Читать книгу Blackwood's Lady - Gail Whitiker, Gail Whitiker - Страница 9

The image of Nicola standing in the darkened billiards room, with a hunting falcon perched proudly on her arm, and blood staining the flimsy layer of cloth with which she had wrapped it for protection, stayed with David for a very long time. In fact, it made for an extremely restless night.

What the devil had she been thinking of? Imagine trying to rescue a bird that could just as easily have…ripped her to shreds as look her in the eye! It was commendable, yes. And brave, certainly. But, as the future Marchioness of Blackwood, it was hardly appropriate behaviour. Especially occurring right in the middle of their betrothal ball as it had.

Well, it would no doubt make for an interesting topic of conversation later in the day, David reflected as he stood in the guest bedroom at Wyndham Hall the next morning and painstakingly arranged the folds of his cravat into a perfect Mathematical. And for some clever explanations on the part of his fiancée, to be sure!

By the time David reached the breakfast parlour—his appetite having been considerably whetted by the tantalizing smells issuing from it—he was ready for a hearty repast. The fact that he would likely be enjoying it alone did not trouble him unduly. He knew that Lord Wyndham was not partial to breakfast, having oft heard him refer to it as a singularly uninspiring meal, and, as he knew that it was not the custom for well-bred young ladies to rise early following a night of dancing and revelry, David had no reason to suspect that Nicola would put in an appearance much before noon.

But then, he’d had no reason to suspect that she would treat him to a display of falconry in the billiards room last night either. Which was probably why, when he entered the breakfast parlour to find his fiancée already seated at one end of the long mahogany table, her plate generously heaped with curried eggs and toast, and her attention riveted on the pages of the romantic novel in front of her, he was not overly surprised.

‘Good morning, Nicola,’ he said laconically. ‘Interesting book?’

Nicola’s head shot up, her eyes widening in dismay as she realised that, once again, David had caught her doing something that wasn’t quite appropriate. She quickly closed the book and offered him what could only be called an apologetic smile. ‘David, pray forgive my abominable manners. Miss Withers would have had apoplexy if she’d caught me reading at the table, but, in truth, I did not expect to see you downstairs until much later.’

‘Later?’ David propped his back against the edge of the door and remarked in some surprise, ‘Do I strike you as such a layabout, then?’

Catching the subtle inflection, Nicola hastened to reassure him. ‘Not at all. It was simply my understanding that fashionable gentlemen preferred to keep to their beds in the morning. Unless they were partaking of some early morning sport, of course.’

‘Of course.’ Tempted to inform her that the only kind of sport that would keep him abed of a morning included the willing participation of a certain kind of lady, David instead said, ‘I was under the impression that fashionable young ladies did exactly the same thing.’

‘Well, yes, I believe they do. But then, I do not aspire to be a lady of fashion,’ Nicola told him with an unaffected smile. ‘At least, not in the truest sense of the word. There is precious little need for that when one spends most of one’s time in the country.’

She might not aspire to be a lady of fashion, David thought, but one would never know it by her charming appearance this morning. In the fashionable white muslin gown, delicately embroidered with sprigs of pale blue flowers around the square neckline and hem, Nicola presented a very pretty picture indeed. Her hair was caught up in a charming cluster of curls, through which a ribbon the same colour as the flowers on her dress had been wound, while a few stray tendrils hung loose against the curve of her neck. It was only the fact that she was clearly enjoying a rather hearty meal, and that she had probably risen earlier than most of the household, that lent credibility to her statement at all.

‘I take it from the fact that you are already well along with your breakfast that you are in the habit of rising early?’ David enquired mildly.

‘Oh, yes, most assuredly. Morning is my favourite time of the day.’

‘How unusual. A lady who professes no concern as regards to maintaining a fashionable appearance, and who prefers the quiet, restful hours of a country morning. I would venture to say, my dear,’ David said with a meaningful glance, ‘that you are not at all typical of the rest of your breed.’

‘No, so Papa has often told me. No doubt that is why I have been spared the attentions of the young tulips and dandies of London Society. I can neither match them in appearance, nor keep up with their nocturnal habits. Indeed, were I to marry such a man, I dare say we should see precious little of each other of a day.’

David’s mouth twitched, but he stubbornly refused to smile. He wasn’t yet ready to forgive Nicola for her behaviour of the previous night. ‘Should I be offended that you do not consider me such a paragon of gentlemanly fashion?’

‘Ah, but you are, my lord,’ Nicola assured him in a most serious tone, even as her eyes sparkled. ‘You are a pattern card to many a young sprig of fashion. But not, I fear, to the fribbles and dandies who would wear their collar points so high as to restrict movement of the head, or don waistcoats so bright that they are painful to the eye. Those are definitely not the type of gentleman who would emulate your considerably more…refined sense of style.’

She was bamming him, David acknowledged ruefully, and with a deftness that was making it dashed hard for him not to laugh out loud. He had not expected to find such a lively wit dwelling behind those enchanting eyes, nor such a conspicuous lack of arrogance in her character. Until now, those were qualities which he had found sadly lacking in the females of his acquaintance.

He pushed himself away from the door, and set about examining the tempting array of hot and cold delicacies displayed in silver platters upon the sideboard.

‘I hope you are recovered from the events of last evening,’ he remarked idly, selecting, amongst other things, a slab of freshly cured ham, a morsel of rare steak, two poached eggs and three slices of toast.

Having decided early on to be as optimistic as possible about what had happened in the billiards room last night, Nicola offered him a dazzling smile. ‘I am suffering no ill effects whatsoever. In fact, I am not in the least tired, even considering all the dancing—’

‘It was not the dancing I was referring to,’ David said, cutting across her spate of cheery words. ‘I was referring to that little episode with the bird.’

Nicola’s smile dimmed a little. ‘Oh, that.’

‘Yes, that.’ David nodded briefly in the direction of a footman, who scurried from the room in search of fresh coffee. ‘I notice that you have covered your arms today. Are your injuries so grievous that you need to hide them from me?’

Nicola glanced up at him with an expression of genuine surprise. ‘They are not grievous at all, it is merely the style of the dress. I have many others like it. Besides, as I told you last night, the bandage made the injuries appear far worse than they really were.’

‘Indeed.’ David turned back to the sideboard. ‘What I should like to know is what a falcon was doing in the billiards room in the first place. And why you were the one trying to capture it.’

‘Actually, I was…rescuing her.’

‘I beg your pardon?’

‘I was rescuing Guinevere. She belongs to me, you see,’ Nicola explained. ‘I found her in the woods some weeks ago.’

David turned to stare at the elegant young lady sitting so calmly at the table in front of him, and said, in disbelief, ‘You found a wounded falcon…and brought it home?’

‘Well, yes. She had injured her wing and I knew that she was unlikely to survive the night, so I brought her back here and began nursing her back to health.’

‘Nicola, we are not talking about a pretty little finch here. We are talking about a bird of prey, traditionally used for the hunting of small vermin and rodents. You can’t just…take it in and treat it like a pet.’

‘Guinevere is very gentle and exceedingly well behaved—’

‘Yes, I saw how well behaved she was last night,’ David drawled. ‘So well that, even with a broken wing, she flew out of her cage at the first opportunity.’

‘She merely slipped out when Jamie was feeding her,’ Nicola replied in the bird’s defence. ‘It should never have happened.’

‘And it wouldn’t have, had you had sense enough not to keep the bird in the first place!’

‘She would have died without my care!’

‘That is the law of nature, Nicola. In the wild, only the strong survive. You cannot take it into your head to rescue every wounded bird you come across. My God, we should be overrun! Or over flown,’ David muttered under his breath.

‘I am hardly keeping a flock, my lord,’ Nicola said, crossing her arms in defiance. ‘I merely rescued one injured falcon.’

‘I understand that, but has it not occurred to you that you might have been injured last night? What if that damn bird had gone for your face?’

‘Oh, David, there was never any danger of that,’ Nicola said, her tone evidencing a complete lack of concern. ‘Guinevere was simply frightened by all the noise. You saw how docile she became when everyone quietened down.’

‘And the injuries to your arm?’

‘Were my own fault for not ensuring that the bandage was made thick enough.’

‘But surely you realize—’

‘My lord, would you care for some of Cook’s homemade apricot jam?’ Nicola interrupted, as the door to the parlour suddenly swung open and the footman returned carrying a fresh pot of coffee. ‘She is renowned throughout the county for the recipe. I think you will find it goes very nicely on your toast.’

Forced by the rules of etiquette to comply, David smiled, and duly accepted the pot of jam Nicola held out to him. It wasn’t the thing to be seen arguing in front of servants, and he waited until the young man had resumed his place by the door before continuing in a much softer voice, ‘Nicola, I understand that you wished to help the bird, and I certainly cannot fault you for that. But I must insist that, from now on, if you happen to find any injured birds lying in the field, you leave them where they are. You will be far too busy attending to your duties as the Marchioness of Blackwood to trouble yourself with every debilitated bird you come across.’