Mira blanched. Nicholas’s mother had been mad?
“Madam, I will not tolerate you slandering my mother.” Nicholas had not raised his voice, but all of the women at the table started when he spoke. He stood in the doorway, his stance tense and faintly menacing, a faint beard shadow on his face lending his countenance a sinister quality. Even in the cheery morning sunlight, he appeared a creature of the night.
No one spoke. Lady Marleston, Lady Phoebe, and Mira sat perfectly still, only their eyes moving back and forth between Nicholas and Lady Blackwell, who stared intently at one another, the animosity between them palpable.
At last, Nicholas relaxed slightly and moved to the sideboard. Ignoring the cowering maid and foregoing the nicety of a plate, he selected a scone from the tray of breads. He sat at the end of the table directly opposite Lady Blackwell, the entire expanse of the dining table separating them. Mira had the distinct impression that battle lines were being drawn—and she had an almost overwhelming urge to move to the other end of the table to sit by Nicholas.
Propping the ankle of his bad leg on the knee of his good one, Nicholas began lazily breaking off bits of scone and popping them in his mouth. When he finished, he brushed the crumbs from his fingers, leaned back, and raised one eyebrow in silent challenge.
Lady Blackwell finally spoke, her voice calm but clipped. “There was no slander intended, Ashfield. Your mother was only, well, a bit fragile. Which,” she rushed on when he would have interrupted, “is perfectly understandable under the circumstances.” Some of the starch seemed to go out of her posture, and her voice took on a wistful tone. “Spending so many years here in the wild, far from her family, with no one to talk to, no one to keep her company.”
Nicholas’s expression softened a bit. “Yes,” he murmured, “the role of my father’s wife is a difficult one to play.”
Lady Blackwell inclined her head slightly in recognition of the olive branch Nicholas had offered. It appeared a truce had been called.
“Well,” she said crisply, signaling that the entire episode was over, “I promised Mrs. Thomas that I would visit today to discuss some charitable endeavor she has in mind.” She rose from the table with dignified grace. “Elizabeth? Phoebe? I assume you are coming?” Lady Marleston practically jumped out of her chair, the nervous glances she directed at Nicholas indicating that she would go just about anywhere, so long as it was away from him. Lady Phoebe heaved an exaggerated sigh and rolled her eyes, but at her mother’s stern look she, too, rose to leave.
“Miss Fitzhenry,” Lady Blackwell said “Would you care to join us?”
Mira knew she should go with Lady Blackwell, that showing an interest in good works might raise her a notch in the woman’s estimation. But she had barely slept at all the night before, and she sorely wanted a nap before taking up her investigation in earnest. “Thank you, Lady Blackwell, but I find I am still fatigued from the journey, so I believe I will beg off.”
“Very well, then. Ashfield?”
Nicholas smiled.
“No, I suppose not,” Lady Blackwell muttered. “Miss Fitzhenry, I trust you and your family can keep yourselves occupied in my absence?”
“Of course, Lady Blackwell,” Mira responded, but Lady Blackwell had already stepped into the hallway and was donning her pelisse.
Mira turned to find Nicholas watching her, amusement glinting in his eyes. She blushed under his scrutiny.
“Do not take it personally,” he finally said, all traces of anger now gone from his tone. “My stepmother has little patience for anyone, and your association with me is hardly a mark in your favor.”
“She said you were an artist, like your mother,” Mira prompted.
“It was not really her place to inform you of my pursuits. But, yes, I dabble in the arts.”
He seemed disinclined to pursue the subject further, so she returned to the issue of Lady Beatrix’s animosity. “Do you always get on like that?” she asked.
He smiled, but there was no humor in it. “Alas, yes.”
She knew she was prying, but she pushed on. “She seems to resent your mother. Is that because Lord Blackwell loved your mother first?”