Wizard's Daughter (Sherbrooke Brides 10)

Nicholas said to the heavens, "I wonder if it would help me understand if I pounded my head against that stone wall over there." He looked at her, reached out, and managed to grab her hand. He pulled her after him back to the Sher­brooke town house. She didn't yell, for which he was pro­foundly grateful.

Douglas Sherbrooke, imposing in his black evening clothes and his head of thick white hair, eyed the newly arrived Nicholas Vail, Earl of Mountjoy, and felt a bolt of fear for

Rosalind. This young man was indeed honed hard to the bone, just as Ryder had said, and ruthless, he'd wager.

He watched the young man's eyes search the room until they found Rosalind , who was seated quietly in a wing chair by the fireplace. She looked pale to Douglas, not at all her usual laughing self, and the pale yellowish-green gown she wore didn't help. He frowned. Who had selected that gown for her? He would make sure she never wore it again.

He pulled his attention from Rosalind and her unfortu­nate gown as Ryder introduced him to Nicholas Vail.

The young man bowed, looked him straight in the eye. Be-damned, Nicholas Vail was as dark as he was, his eyes as black, and his swarthy skin wasn't entirely due to his months at sea.

Nicholas Vail could be my son, Douglas thought, and isn't that a kick to the head?

"My lord," Nicholas said. "It is my pleasure and honor to meet you."

Before Douglas could bear him off to seclusion in the es­tate room to pry every past sin out of him, Willicombe glided into the drawing room and announced dinner, addressing both the Countess of Northcliffe, all beautiful in dark green, her magnificent red hair twisted up about her finely shaped head (Willicombe occasionally entertained a vision of the countess's head as nicely shaved as his own) and Mrs. So­phie (such a gentle iron fist she had, and a lovely manner). "Cook requested th

at I inform you that she has prepared a very fine half calf's head, tongue, and brains, quite in the French way, although 'execrable' springs to mind when one speaks of the Frogs cooking anything."

The Countess of Northcliffe asked, "Is there perhaps something not quite so unambiguous she is also serving?"

"Fortunately yes, my lady. Not to be overlooked is her famous hailed bacon-cheek, garnished with spoonfuls of spinach followed by a compote of gooseberries, and cauli­flower with cream sauce, all blessedly prepared in the English way."

"My dreams have come true," Sophie said.

"I do not see Master Grayson," Willicombe said.

"He is dining at his club," Ryder said.

Willicombe bowed and walked from the drawing room, head tilted back, assuming, rightfully, that his betters would quickly follow, which they did.

"He is amazing," Nicholas said.

"That is what he told me when he became our London butler," Douglas said.

Alexandra had placed Nicholas and Rosalind across the table from each other, as Rosalind had asked her to. One of Nicholas's black eyebrows shot up, but he said nothing. Douglas spoke about his twin sons' own sets of twins, how they were the pictures of their respective fathers, which meant they were so fine looking it curdled his innards. As conversation and laughter flowed, Rosalind served herself some stewed Spanish onions, and screwed up her courage. She waited until everyone was served and there was a lull in the conversation. She cleared her throat and announced to the table at large, "Nicholas Vail, Lord Mountjoy, has asked me to marry him. It struck me between the eyes, and only after I accepted, that he did not know who I was, or who I wasn't, and I knew it would be a gross misalliance.

"I wish to announce that I will not marry Nicholas Vail, even though he is insisting upon it because he is very fond of my person and my singing voice and yes, it must be said, he enjoys kissing me. He also speaks of Fate bringing us to­gether, as if it were a meant thing, which sounds romantic, and somewhat mystical, but not at all to the point. He is no­ble. I am proving that I am noble as well." She stopped and spooned up some stewed Spanish onions, sweet with a punch of black pepper.

There was perhaps three seconds of stunned silence. As for Nicholas, he slowly put down his fork and smiled over at her. He said to Ryder and Sophie, "You are doubtless sur­prised that I have proposed marriage to her so quickly, per­haps more surprised that I did not speak with you first, sir. I apologize for that, but when a man is faced with his mate, the passage of time seems irrelevant. I wished to wait to speak to you, sir, to allow you more time to get to know me, to perhaps judge me as acceptable, but Rosalind has changed the game.

"I fear I must say it—she isn't being noble, she is being a knot-head, as a recent acquaintance of mine remarked. There is no one at this table who believes she is not worthy of me, that is, not worthy to be a peer's wife. Otherwise, I daresay Mr. Ryder Sherbrooke would not have made her his legai ward and brought her to London for her season. Am I correct, sir?"

Ryder was betwixt and between. He had to hand it to Nicholas Vail, he'd pinned him very nicely. He nodded, nothing else to do, his eyes never leaving Rosalind 's face, now flushed because—why? Because Nicholas hadn't folded his tent, but rather addressed the matter head on and with a great deal of skill? Ryder said slowly, unconsciously mangling a dinner roll in his hand, "Yes, we firmly believe she is wellborn. Actually, we have had no doubts from the time she finally opened her mouth and spoke, six months af­ter I found her. However, Nicholas, we have been unable to locate her parents, or any relatives, for that matter. And we gave up because, honestly, someone had indeed tried to mur­der a child, and we feared if we found her parents, she would still be in danger.

"Even today, ten years later, who is to say the motives for this deed aren't still valid in this person's mind? No, we have kept quiet and we will continue to keep all our inquiries to ourselves. She will continue to be Rosalind de La Fontaine until she regains her memory, something our physician doubts will happen, given that she's remembered nothing at all over the years."

Douglas focused his dark eyes on Nicholas Vail's face. "Understand, my lord, we are her family now and we will keep her safe."

"As will I," Nicholas said. "I swear it to all of you. No one will harm her in my care."

Rosalind leaned toward Nicholas. "Listen to me, Nicholas Vail. I am no more real than Shakespeare's Rosalind . I found my name in As You Like It, but I had preferred Ganymede—you remember, Rosalind disguised herself as a shepherd and called herself Ganymede—since I was living a sort of disguise myself, but Uncle Ryder and Aunt Sophie felt the name was perhaps a bit too unconventional. You must realize I could be the descendant of Attila the Hun or Ivan the Terrible, an alarming thought, don't you agree?"

Sophie ignored her. "When you began speaking, Rosalind , your English was clearly that of a well-bred young En­glish girl and we knew that you were wellborn. Your Italian was equally good, perhaps the result of an Italian nanny or an Italian parent.

"It was obvious there were evil persons in your back­ground, evil persons who saw you as some sort of threat and acted on it. That is all we know for sure. Please don't em­broider yourself into the Devil's spawn, else I must consider boxing your ears."

Ryder said, "My love, remember some of the pranks Rosalind pulled the children into in her younger years?"