Page 27 of The Viscount’s Forgery (Bluestocking Book Club #4)
H aving made his declaration, Nicholas waited for Lord Marchfield to respond.
He had come here to have a conversation with his friend, but had not ever expected to feel such great sympathy for him.
Lord Marchfield had lied initially, but Nicholas could understand that.
There was fear there, a great and terrible dread that he had been found out and, thus, he had denied it until he was unable to do so any longer.
The more Lord Marchfield spoke, the more he had learned about his situation, and the greater Nicholas’ compassion had grown.
Here was a gentleman who had done nothing wrong, aside from putting money into investments that had failed.
Yes, he had admitted to making some poor choices, but that did not mean that his present circumstances were all his fault, for it seemed to Nicholas that he had done nothing deliberately.
To hear that Lord Marchfield’s late father had left him in a difficult circumstance had confirmed to Nicholas that Lord Marchfield had done nothing wrong.
Slowly, he had begun to understand the worry that would have slowly begun to drown the man, leaving him flailing as he fought for his life and his future.
Thus, now that he stood before Lord Marchfield, now that he saw the pain and the struggle and the strife, he could not let himself demand anything more from him.
The money from the paintings was already gone, no doubt, and the paintings themselves, he would never be able to find again.
Strangely enough, however, that meant nothing to him.
He did not seem to care that they were gone, that he would have forgeries on his wall instead of the originals.
Those things were trifles now. The greatest treasure he had was standing beside him.
“How… how can this be?” Lord Marchfield croaked, looking askance. “You cannot truly be suggesting that it is all forgotten, surely?”
Nicholas nodded, understanding his friend’s confusion and doubt.
It had been a great deal of money that Lord Marchfield had taken from him, but Nicholas was not about to demand anything from him.
It was not as though he did not have more than enough wealth.
“It is, truly,” he said, another wave of compassion breaking over him as Lord Marchfield covered his face with both hands, his back rounding.
“What is more, why do you and I not discuss business together? I have many excellent investments and would be very glad to advise you there.”
Lord Marchfield let out a shaking breath. “I cannot accept that from you, not after what I have done.”
“You can.” Miss Sherwood took a step closer to Lord Marchfield, her hand going to his arm as he looked back at her, seemingly unable to send even a glance towards Nicholas. “Lord Suffolk understands, as do I.”
“Miss Sherwood here was the one who noticed the forgery,” Nicholas told Lord Marchfield, a sense of pride growing within him, pride that she was so utterly wonderful and, at the same time, willing to stand beside him. “Without her, I would not have discovered the truth.”
Lord Marchfield dropped his head again. “You are showing kindness and generosity to the man who has stolen from you, Suffolk. It is not deserved.”
“And I have been given many things I have not deserved,” Nicholas answered, recalling the forgiveness Miss Sherwood had offered him, the willingness to aid him that might easily have been kept back had she chosen to do so.
“Please, Marchfield. Let me help you. If you have no money for investments, I will invest on your behalf.”
His friend’s head shot up. “I – I would repay you, in time,” he said, stuttering a little as Nicholas smiled. “Truly, Suffolk, I cannot quite believe that you are offering me such generosity and understanding. I ought to be shamed utterly.”
“I think you have put enough weight upon your shoulders for the moment,” Nicholas answered, putting out one hand to him. “We are friends, Marchfield. I hope we can continue that way.”
Lord Marchfield stared at Nicholas’ hand as if he did not know what to do with it. After a long moment and with something that sounded suspiciously like a sob caught in his throat, he grasped Nicholas’ hand and shook it firmly.
“I will never forget this,” he swore, finally looking straight into Nicholas’ face. “Never. You have my word on that.”
Nicholas smiled, released his friend’s hand, and then stepped back. “Call upon me very soon, Marchfield. Within the next few days.”
“I shall.” There was a thickness to Lord Marchfield’s voice that spoke of an overwhelming emotion, but Nicholas did not press him. Watching his friend take his leave, Nicholas turned to Miss Sherwood, who was now looking up at him with shining eyes, catching the moonlight above them.
“It is over.” He spread out his arms wide on either side. “I think that went very well.”
“Oh, Suffolk!”
Before Nicholas knew what was happening, Miss Sherwood had thrown her arms tightly around his neck, pulling him into her embrace.
With only a swift hitch of his breath, Nicholas swept his arms around her.
Holding her close, he turned her gently, stepping back a little so that the darkness might hide them all the more.
“That was truly wonderful,” she whispered in his ear, pulling back just a little, though her hands remained on his shoulders. “To hear you speak so, to have you so generous with your wealth… that was a beautiful moment. Lord Marchfield was so very grateful.”
“I realized that the paintings were not worth more than the friendship I have with Lord Marchfield.” Nicholas swallowed at the tightness in his throat, aware that he wanted very much to lower his head and kiss her, but also fearful of what might happen should they be discovered.
The last thing he wanted to do was disgrace her, and thus, carefully, he took his hands from her waist and moved back just a fraction. “That came from you, Miss Sherwood.”
“Me?” She stepped back from him, her hands falling to her sides. “In what way?”
“You displayed a generosity of spirit and a willingness to forgive,” he told her. “Besides which, as I have spent time in your company, I have begun to realize just how trifling such things as paintings are.”
The corners of her mouth lifted.
“There are things that are a good deal more important,” he continued, making sure to speak quietly so they could not be overheard.
“To invest my time and money into vases and ornaments and mirrors… does that bring me any lasting satisfaction? Does it bring me happiness, deep and true happiness?” Shaking his head, he smiled ruefully.
“I can assure you, it does not. Not when I feel that now I know what it is to have genuine happiness and joy.”
She tilted her head just a little. “And what is it that brings you such happiness, Suffolk?”
“Suffolk? I thought that was you!” Lord Bothwell’s voice broke through the conversation, leaving Nicholas a good deal frustrated, though he fought not to show it.
“Ah, good evening, Miss Sherwood.” He grinned, his face illuminated by the flickering flames as both Nicholas and Miss Sherwood stepped out of the darkness and back towards the path through the gardens.
“I am here with your sister, Miss Sherwood.”
“I – I am walking with Lord Suffolk,” Miss Sherwood answered, her voice a little strained. “We were discussing happiness, Lord Bothwell.”
“Happiness?” It was the other Miss Sherwood who spoke now, no concern whatsoever in her expression or her voice that her sister was walking alone with Nicholas, for which he was very grateful. “I can tell you what brings me happiness, if you wish?”
“Please.” Offering Miss Eugenia Sherwood his arm and relieved that, at least, they would now be quite proper given the company, Nicholas came to stand beside his friend and Miss Sherwood, seeing how Polly sent her sister a twinkling smile. “We would be glad to hear it.”
“Happiness is every moment that I have to spend with Bothwell,” she said, looking up at him as Lord Bothwell set his hand upon hers. “To be fully known, with our faults and our failings, and yet to be loved despite them. That security, that comfort, that understanding… that is happiness.”
Nicholas’ heart pulled him towards Miss Eugenia Sherwood with such strength that it almost forced him to tell her all that he now felt.
But, with an effort, he forced himself to look back at Miss Polly Sherwood instead.
“I think I agree with you, Miss Sherwood,” he said, hoping that the meaning of his words would not be lost upon the wonderful lady he had on his arm.
“In fact, I agree with you wholeheartedly.” Taking a breath, he let his head turn, his eyes going to Miss Sherwood’s.
“Surely there could be nothing more wonderful than that.”