shuffling sound drew her attention towards the far corner of the room.
‘Guinevere?’ Slowly moving forward, Nicola raised the lamp, directing the light towards the corner—and saw the falcon wedged in between the two armchairs. ‘Oh, Guinevere, you naughty girl. You have given me such a dreadful fright!’
Just then, the door opened and Jamie reappeared with a length of kitchen linen piled over his arm. ‘Is this ’nuff, m’lady?’ he asked anxiously.
At a glance, Nicola could tell that it was not, but there wasn’t time to send him back downstairs now. ‘That will do fine, Jamie. Now, off you go and bring Guinevere’s cage back here as quickly as you can.’
‘Yes, m’lady.’
After he’d dashed out again, Nicola put the lamp down on top of the table where Jamie had left the linen, and then removed one of her long silk gloves. Starting at her wrist, she began wrapping the linen around her arm, making sure that the skin was covered all the way up to her elbow. She worked quickly, aware that with every passing minute her absence from the ballroom would grow more noticeable, until, finally, David would be forced to come in search of her. And heaven only knew what he would do if he found her playing nursemaid to an injured falcon.
Wrapping the last few inches of fabric around her arm, Nicola secured the makeshift bandage with a knot, and then pulled it tight. It wasn’t nearly as thick as she would have liked it to be, but at least it would offer her some protection from the falcon’s razor-sharp talons. If for any reason the bird panicked, those claws would slice through Nicola’s soft skin like hot knives through butter. Finally, picking up the lamp, Nicola drew a deep breath and then turned to confront the injured bird.
‘All right, Guinevere, you’re going to be fine. But I need to have a better look at that wing.’
So saying, Nicola slowly raised the lamp—and then groaned. The broken wing was visibly hanging away from the bird’s body. All that hard work for nothing.
‘Well, it looks as though we are going to have to start all over again,’ she said on a sigh. ‘Now, if I can just get you safely back into your cage.’
As if listening, the falcon’s dark eyes blinked at her and the hooked beak opened and closed. But Nicola didn’t draw back. She had to get Guinevere back into her cage and out of the room before she did the wing, or herself, any more harm. For that reason, she continued to inch her way forward, closing the distance between them, and all the while uttering soft, soothing sounds so as not to frighten the falcon.
It took a while, but, eventually, the bird responded to the familiar sound of Nicola’s voice. With an awkward hop, she jumped onto Nicola’s arm, her talons sinking deep into the linen as they found a secure foothold. Nicola was glad that she had thought to make the bandage thickest in the area close to her wrist. Even so, she winced as the sharp talons sank through the layers of fabric and pierced the soft skin below. Now, if Jamie would just return with the cage—
Suddenly, Nicola froze. Someone was coming—but it wasn’t Jamie. From beyond the door she could hear the unmistakable sounds of people. Of voices, male and female alike, raised in laughter. And they were coming in this direction!
‘Oh, no!’ Nicola murmured, her eyes glued to the door. This was the worst possible thing that could happen. If they came in now, Guinevere would take fright and try to fly away. As it was, she was already starting to flap her wings. Her talons were getting tangled in the linen and Nicola winced as they cut through the flimsy bandage and found the unprotected skin below again. At this rate, Guinevere was going to do them both an injury!
‘Guinevere, please don’t try to fly!’ Nicola whispered as she backed away from the door, willing the crowd to pass.
But they didn’t. The door-handle started to turn. The voices and the laughter grew louder.
Guinevere uttered a piercing cry and Nicola closed her eyes—
‘Wait, m’lord, don’t open the door!’ a frantic voice called out amidst the peals of laughter. ‘You can’t go in there! Please, don’t let them go in!’
Nicola’s eyes flew open. Thank goodness Jamie had arrived!
Unfortunately, so had her father!
‘What do you mean,