Page 3 of When I Fall in Love (De Piaget #4)

ARTANE SPRING 1229

N icholas de Piaget sat at the lord’s table in his father’s keep and wondered why it was that the bloody hall before him couldn’t have been empty for a change. He was just as able as the next man to appreciate a beautifully dressed woman, or a fine cup of wine, or a well-played ballad, but there was a limit to the number of times he could be expected to appreciate the like. If he had to endure another evening of food, wine, and capering about to even the admittedly excellent music being played currently, he would lose what few wits remained him.

Unfortunately, there seemed to be no end to the torture in sight. His grandmother, Joanna of Segrave, was determined to fill Artane’s great hall with maidens of marriageable age and attractive dowries to tempt him, lure him, vex him, or befuddle him to the altar.

Presently he was being tormented by five of his grandmother’s findings. There was a child of no more than twelve summers who he actually hadn’t seen completely as she seemed determined to hide behind her mother’s skirts. Another wench sat in a chair near one of the hearths, watching him with a calculating look that made him want to go hide behind his mother’s skirts. A third was speaking to his grandmother in a voice so shrill that even the excruciatingly proper Joanna of Segrave was looking about for a means of escape. Nicholas would have led her to one, but he was sitting between the final two ladies and politeness demanded that he not leave the table until they did. He suspected that, given the way they were working their way through their meals and his, too, they would not be leaving anytime soon.

“What a fine hall your father has, my lord,” remarked Adelina of Cladford, the fair-haired woman on his right. She looked over said hall with a practiced eye. “So richly furnished. And what a fine table he sets.”

“Ah,” Nicholas began, but found that his thoughts on the matter were unnecessary.

“Aye, I agree,” said Herleva of Kirton, the equally lovely black-haired woman on his left. She reached over him to stab a particularly succulent piece of meat on his trencher with her knife. “Though it seems to be rather thin here before us, don’t you agree, my lord?”

“Um,” Nicholas said, wondering if she might stab him next if he answered amiss.

Fortunately, whether he agreed or not did not seem to matter. The two began a very thorough and detailed assessment of the supper, the wine, and the desserts that were coming now from the kitchens. Nicholas half feared the women would turn to him and then spend the rest of the evening deciding how best to divide him between them.

Actually, the longer he sat there, the more he suspected that such would not be his fate. The ladies of Cladford and Kirton talked over and around him as if he hadn’t been there. And once all the food had been seen to and they were left with their goblets of wine, he learned a great deal about the proper cut of sleeve required at court, how best to determine how far the hair should recede off the brow to give a suitable look to the headdress, and which mistresses of which lords had moved on to richer coffers and better laid tables.

Adelina tapped him suddenly on the arm.

“We’ve run out of wine,” she announced.

Nicholas caught the eye of one of his father’s pages who ran off immediately toward the kitchen. He smiled politely at Adelina.

“Not long now.”

She considered him. “You’re not enjoying this overmuch, are you?”

“Are you?” he countered.

Adelina shrugged. “I am here to humor the lady of Segrave and my father both. Enjoyment is not the desired result.”

“Nor for me,” agreed Herleva.

“And you’re here for no other reason?” Nicholas asked, amused.

“Oh, you are handsome,” said Adelina.

“And rich,” added Herleva.

“But, you’re not for me,” Adelina finished. She looked at him unflinchingly. “You have a murky past, my lord.”

“Some would consider that an asset,” he said lightly.

“Aye, if you want a lover,” said Herleva, looking at him in much the same way she had the boar not an hour ago, “but not if you’d like a husband.”

“Tsk,” said Adelina. “Too much time at court, Herleva. That wasn’t polite.”

Nicholas waved away her words. “I’ve a thick skin,” he said easily. “But no need for a lover at present.” He stood up, pushed his chair back, and made way for the wine. “If you ladies will permit me, I have a message to carry to my father.”

Aye, that I’ve bloody had enough tonight and ’tis his turn to come make an appearance at the table with these vultures.

The women waved him on while holding out their cups to be refilled.

Nicholas turned and walked into his elder brother before he saw him. He could tell by the set of Robin’s jaw that he had heard the last exchange. Nicholas clapped a hand on his shoulder and turned him around.

“Ouch, damn you,” Robin said in annoyance, prying Nicholas’s fingers off him. “I was going.”

“Good. I’m following.”

And he did, pushing Robin ahead of him until they had reached the entrance to the passageway that led to their father’s solar. Then Robin stopped and looked at him, his eyes glittering in the torchlight.

“Stupid, thoughtless—”

Nicholas shook his head with a smile. “How gallant you are, brother, to defend my abused honor.”

“Murky past, my arse,” Robin snorted. “I’d be more worried about their pasts. Were they maids, do you suppose?”

“I try not to speculate on that sort of thing.”

“Wise,” Robin agreed. Then he paused. “Shall we go? Stare at them from the shadows and discuss their flaws? That might pass the rest of the evening most pleasantly.”

Nicholas suppressed the urge to roll his eyes. The only thing possibly more irritating than his grandmother’s enthusiasm over the prospect of seeing him wed was his elder brother’s delight in inspecting what goods arrived as inducements.

“I think I’ve looked enough,” Nicholas said, “but if you’ve the stomach for it, I won’t stop you.”

“Alone?” Robin said with a delicate shudder. “Thank you, but nay. I just came to rescue you. You know, you look hungry.”

“I am,” Nicholas said, but Robin had already trotted away with the lightness of step only a man safely wed and free from Joanna of Segrave’s piercing gaze could possibly manage. Nicholas turned back to look out over the hall, wondering how best he might have something to eat without returning to the festivities. If his grandmother saw him, he was doomed.

Not that all her sojourns to Artane had been so unpleasant. Indeed, he’d been a bit surprised at all the beauties she had been able to produce over the past year. Some of them had even been old enough to be considered women and not children.

Unfortunately, even the children had been far more interested in the state of his purse than the condition of his heart. Was it possible to find a woman who could actually see him, not his riches, nor his titles, nor his reputation?

He remembered his sister complaining about the same thing. At the time, he’d thought her complaints to be too many and too loud. Now, he understood completely. Fortunately for Amanda, she had found a man who hadn’t cared less about her dowry.

He was beginning to fear he wouldn’t have such a happy ending to his own tale.

“Ah, Nicky, love,” a weathered voice said smoothly. “Come and be sociable.”

Nicholas cursed under his breath. Caught, and so easily, too. Unfortunately, he couldn’t glare at his grandmother; she would have pinched his ear at a most inopportune moment as repayment. He also couldn’t glare at her because she was a delightful old woman who had always loved him unreservedly; there was little she could not prevail upon him to do. So he sighed, put on his best courtly manners, and offered her his arm.

Joanna put her hand on his sleeve and smiled up at him. “Come and look what I have brought you to choose from.”

“Grandmère, I’ve already looked and I’m not interested.”

“How can you deny an old woman her wish to see her favorite grandson wed?” She squeezed his arm with a grip that would have frightened a man of lesser spine. “And you’d best make up your mind quickly, Nicky, before I’m dead. Ah, look you here,” she said suddenly, and quite loudly, “there is the lady of Clyffe and her lovely daughter who has overcome her shyness to make you a curtsey. Here is my grandson, Nicholas, lord of Wyckham. Nicholas,” she muttered under her breath, “smile, damn you.”

Nicholas did.

She pinched his ear anyway.

I t took another hour, but he finally orchestrated an escape. He had spewed out in one evening more insincere compliments than any man could reasonably have been expected to voice during the course of an entire year, then pled a bit of manly business as his excuse and fled without a backward glance. Supper could wait. He strode down the passageway to the lord’s solar and burst in, slamming the door behind him.

His family was there, looking comfortable and content. Nicholas scowled, booted his youngest brother out of a chair, then sat with a curse. He glared at his father.

“I told Grandmère you were anxious to come and see to her guests.”

Rhys looked faintly panicked. “Surely I cannot. It would be unchivalrous of me to leave your mother here.”

“Take her with you.”

“The company would weary her.”

Nicholas scowled. “Feeble excuses, Father. Admit it. You’re afraid.”

“Terrified,” Rhys admitted promptly. “And I hesitate to decide what frightens me more: the ladies or your grandmother.” He shivered. “The saints be praised I am safely wed.”

“You are fortunate indeed,” Nicholas grumbled.

“You should find a wife,” Robin suggested. “Your humors will improve.”

“I would,” Nicholas said through gritted teeth, “if I could find a woman who didn’t hide each time I looked at her!”

“There are many women who look forward to the sight of you,” Anne said, smiling at him.

“Ah, but those aren’t the kind of wench Nick dares show to his mother—”

“Robin!” Anne exclaimed.

“Nicholas,” Rhys warned.

Nicholas was halfway across the chamber, his hands outstretched to throttle his brother. Robin merely sat in his chair, grinning evilly. Nicholas straightened, smoothed down the front of his tunic, and resumed his seat with as much dignity as possible. He looked at Anne. “Your husband is a dolt.”

“Robin, do not,” Rhys warned.

Robin waved his father away. “That was but a weak insult; not even worth getting up for. But I think it illustrates the deeper problem here. His humors are unbalanced—likely a result of still being unwed. Obviously, we must renew our efforts to find our lovely Nicky a bride.”

“He’ll find the right woman at the right time,” Gwen said placidly.

“Apparently not without help,” Robin said. “’Tis baffling, isn’t it? Surely there is at least one wench in England to suit him.”

Nicholas had to sit on his hands to keep from throwing something at his brother.

“You would think,” Robin added.

“As usual, you shouldn’t,” Nicholas said shortly. He turned to his mother. “I can bear this madness no longer. I must escape. Perhaps I will go to Wyckham and make repairs.”

“Not the roof again,” Robin groaned. He rose and reached down to pull Anne to her feet. “Let us leave him before we must listen to yet another endless list of all the activities his stone masons have been about. This is why he is not wed. He bores his potential brides with tales of stones and mortar.”

He flicked Nicholas companionably on the ear as he passed. Montgomery, John, and Miles soon followed, taking Isabelle with them.

Rhys sighed and rose from his chair. “I suppose I should go attempt to appease Lady Joanna.”

Gwen smiled up at him. “You know she loves you well.”

“She has never forgiven me for bringing you so far north. My meals at her supper table are proof enough of that.”

“She thinks rich fare is unhealthy for a warrior.”

Rhys grunted. “And so she feeds me oats and carrots as if I were a horse.” He leaned over and kissed his lady. “I’ll go humor her yet again and see if it earns me at least a sweet upon our next visit.”

“I’ll come in a moment or two,” Gwen said with a smile. “To save you from her, if necessary.”

Rhys muttered something Nicholas was just certain wasn’t complimentary about his lady’s mother under his breath as he left the solar.

Nicholas watched his father go, then turned to look at his mother. She was studying him gravely.

“What?” he asked with a faint smile.

“I wish you were happier,” she said.

“I am happy.”

Gwen shook her head. “If it were merely a bout of foul humors, I would not worry, but I fear it is more than that.” She paused. “I wish you could find what your heart seeks.”

“A dry spot in front of my own fire?”

“You will not be serious about this, but I vow, Nicky my love, that there is a part of your heart that needs tending that none of us can provide.”

He shook his head. “I am merely weary of the endless parade of females that do not interest me.”

“What are you looking for?”

That was the question indeed—and one he’d never truly given thought to until his grandmother had begun her siege. Now, he had a list.

He wanted a woman who could appreciate a finely tuned lute, a well-crafted bit of poetry, a beautiful tapestry. He wanted a woman who had a thought in her head besides what was put there by her sire or the asps at court. He wanted a woman who could see him, not his wealth or his reputation. Even the women who had tempted him slightly had looked at him with the sort of calculation that said he’d best be damned rich for them to overlook his murky past.

Of course, he could tell his mother none of that, so he settled for a smile.

“I have had the good fortune of knowing many strong women—”

“Or the misfortune,” Gwen put in mildly.

Nicholas shook his head. “You know you do not mean that. You and your daughters are without peer. Poor fool am I to want the same kind of woman for myself.”

Gwen rose, leaned over to kiss the top of his head, then put her hand under his chin and lifted his face up. “When you fall in love, it will be with someone extraordinary, someone much more remarkable than anyone your grandmère can produce. I have no doubt you’ll find her.”

Nicholas nodded, but he couldn’t answer. He couldn’t agree and he wasn’t going to argue with the sentiments of a woman who loved him.

“Did you have supper, son?”

“I couldn’t bring myself to fight my table companions for it.”

“Poor Nicholas,” Gwen said with a rueful laugh. “I’ll see some sent in to you.”

“Thank you, Mother,” Nicholas said. He watched her walk out the door, then turned toward the fire.

In one thing she spoke truly and that was that he would never find a woman to love in a great hall peopled by women of his grandmother’s choosing. He was beginning to despair of finding a woman in any other country. If the ladies Joanna had found were any indication of what he could hope for, he would be better off contenting himself with merely being uncle to his nieces and nephews and father to none.

It was, he decided grimly, a rather gloomy thought.

Fortunately, food arrived before he could fully wallow in misery. He thanked the servant and set to a hearty meal without delay.

Once he was finished, he pushed back from his father’s table and nodded to himself, his decision made. As soon as it was polite, he would bid his family adieu and make for Wyckham. At least there he would face nothing more remarkable than getting rained on in his own hall. With any luck, he could have supper without having to fight for it.

He banked the fire in his father’s solar, then blew out the candles and left the chamber.

Peace, quiet, and nothing out of the ordinary.

It was just what he needed.