Page 16 of The Viscount’s Forgery (Bluestocking Book Club #4)

I must apologize.

I t was now three days since Nicholas had last seen Miss Eugenia Sherwood, three days since he had not been wracked with guilt, and three days since he had forgotten entirely about his forged paintings.

The words he had said to Miss Sherwood had not left his mind in many days, the shock on her face pushing into his mind over and over and over again.

The trouble was, he knew precisely why he had responded so, why he had spoken so sharply.

The feelings that had run over him as he had looked into Miss Sherwood’s eyes had frightened him somewhat, stinging at him with their unfamiliarity, and it had been out of that those harsh words had come.

What does she think of me now? What will her friends think?

It was not that he felt afraid that the ton would somehow think less of him for speaking as he did, not that he had given even a moment of consideration to their point of view, but rather that Miss Sherwood’s view of him had changed dramatically – and not for the better.

He had tried his best to continue through society, to enjoy it as much as he ever had, but every place he went, every group of people he came to, he was looking only for her.

Making his way into Lord Abernathy’s ballroom, Nicholas could not help but hope that she was present.

He could not have any certainty over her response to his apology, of course, but he had to hope that she would accept it, at the very least. There was a sense of longing in his heart, something he had been trying to remove from himself these last few days, but it had only grown instead.

That was certainly disconcerting, but mayhap, if he apologized to her, then that feeling might fade entirely.

It was the only thing he could hope for, at least.

“Where are you going in such a hurry?”

Nicholas stopped short, seeing Lord Greenlaw, Lord Marchfield, and Lord Hewitt all standing together.

“Good evening, gentlemen.” He bowed quickly, having no desire to speak to any of his friends, not even Lord Bothwell, should he be present.

“I must take my leave of you, alas. There is an urgent conversation that must be had, you understand.”

“It must be very urgent indeed if you will not even greet us properly!” Lord Marchfield chuckled. “Is it something to do with your soiree?”

That stopped Nicholas in his tracks, turning his full attention back to Lord Marchfield.

His heart began to pound, afraid that somehow, his friends now knew of the forgeries on his wall.

Had Miss Sherwood said something? He would not have expected her to do so, but then again, with his poor behavior towards her, mayhap that was precisely what she had chosen to do.

“Whatever do you mean?” Choosing to keep his voice as steady as he could, he looked back at his friends. “What happened at my soiree?”

“Oh, you are pretending not to understand my meaning, I see!” Lord Marchfield chuckled, winking at Lord Hewitt. “It was Lord Hewitt who told us of it, my friend!”

Nicholas swallowed hard. “Of what?” he asked, aware that his voice sounded more like a demand now. “I do not know – ”

“You need not pretend,” Lord Hewitt interrupted, with a roll of his eyes.

“Miss Fairfax made it quite plain that she was deeply delighted with your attention to her and, thereafter, that she was a good deal less delighted with my conversation! That is the first time I think I have ever heard it said that you showed any sort of interest in any specific young lady!”

Relief swallowed him, and Nicholas managed to chuckle, shaking his head as he did so.

“My dear Lord Hewitt, I was not showing Miss Fairfax any particular interest, I can assure you. I may have thought her a very enjoyable young lady to speak with, but that does not mean I have any interest in her! I am afraid that both you – and she also, mayhap – are quite mistaken there.”

This did not make Lord Hewitt frown, but instead, he smiled broadly. “Then you will not mind in the least if I pursue her?”

“Not in the least,” Nicholas stated, quite firmly.

“Pray excuse me. I must go to find… Lord Bothwell.” Seeing the curiosity in his friends’ eyes, Nicholas quickly changed the person of interest with whom he wished to speak, not wanting them to think anything as regarded his desire to speak with Miss Sherwood.

They would not understand, and he had no intention of explaining himself!

With another nod, he stepped away, his sole intention now fixed on Miss Sherwood.

The ball was filled with various gentlemen and ladies, and though many a young lady smiled at him, their eyes aglow, Nicholas did nothing more than nod.

The only person he had to find was Miss Sherwood.

He had no thought of dancing, no thought of conversation or the like.

The only thing he wanted was to find Miss Sherwood, to greet her, and then apologize profusely.

Whatever came after, he did not care. At least he would be able to say what he knew he needed to say.

It felt as though he had been searching for her for nearly an hour, every minute that passed, an agony. A tight chest made it difficult to breathe with any ease, his hands curling tight as he weaved his way through the crowd.

And then, he spied her.

She was laughing, her eyes bright as she stood with her friends.

How different an expression on her face now from the one that he had left her with!

Heart pounding, he took a moment merely to compose himself and then made his way directly towards her.

Nicholas saw the moment she recognized him.

Her eyes flicked to him, then pulled away, only to jerk back in an instant.

The corners of her eyes rounded, and she licked her lips, murmuring something to her friend who quickly turned her head to look at him.

Flushing hot, Nicholas did not stop his steps towards her, stopping only to bow and then look up at her again.

“I apologize for the interruption,” he said, as all five of the ladies present turned their full attention towards him. “Miss Sherwood, I was hoping that you might spare me a minute of your time, even though I am well aware I do not deserve it.”

There came a moment of silence as the ladies looked at each other.

Miss Sherwood, however, let her gaze drop to the floor, perhaps considering her response before she answered him.

Sweat broke out across Nicholas’ forehead as he waited for her to give him her answer, fearful now that he would not even have the opportunity to apologize.

“Only a moment, Lord Suffolk.” Miss Sherwood spoke clearly, her eyes affixing to his once more. “I cannot spare more than that.”

His relief was so great, it came out in a rush of breath, making some of the other ladies look back at him in surprise.

Instead of explaining, however, Nicholas stepped to his right in the hope that Miss Sherwood would follow him, and after a moment, she did.

They stayed close to her friends, and Nicholas was quite certain that at least two of them would be able to hear what he had to say, but he did not care.

All that was important to him now was speaking his apology to the lady he had injured.

“Miss Sherwood,” he began, feeling as if his tongue was sticking to the roof of his mouth, “when we last spoke, you were offering me your help as regards the paintings in my house.”

“Yes, that is so.” She did not take her eyes from his, and Nicholas found himself wishing she might, for the sea blue in her eyes made his attention wander from what he wanted to say.

His breathing hitched as he struggled to remember precisely what it was he had been saying and what it was she had said in response.

Closing his eyes, he found clarity again, aware of a tiny tremor running through him.

“I spoke to you then in a manner which was most unfair, thoughtless, and cruel,” he stated, without softening his words to make himself out to be a little less dreadful than he had been. “I said things which must have caused you a great deal of pain, and for that, I am truly sorry.”

Miss Sherwood did not say anything in response, her expression unchanging, but a gentle glimmer in her eye which Nicholas could not ascertain as to what it might mean.

“I threw aside your kind offer of help,” he continued, when she said nothing.

“I showed you no appreciation for your recognition of my painting being a forgery, did not once mention your kindness and consideration in bringing that to my attention.” A shuddering breath ran out of him as his guilt slowly began to soften, inwardly relieved that he had been permitted the time to make her a sincere apology.

“Then, instead of accepting your offer of help as I ought, I threw it back at you and declared that I should never want the help of a bluestocking, which was not only disparaging but harsh and injurious.” Rubbing one hand over his face and feeling the heat there, he looked away again.

“Miss Sherwood, I can only apologize for my words to you – and my lack of appreciation also. It was wrong of me, and I wish I had not spoken so.”

Miss Sherwood took in a long breath, letting it out slowly as she folded her arms over her chest and then tilted her head, still regarding him with careful eyes.

Nicholas swallowed but said nothing, his words at an end and nothing more to be said.

Reminding himself that he did not need her to accept his apology but had only been required to make it, he held her gaze steadily and waited.

“A strange thing happened to me yesterday afternoon,” she said, surprising him with this turn of conversation.

“My sister, who has long blamed me for the damage caused between herself and Lord Bothwell, who declared to my parents in that moment that I was a bluestocking and who has been very distant with me of late, came to apologize.”