Master Of Paradise (3 page)

He cleared his throat politely, but made no answer to her opening gambit. She arose from the bed and smoothed the heavy satin negligee over her hips, allowing her hands to linger upon her own body. "Hugh goes with the prince to Newmarket for the races, so I shall be alone all next week." She paused expectantly.

Well, I'll be damned,
Nick thought.

With one finger she touched the starched white shirtfront that covered his hard chest and said huskily, "I shall be very lonely."

Nicholas drew back a fraction, bowed formally and murmured, "I shall inform Lady Pamela and urge her to visit you, Lady Sackville." As he made his escape he thought,
Talk about kiss and tell!
It was a month past that he had succumed to a similar invitation from vivacious and irresistible Georgina Devonshire, and since that night he'd received three blatant propositions from married women. Cynically, he was annoyed to think his name was being passed about by the social lionesses who were suffering from night starvation.

When he returned to the card table, he offered to take on the role of croupier since he was already the richer by almost a thousand guineas, and this would allow him to help and advise his father to make wise bets in his desire to clean out the prince.

When the game broke up at 2 a.m. Harry's exuberance could not be concealed. The amount of port wine and brandy he had consumed were responsible in part, but in the main it was due to Nick's uncanny luck at Baccarat that had rubbed off on him tonight.

Lord Bora's son, Perry, beckoned Nicholas into the entrance away from the others. "My pockets are to let Nick, you don't suppose you could let me have a couple of hundred until next month's allowance, do you?"

Nick grinned and gave his friend what he asked for, although he knew from past experience the loan would never be repaid.

"Thanks Nick, you're a gentleman, although," he added petulantly, "it doesn't seem quite fair somehow that you always win."

Nicholas refrained from pointing out that Perry usually gained from these winnings. Instead he looked amused and said, "Perhaps it's because I laugh at Fate and accept whatever she sends my way."

In the stables, Nicholas knew better than to offer to help his father mount. After three false starts, Harry managed to get his leg over the huge bay and before Knole was barely out of sight, he began to sing at the top of his lungs, and he insisted Nicholas join in with him or be dubbed a
bloody sobersides.

When they came within a mile of home, Harry challenged his son to a race. Nick tried to discourage him, knowing there were two fences and a stone wall to be cleared, no small feat for a man of his age, even when completely sober. It was the wall that undid him.

Nicholas dismounted in a flash, fearful of what he would find on the far side of the stone wall. Harry wasn't unconscious, but his leg lay at an odd angle to his body and the wind had been completely knocked out of him.

"I'll ride on and get help. For God's sake Father, stay still. I'm afraid the leg's busted."

Harry actually chuckled. "The woman always predicted I'd be brought home feet first!"

Nicholas and a groom carried him home on a door, with a second groom leading the horses. Nick had already dispatched a man for old Dr. Hamilton. Since the night had turned bitter cold, he knew he must get his father out of the biting autumn winds that were swirling the fallen leaves in furious circles.

Lady Pamela awaited them at the front entrance to Peacock Hall. Nicholas was relieved when he glimpsed her calm, serene face and her unruffled demeanor.
She can always be counted on to remain cool and collected, even in an emergency.
She held a lamp to light their way upstairs, and Nick did his best to reassure her.

"He was thrown, I'm afraid, although he wasn't knocked unconscious. I've already sent for the doctor."

They set the wooden door down on the black and white marble tiles of the entrance Hall.

"I think we'll do better if I carry him from here," Nick decided swiftly, stooping and lifting the large man as gently as possible. His father's usually florid face had gone white with the pain, and he whispered, "That was my favorite hunter-- he won't have to be put down, will he?"

Nick shook his head. "He's perfectly all right-- we may have to shoot you though," he joked affectionately.

Lady Pamela glided into the bedchamber and set the lamp on a bedside table. She smoothly turned back the sheets and stood back for Nicholas to deposit his burden. She efficiently dispatched a servant for shears so that the riding boot could cut from the leg, and brought forward the brandy decanter.

"I think he's had enough," Nick said, feeling guilty for his father and himself, beneath her cool gaze.

By the time the old doctor arrived ,Nick had managed to remove the boot and disrobe Harry. He was almost surprised that his father allowed his ministrations, as he'd always sworn he'd never have a valet. A man who couldn't dress and undress himself wasn't worthy to be called a man, he always declared in the same scathing tone he reserved for males who rode in carriages.

Nicholas helped the doctor straighten and splint the leg, then the doctor gave Lady Pamela some tablets and a bottle, along with careful instructions.

"I'll be along tomorrow, Lord Peacock. You've got a wonderful nurse here." Dr. Hamilton beckoned Lady Pamela from the room and told her to keep the patient quiet. "There shouldn't be any complications, my lady, but he's going to be off that leg for a long time, and I don't suppose he'll be an easy patient for you, my dear."

She smiled patiently. "He won't be any bother, doctor. How kind of you to worry about me."

Nicholas smiled at her. "I'll do my best to keep him amused. I'm sorry this happened." He felt he apologized for his father as well as himself.

The next day Harry was running a fever, and the day after that he began to cough. On the third day the doctor began treating him for bronchitis and by the fifth, fateful day, he solemnly announced that Lord Peacock had developed pneumonia.

Nicholas marveled at the devoted figure who quietly attended the sick bed. He thanked God for Lady Pamela; she was a saint.

An urgency came upon Harry Peacock like he had never known before. He sent to the city for his solicitor. His affairs were not arranged as he wished them to be. He had thought himself immortal, but now he could read the writing on the wall. He knew that Fate was about to catch up with, and overtake him.

As Nicholas sat watching him reach for one shallow breath after another, he prayed that his father would recover. Lord Harry opened his eyes and struggled to sit up. "I must change everything in my will,"he said in great agitation. "It must be done legally."

A crease came between Nick's brows. "Father don't upset yourself. Everything will be fine if you'll just rest and get your strength back."

"Everything
won't
be fine!" Harry insisted. "You've had the management of this place for three years now and done a damned fine job of it too. Philip won't come into his majority for another nine years yet. The lad's only sixteen and useless to boot," rasped Harry, before lapsing into a fit of coughing.

Nick's frown deepened, "Easy Father, easy."

Harry shook his head stubbornly. "I should have made
you
Philip's legal guardian, not Pamela. What the hell does she know about managing an estate this size? Philip needs firm guidance and a role model to turn him into a man."

"Philip will do just fine, Father, when the time comes. I warrant you'll still be with us when Philip turns twenty-five. I told you we'd have to shoot you," he said affectionately.

The older man shook his head and his chest gave off a queer rattle. "Not so lad, don't try to fool the old man, it can't be done."

Nicholas looked him in the eye and acknowledged, "I've tried often enough, but never succeeded."

"Through my neglect, you are entitled to nothing. There's only what I put away for you three years ago, and you can't touch that until you're twenty-five. They can take it all away from you."

Nicholas smiled to calm his father's agitation. "They wouldn't do that, Father."

The elderly man lay back against his pillows, clammy and white and exhausted. '"Where's that damned solicitor? I can't wait! Fetch Pamela... pen and paper."

When his wife came in carrying the things he had asked for, Harry gasped, "Where's Chetwynd? Damned fellow always underfoot... until I need him."

She soothed, "He'll be here. Try to stay calm, dear."

"The marriage contract provides for you... Philip gets the title, the estate and all the lands, and his son inherits the land and titles after him. I must provide for Nick. Also, Philip would be better off if Nick was legal guardian over his money until Philip is twenty-five." He stopped and fought for breath to continue. "I want it all legal. No loopholes. Nick, you write it out. I'll sign it and Pamela will witness it. Give it to Chetwynd the moment he arrives. Promise me!"

"I promise, dear. Take your time; try to relax," she soothed.

Nick dipped the quill in the inkpot, feeling slightly uncomfortable with the task his father urged upon him. His eyebrows rose at the generous amount his father named. "I hereby bequeath to my natural son, Nicholas, one hundred thousand guineas." He fell back and closed his eyes for a minute.

"Father, this is taking too much out of you, dammit," Nicholas protested.

"We'll finish, then 'tis done!" Harry insisted stubbornly. "I want you to have one of the art collections... which Pamela?"

She thought for a moment, then her lovely brow cleared, "Why not the Venice collection?"

Nicholas drew in his breath sharply at her generosity. "No, no, that's far too valuable. It contains the Canalletto and the Guardi."

While she was gone, Harry instructed Nicholas to put down that he was to be sole executor and legally in charge of the estate and Philip's inheritance until 1865, the year of his majority.

Lady Pamela came back with a young maid. "Don't be shy, Milly. Come up to the bed so that you can be a witness to Lord Peacock's signature on this paper."

She smiled and spoke softly, "Nicholas, my dear, do whatever you desire. I fear his time is short. I'm sure it would give him comfort if you sat with him."

Her words were so soothing. She always managed to say and do exactly the right things.

Nicholas sat with his father all night, and in the early hours Harry rose up from the bed in great agitation.

"I'm here, Father. What is it?"

Lord Harry had no breath for sentences, but he managed single words with long gasps between them. He grabbed his son's hand most urgently. "Remember... Gardener... Higgins... money..."

"I'll remember,"Nicholas promised, though he knew not clearly what he promised. His father lapsed into labored sleep and Nick sat quietly puzzling out the words.
There is no gardener by the name of Higgins. Wait now, there is an old retired servant living in a cottage behind the stables, but I never remember him being a gardener.
Nicholas always thought he had been the head groom in days gone by. Anyway it seemed obvious his father wanted this Higgins to be remembered with some money. That was easy enough to take care of.

When the end came, it was mercifully swift. The death rattle began, and Nicholas ran to fetch Pamela, and by the time the doctor arrived, there was nothing left for him to do but sign the death certificate.

Nicholas was momentarily stunned by grief. He enfolded his stepmother in strong, comforting arms. The death had been so quick and would be so permanent. Nick knew he had to be alone. He excused himself and headed for the stables. He saddled up and rode out through the deer park and into the Weald of Kent.

Winter's relentless bite was already in the air. He stopped at a magnificent copper beech tree and watched as the relentless wind tore off the leaves and stripped it of its glory. He felt the bleakness to his very core.

After an hour's ride,Nicholas felt he should return to the Hall. He wasn't the only one to grieve and he would be needed at home.

Nicholas wheeled into the stable just as the first large drops of a downpour splattered his dark face. He carefully washed and changed his clothing before going to Lady Pamela, but before he left his apartment, a servant came with a summons to attend her ladyship.

As Nicholas entered the drawing room, he thought Pamela had never looked lovelier than she did at this sad moment. The black silk gown set off her delicate pallor and pale blonde chignon. As he looked at her with compassion, he noticed her eyes were no longer cool, they were cold, icy. She pinned him to the spot with her frigid glance. He noticed her slim white hands held the papers his father had dictated yesterday. As he watched, she held them out toward him and very deliberately tore them in half.

"I have been waiting for this moment for years. My son is now Lord Peacock, and until he is of age, I am the paymaster here. You are a bastard, in more ways than one, and you will leave my home this day."

Nicholas was stunned. She, whom he had thought of as saint, was in reality a bitch.