A Regency Duchess's Awakening. Amanda McCabe

       Chapter Three

      “It’s about time you got home. I’ve been waiting an age.”

      Nicholas had barely stepped into his library at Manning House, the afternoon post and various messages from his estate managers in hand, when he was brought up short by his brother Stephen’s words. Stephen lounged in an armchair by the fire, a snifter of brandy in his hand and the newspapers open on his lap and scattered across the floor.

      “I see you’ve had no trouble passing the time, though,” Nicholas said. “I just got that case of brandy from the wine merchant.”

      “And excellent stuff it is, too,” Stephen said with a laugh. He tossed off the last of his drink and sighed happily. “You always do have the best brandy, Nick, and the best chef, too. I had luncheon earlier, it was superb. I should visit you in town more often.”

      “You come often enough as it is,” Nicholas said. He tried to sound grumpy about the unexpected invasion of his life and wine cellar, but in truth he was glad to see his brother. He was always glad to see any of his family. Life in town could be a lonely, dull affair, and their affectionate jokes and banter, their exuberant pranks, always kept that coldness away. With them, he did not have to think so very much. He did not have to remember. He could just be Nicholas, living in the here and now.

      But they were all very busy of late. Stephen had inherited their mother’s estate at Fincote Park, where she had retired in quiet sadness after their father, the duke, eloped with his lover Lady Linwall. Stephen worked hard to transform it from a place of dark memories into the finest stable and racetrack in England. Their half-brother Leo helped him in that task, travelling the Continent in search of suitable horseflesh for the stable. They sometimes heard from him, but not often.

      And their half-sisters, Justine, Annalise and Charlotte, were occupied with their own growing families. They wrote often, usually to gently enquire when he, too, might enter the blessed, blissful state of wedlock as they had.

      But he doubted he would ever find such great matches as theirs, love pairings all. He had tried that once, and it all ended in pain and despair. He knew his duty well enough, to provide heirs for the dukedom, and he would do it. Just not quite yet.

      And since he had returned from Italy he had felt a strange distance from his family. He had lost the lightness of heart he once had with them, and he could sense their worry. He just didn’t know how to reassure them—or how to find the joy in life again.

      For some reason, an image of Lady Emily Carroll flashed through his mind. He remembered catching her in his arms last night as she tumbled from the stairs, the soft, warm feel of her body against his. She smelled of warm summer roses, and her bright hair brushed like silk against his cheek. She felt surprisingly sweet and alive.

      In that startled moment, she had laughed and blushed, clinging to him as she found her balance. They called her the “Ice Princess”, and usually he thought they must be right. She was so quiet, so watchful, her pale green eyes taking in everything around her, seeming to judge them and find them wanting.

      At that house party at his family’s pleasure house, Welbourne Manor, she hadn’t joined in the games and laughter. She hadn’t chased around the gardens or played hide-and-seek in the attic. Nicholas did know his duty; it had been ingrained in him since he was a child. It struck him at that party that Emily Carroll was exactly the sort of lady to fulfil that duty—pretty, well born, well mannered. A fine hostess for a ducal estate, and a fine mother for future dukes and ladies, at least as far as looks and pedigree went. Her parents had once been friends with his father, and would surely welcome the match.

      But then there would be the making of those dukes and ladies, and Nicholas didn’t relish the idea of an ice princess in his bed. He was lonely, true, yet was he that lonely? No, not yet.

      At the ball, though, in that one moment, her quiet, pale mask slipped and he glimpsed a light deep in her eyes. Which was the real Emily Carroll?

      It was maddeningly intriguing.

      “You’re quiet today, Nick,” Stephen said, pulling Nicholas back into the present moment and away from thoughts of Emily Carroll.

      “Sorry, I was just attending to some estate business and it has me distracted,” Nicholas said. He dropped the post on to his desk and sat down on its edge, crossing his arms over his chest. His valet would fuss about the crushed cravat, the wrinkled waistcoat, and cluck about how a duke should “keep up appearances”.

      But Nicholas feared he couldn’t always be a proper duke. His father had been dead many years now, perished of a fever in Naples with his new wife Lady Lin-wall, and so very much had happened since then. Yet Nicholas still felt he was learning his role, still trying to fulfil all his many responsibilities.

      “It was dull stuff, and I’m tired from it,” he said.

      “You, Nick? Tired? Never!” Stephen cried. “You’re the one who could always swim across the lake and then ride five miles, all before breakfast. I would wager you were up playing cards and visiting wenches all night, and that’s why you’re tired. Here, have some brandy and it will revive you.”

      “I will have some brandy, before you drink it all, but I think you would be surprised at what really occupied me last night.” Nicholas sat down in the chair next to Stephen’s, reaching for the bottle.

      “What, no gaming hells? No house of ill repute?”

      “Not unless you count Lady Orman’s ballroom.”

      “You were at a society ball?” Stephen said incredulously. “I’m all astonishment. You do need a brandy.”

      “Yes, I do. Our sisters are always telling me I need to do my duty and marry, so I thought Lady Orman’s was a good place to start.”

      “They don’t give a fig about your duty, Nick. They just have starry romance in their eyes since they married, and they want everyone to be the same. Especially us.”

      “Hmm.” Nicholas took a deep, burning drink of his brandy. “Is that why you’re in town, then? To find a wife?”

      “Good gad, no! I’m much too young to marry, though Charlotte says otherwise. I’m here to inspect a sale coming up at Tattersalls. A promising-sounding mare is in the catalogue, I hear. Though I dare say it was much the same at Lady Orman’s.”

      Nicholas laughed, remembering the parade of giggling, white-clad débutantes and their mamas, so eager to meet an eligible young duke. And Emily Carroll, who seemed not at all interested in giggling, parading or eligible dukes.

      “So it was,” he said. “I’d forgotten what the London Season was really like—a giant horse sale. I’ve been buried in the country too long.”

      “You couldn’t help it. Father’s estates were in a bit of a mess after he died, and