PART TWO

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Nathaniel had, on more than a few occasions, wished that all connections between Nicola and Bartholomew didn't exist. The man was simply a jerk, completely undeserving of Nicola's time and smiles, and it had always irritated Nathaniel to know that the viscount took advantage of Nicola's friendship with his sister. (The fact that Nathaniel could be guilty for the exact same crime was not important at the moment.) Nathaniel had imagined the different scenarios in which the horrid engagement would be broken. Some involved Nicola and the viscount peacefully agreeing to go their separate ways, and some involved her leaving the viscount begging her for another chance. All of them involved Eleanor, Nathaniel, and the rest of the Sheridans supporting Nicola.

None of the said scenarios involved Nicola's heart being broken, her tears streaming down her cheeks as she cried on Eleanor's lap.

And yet that was exactly what had happened.

After Nicola arrived at the Sheridan home to seek refuge, she had been whisked away to the sanctuary of Eleanor's room. Nathaniel followed right behind his mother and sister to offer help as needed, but the Lady Sheridan told him that she and Eleanor would take care of the weeping girl. The doors closed behind her, leaving Nathaniel in the hallway to listen to the muffled sounds of Nicola's sobbing. Then, deciding that he was only torturing himself by just standing there, he stalked to his study where he tried to focus on something else. He was unsuccessful, of course; he only stared unseeingly at the pieces of paper on his desk as his mind drifted back to Nicola.

Nathaniel had never felt so useless.

How simply perfect it was for things to go this way right after his epiphany.

But still, there was still something to be happy about: she wasn't going to be stuck in a marriage with a jerk! And a jerk was what Sebastian Bartholomew was, if the man's behavior the next morning was anything to go by.

It was a short time after breakfast — Nicola didn't have the strength, both physically and emotionally, to join them — that it began. The Lord and Lady Sheridan had left, and Nathaniel himself was on his way out to meet with Sir John.

"Do pick up a new book for Nicky, would you, Nat?" Eleanor asked him as she saw him to the door, making him raise an eyebrow.

"Eleanor, have you forgotten what I think about poetry?"

"It doesn't have to be poetry," Eleanor said.

"If it's not poetry, then I doubt Nicky would like it," Nathaniel told her. "Especially if it came from me."

"Oh, Nat, I'm sure Nicky would appreciate whatever you get for her."

"Is that so?" Nathaniel scoffed. "It's not like she ever appreciated anything I gave her."

"It's not like you ever gave her anything."

"Touché."

"Say you'll do Nicky this favor?" Eleanor implored as Nathaniel put on his coat.

"All right, all right," Nathaniel relented, taking the doorknob. "But don't blame me if she doesn't—"

Nathaniel stopped in mid-sentence, his words dying at the sight that greeted him outside the door. All at once, several emotions bombarded him one after the other. First came surprise — "What is he doing here?" — and then there was anger — "What is this git doing here?" — only to be joined by the nearly overwhelming urge to laugh...

What dark, enchanted forest did he go through to get here?!

Nathaniel supposed that laughing at a guest would be an impolite thing to do, regardless of the fact that the man didn't quite deserve to be treated with politeness at the moment. And so Nathaniel stood there, skillfully keeping a straight face, and the Viscount Farnsworth frowned, further worsening his disheveled appearance. Already the blue-eyed noble looked so pitifully unkempt: his usually smoothed golden hair was untidy, his formerly crisp coat was slightly crumpled, and he looked pale and weary. For one fleeting moment, Nathaniel wondered if it was possible that the viscount was, in fact, truly in love with Nicola, and what was before him was picture of a heartbroken man.

But then the viscount's frown turned into a scowl, and immediately Nathaniel concluded that the proud prick was still a proud prick.

"Sheridan," the viscount said with distaste.

"Bartholomew," Nathaniel replied with equal enthusiasm.

Pointing and laughing truly did seem to be a tempting idea then, but Nathaniel was not about to stoop down to the level of a jeering scum. He resigned himself, therefore, to infuriate the viscount in another way.

"What brings you to our home this morning?" Nathaniel asked, eyebrow raised. The other man's face tightened.

"Don't pretend like you don't know, Sheridan," the Lord Sebastian seethed. "I came to collect my fianceé."

"Ex-fianceé."

If possible, the viscount scowled even deeper, his fists clenching. There came a small gasp behind him, and Nathaniel felt his sister hastily climb the stairs, undoubtedly to alert Nicola of the new arrival.

"I'm sorry, Lord Sebastian," Nathaniel continued politely, "but Miss Sparks is not accepting visitors at the moment."

"You shall let me see her, Sheridan."

"You have no right to demand that, sir."

"You won't stop me."

"I believe I already am."

The whole time that Nathaniel had known Sebastian Bartholomew, he had always found it a wonder how the man managed to look like a gentleman, mo matter what he did. He may have been flirting with women or insulting his fellow students, but, to the untrained eye, he appeared to be having an intelligent conversation. The viscount maintained his image of a nobleman, and Nathaniel had never seen him lose that cool, self-conceited air around him.

That was why what happened next caught him off-guard.

Nathaniel had barely finished his short sentence when, suddenly, a clenched fist was flying towards him, and then, in the next second, he was staggering back several steps. He vaguely heard someone exclaim "Mr. Sheridan!" somewhere nearby, and the sound of hurried steps.

Nathaniel was disoriented for a moment, but when he recovered a few seconds later, Bartholomew was already inside the house, and trying to climb the steps that would lead to upper rooms where Nicola was. Fortunately, two of the Sheridans' footmen had taken hold of his arms, and were currently stopping his ascent.

"NICOLA!" the viscount yelled. "Nicola, you will come down this instant! Do you hear me?!"

"Sir!" one of the footmen exclaimed. "My lord, please calm down!"

"Unhand me, you—!!!"

"Pull yourself together, man!" Nathaniel yelled, stepping in once more.

"You will let me see my fianceé, Sheridan!"

"Ex-fianceé!" Nathaniel shot back. "She already gave you back your ring!"

"I don't care!" was the other man's heated reply, his blue eyes flashing. "I'm marrying her and you won't stop me!"

"You don't even love her, do you?!"

"That doesn't matter!"

"What the bloody hell?!" Nathaniel almost involuntarily exclaimed. But the other man didn't even seem to hear him.

"This isn't about something so insignificant," the viscount went on. "You don't know anything! There's a bigger picture here and it—"

Sebastian suddenly froze, as if he only then realized what he was saying. Nathaniel himself stood there, stunned.

"A bigger picture"?

Did this have anything to do with Edward Pease, after all?

After a moment of tense silence, the startled look on Sebastian's face faded, and, with a heave, he broke free of the footmen's grasp. The blond man gave a huff as he took a step backwards and made a futile attempt to straighten out his cravat.

"What's happening between my fianceé—"

"EX-fianceé."

"—and me is none of your business, Sheridan. Stay out of this."

"Believe me, I want nothing to do with your business," Nathaniel told him, "but since you're trying to get something in my home, it would be quite difficult for me to 'stay out'."

The viscount flinched, but nevertheless declared, "I shall return to see Nicola tomorrow."

Nathaniel raised an eyebrow. After all that, the man was still going to come back?

Amazing.

"I'm sure she will feel up to it to receive me," the viscount continued, his voice taking on an astonishingly calm tone. "I trust you won't get in the way, Mr. Sheridan?"

"If you act civilly, then we shall see, Mr. Bartholomew," Nathaniel replied.

The viscount said nothing for a moment, contenting himself with simply glaring at Nathaniel, before turning around to leave the Sheridan home.

True to his word, the Viscount Farnsworth returned the next morning, looking more presentable than the day before, and even wielding a bouquet of roses. He seemed to have calmed down, too, as he was immensely courteous when the Lady Sheridan greeted him in the parlor. Nicola, however, would not see her former fiancé. But still, Sebastian, persisted waiting in the Sheridans' parlor and sending bouquet after bouquet of roses while he was otherwise preoccupied.

Even though Nicola was staying in his own home, Nathaniel didn't seem to have more luck than Sebastian when it came to speaking with her. For the next several days, Nicola stayed in her room. And when she finally did feel well enough to join the family for dinner, the only words Nathaniel exchanged with her was "Good evening".

Just thinking about that awkward moment made Nathaniel want to hit his head on his desk.

He simply didn't know what to say; he thanked the heavens that he had the mind at all to greet her. It would only be putting salt on an open wound if he was to talk with her about Lord Sebastian. If he talked to her about other things, it would only be like walking on eggshells around each other. And it would be a horribly bad time to tell her how he felt about her.

Well, it was only her first night out of her room, and she was a bit awkward with everyone. Nathaniel was sure that she would be more comfortable after a while. He would wait. He had already waited for six years, although unknowingly, so he supposed that several more days — or weeks, or months — shouldn't be so bad.

Hopefully.

The trouble with waiting, though, wasn't so much the patience needed while the desired has yet to come. The problem was the unforeseen events that may occur during the time of waiting.

Events like other people attempting to disrupt Nicola's emotional recovery.

Nathaniel was alerted of such an event while he was working in his study on the day Nicola finally left her room.

"Thank you, Monique," Nathaniel said as one of the maids brought him the glass of water he had asked for. "Has the Lord Sebastian arrived for today?"

"Not yet, monseiur."

"Remember to notify me if the Viscount has come again."

"Oui."

"On second thought, notify me if anybody comes looking for Miss Sparks."

"Ah, Lord Renshaw is downstairs, monseiur."

Nathaniel straightened up at that, blinking up at the maid. "Lord Renshaw?"

"Oui, monsieur. He has been speaking with Miss Sparks in the parlor for quite a while now."

"All right," Nathaniel said after a moment. "Thank you, Monique."

As the maid bowed and left the room, Nathaniel leaned back on his chair, considering the possibilities.

What could Lord Renshaw be here for? Beckwell Abbey was the most obvious answer, but Nathaniel wondered if the Grouser would be so harsh as to try to debate with Nicola right when she was somewhat in the middle of an emotional crisis. Perhaps the old man believed that one should strike while the enemy — relative or no — was down.

Or... perhaps Nicola's engagement and the selling of the abbey really did have a connection.

Raking his fingers through his hair, Nathaniel stood up and left the room, deciding that he should make sure that the Grouser didn't further upset Nicola. But when Nicola's angry voice reached his ears even when he was at a considerable distance from the parlor, Nathaniel realized that he was a tad bit too late. He didn't actually catch what Nicola had said — she could have been complaining about the weather, for all he knew — but that tone in her voice told him enough. The Grouser had obviously said something that not only roused Nicola's anger, but had also stung her quite painfully.

Nathaniel very nearly growled as his steps quickened, fully intending to fling the parlor doors open and come to Nicola's rescue, disregarding all protocol of politeness and yell at the offending lord.

But when the said doors opened by themselves, and the said lord walked out while coughing thickly, Nathaniel stopped. The lord didn't seem to have seen him — he appeared to be either angry, preoccupied, or both to notice Nathaniel down the hall — and went on to cough in his handkerchief as he made his way to the front door.

And then he was gone.

Thus, Nathaniel found himself in a very, very familiar situation. Him wishing he could do something but not knowing what to do as he stood in the hallway outside the room Nicola was in...

Nathaniel reckoned he could talk to her. He didn't know what to do or say, but still...

"It's not like you ever gave her anything," Eleanor had said that day that felt so long ago.

Heaving a sigh, Nathaniel placed a hand on the doors that separated him from her.

Well, now, he had something to give her.

And so, not giving himself time for second thoughts, Nathaniel gripped the knob and opened the door.