Page 3 of The Viscount’s Forgery (Bluestocking Book Club #4)

Six months later

W alking into the ballroom, Nicholas let out a small breath of contentment, a smile spreading out across his face as he took in the scene.

It was a very busy room indeed, the chalk picture on the floor already dusted half to confusion, given the sheer number of dancers.

He had only been in London for a little over a sennight but was determined to stay for as long as he could to enjoy himself.

Yes, there was the responsibility to wed, but he did not have any intention of pursuing it this Season, however.

Mayhap it would be next year or even two years later, for Nicholas was in no hurry.

“Viscount Suffolk, good evening!”

“Good evening to you,” Nicholas responded, quickly falling into conversation with an old acquaintance, Lord Greenlaw, another bachelor gentleman.

When another fellow, Lord Marchfield, came to join them, he did not linger and chose quickly to take his leave.

His vast wealth was, unfortunately, the reason for many a gentleman and lady to be interested in his company, and while Lord Marchfield was a friend, he also had a sister whom he had previously pressed into Nicholas’ notice on more than one occasion and rather forcefully with it.

Nicholas had no qualms about making a show of his wealth, however, for his manor house and his townhouse were some of the most magnificent in London, filled with treasures, curiosities, paintings, sculptures, and all manner of things which declared to all his vast fortune.

Indeed, Nicholas had to admit that he took great pleasure in making certain he stood out from amongst the ton , that he was shown to be in good standing with them all, whether they thought well of him or not.

The only trouble was, he did not want to be known only for his wealth, and that, when it came to matrimony, was something of a difficulty.

Ladies looked at him with diamonds in their eyes, no doubt imagining what treasures he might purchase for them.

Gentlemen who had daughters of marriageable age thought to push their daughters into his arms, or if they had gambling debts and not enough coin, they might hope for a friendship between them both, strong enough that Nicholas would be generous towards them!

Nicholas had no intention of lingering in the company of anyone who would treat him that way and thus, continued through the ballroom at a leisurely pace, speaking to a few friends here and nodding to some acquaintances there.

There were, he noted, a few young ladies who had not had the pleasure of being acquainted with as yet, and some debutantes that he might like to dance with on occasion.

That made him smile, his heart lifting all the more as he continued to make his way through the crowd.

“Ah!” Spying a familiar face and a very good friend, Nicholas pushed his way through the crowd to a quieter part of the ballroom, a little surprised that his friend would be hiding in amongst the shadows.

He had already met the Marquess at a soiree some two days ago, and it had been a delight to see him again, though Nicholas had thought him a little quieter than before.

“Whatever are you doing here, hiding in the shadows?”

The gentleman’s gaze slipped towards his and then pulled away again. “Observing?”

“Yes, observing.”

Nicholas, who had known the Marquess for many years and had never once seen him in such a frame, let out a chuckle. “I am afraid, my friend, you do not look in the least bit pleased to be here.” Nudging him lightly, he grinned broadly. “You should at least attempt to smile.”

“I am smiling,” came the response, even as the darkness that lingered in the Marquess’ expression failed to convince Nicholas of it, leaving him a trifle concerned. “I am quite delighted to be back in London.”

This dulled response brought a frown to Nicholas’s face. “My friend, this is the first ball I have attended in London this Season and the first one I have seen you attend.”

“Indeed.”

“And you are not contented, are you?” Speaking directly, Nicholas folded his arms over his chest. “You need not pretend with me, you know very well that I will discover the truth regardless. I will press and question you until I find out.”

At this, the Marquess of Bothwell sighed. “No, I am not contented. Alas, however, I must pretend to be.”

“Pretend?” Nicholas dropped his hands to his sides, then reached to take a glass of brandy from a passing footman though his friend shook his head, refusing one. “Why must you pretend?”

“Because it is what one does, is it not?” The Marquess’ lips lifted mirthlessly. “I must pretend that I am a happy and contented gentleman, overwhelmed with happiness to be here in London and at one of society’s many balls else the ton are sure to whisper about me.”

This was not at all like the gentleman that Nicholas knew.

Yes, they had not seen each other for some months, but that did not mean that he had expected this severe change.

His happiness at being at the ball quickly faded, replaced with concern for his friend.

“Whatever has occurred to make you so despondent?”

The Marquess’ lips lifted. “You have always been direct, have you not?”

“I have,” Nicholas answered, with a shrug. “I do not see the need to speak at strange angles when I might otherwise walk a straight line.”

With a mirthless chuckle, the Marquess looked away. “You may recall that I was courting a young lady last Season.”

Nicholas nodded. “I returned to my estate before anything more had happened. I presumed, because there was no wedding invitation, that nothing had come of it.”

Hearing this, Lord Bothwell dropped his chin to his chest, let out a prolonged sigh, and then closed his eyes.

“But I think I must be mistaken in that,” Nicholas said, slowly, his heart beating a little faster as he realized that there was a heavy weight upon Lord Bothwell’s heart. “I am sorry to see you so despondent. Did she have no desire to consider you, then?”

Lord Bothwell opened his eyes. “I proposed to her and she accepted me.”

This did not make any particular sense to Nicholas, though he quickly exclaimed his congratulations, but Lord Bothwell did not smile.

“I proposed last year,” the Marquess told him, with Nicholas’ smile quickly fading. “We are not yet wed, though none in the ton know of our engagement, you understand. You must not speak of it.”

“I shall not, of course,” Nicholas said, slowly, trying to make sense of all that had been revealed, “though I do not think I could explain to anyone what the situation is even if they should question me! How can you still be engaged so long a time after proposing?”

A heavy sigh broke from the Marquess’ lips as he ran one hand over his eyes. “Something occurred only a week after our engagement,” he said, his voice low. “Something that has deeply concerned me, something that I cannot seem to remove from my mind no matter how hard I try.”

“Should you like to share it?” Nicholas asked, still trying to understand. “If you do not wish to speak of it, however, I quite understand. It seems to me, however, that it has burdened you somewhat.”

“Indeed.” The Marquess sighed again and then grimaced. “I should have taken that brandy while I had the opportunity.”

Nicholas handed him his as yet untouched one. “I will get another.”

His friend did not protest but took it with a murmur of thanks, slinging it back rather than savoring it.

Smacking his lips, he looked down at the empty glass and grimaced.

“I thought that I was in love with Polly – Miss Paulina Sherwood, as she is formally known. Her eyes captivated me the first time I looked into them; her smile was so beautiful, I lost my breath.”

Nicholas’s eyebrows lifted. He and Lord Bothwell had spoken about matrimony and the like on many occasions, but they had never discussed love or affection.

Indeed, their conversations had centered around what suitability would be required from their bride, what standards she would have to uphold.

Never once had Nicholas thought of affection and neither, so he had thought, had the Marquess.

Now, however, it seemed that his friend had quite lost his heart though mayhap that had been somewhat unexpected.

“You are wondering why I would fall in love when I had seemed not in the least bit interested in what my heart might do when it came to a lady,” Lord Bothwell said, reading Nicholas’ mind.

“I could not help it, I confess. I was lost, confounded, and overwhelmed. When she agreed to court me, I thought myself the most fortunate of all gentlemen.”

“You must have been drawn to her, given that her father’s title is significantly less than your own.”

Lord Bothwell shrugged. “He is still gentry, is he not? And wealthy also, though not by your standards.” His smile was brief.

“It did not matter to me, truth be told. We had many conversations, many wonderful conversations, and her character, it seemed, was gentle, kind, and sweet. I knew that she was well able to take on the duties that would be required of her, should she be my bride, and, in my longing, I asked her to marry me.”

“And she accepted you, surely?”

With a nod, Lord Bothwell looked down at the floor.

“It was our first meeting together after the proposal. The family was residing in Bath, choosing to spend a few weeks there after their time in London, and given that my estate is not far from there, they came to call – at my request, of course. Nothing had been said to any friends and family as yet, for I had still to arrange matters with her father.”

Nicholas’ eyebrows lifted. “Surely he did not refuse you consent?”