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“Belief and certainty are very different. In this case, they’re worlds apart.” Nick scowled. “Besides, we’re not discussing me, we’re discussing you. I asked how you can be so bloody sure Tyreham is the right man for you?”
Wetting her lips, Nicole addressed her father’s question in a way she prayed he’d understand. “You said I’m like Mama, at least in matters of the heart. Well, you’re absolutely right. Mama fervently believed that instincts were miracles; gifts bestowed upon us as guides to our future. And how could I doubt her? After all, her instincts guided her straight to the most wonderful man on earth—you. I remember her telling me it took but one glance for her to determine you were her future, a certainty she didn’t question once in fifteen years. Papa, I got that same feeling when I met Dustin, although I’ve spent every waking moment since then challenging my judgment.” A shaky sigh. “I suppose that’s because much of me is not like Mama but like you, practical, contemplative, considering every possible ramification. But, the fact is, no amount of logic or resistance can alter the simple, inevitable truth—I’m in love with Dustin Kingsley. He’s the right man. He has to be because he’s the only man I could ever feel this way about. I don’t know how to convince you. All I have is a feeling, and feelings come with no tangible evidence to plead their case. They also come with no guarantees, although I understand how badly you want me to have one. Papa.” Nicole’s voice quavered, and she could taste her own tears. “I love him. I’ve tried not to. I’ve done everything I know how to protect my heart. But it’s already lost—no, not lost, given. As for my virtue, which you forfeited a whole night’s sleep fretting over, it’s intact. The ironic thing is that the very man you mistrust is the one who made certain it stayed that way.”
A brief flash of relief—gone as swiftly as it appeared. “This isn’t only about … physical intimacy.”
“I know,” she answered simply. “Nor is my relationship with Dustin. There’s something special between us, something I can’t explain. An affinity, a magnetism, an innate understanding that’s been there from the start. I don’t know where our feelings will lead or even if I’ll be able to endure the outcome when it occurs. But I know I must try. If I don’t, I’ll be empty for the rest of my life. Please, Papa, put aside your protective instincts long enough to remember what it was like between you and Mama. Once you do, help me. I need you now every bit as much as I did when you lifted me onto my first horse and held me so tightly I knew I’d never fall.” A rueful smile shone through her tears. “Yes, I’ve grown. Unfortunately, my problems have followed suit. While I recognize I must seek my own answers and find my own solutions, it’s knowing your strength and love are there that gives me the courage to do so.” Her voice dropped to a hush. “I love him so much, Papa.”
A wealth of memories darted across Nick’s face as he gazed soberly down at his daughter. “I know you do, Elf.” Awkwardly, he groped for a handkerchief and dried her cheeks. “I don’t mean to make it harder for you. I just”—he cleared his throat—“want so much for you to be happy.”
“I realize that.” Nicole caught the handkerchief, pressed it between her palms. “I’m a lucky woman. I have two extraordinary men in my life who want my happiness and who always seem able to dry my tears.”
“I pray that lasts forever. But, Nickie, if anything should happen … if Tyreham should disappoint you, hurt you …” Another pause. “I’ll be here. Of course, I’ll tear him limb from limb first, but, after that—I’m not too old to hold you up and keep you from falling.”
“Nor am I too old to ask you to,” Nicole whispered. Reaching up, she gave him a hard, swift hug. “Thank you, Papa.”
“You’ll be wanting to see him again, I suppose?”
The gruff question made her grin. “You suppose right.”
“Well, tell him he can come by tonight—for a little celebration.” A spark of pride. “Two minutes forty seconds, you said?”
“That’s what I said.”
“That definitely calls for a drink. Tell Tyreham to be here at eight.”
“I could invite him for dinner,” Nicole suggested hopefully.
“Yeah? And who’s going to cook it?”
Her lips twitched. “I could invite him to bring dinner,” she amended. “Assuming his cook wouldn’t mind supplying it.”
Nick considered the request. “I do like that brown sauce she sent over when we first moved in.” An exaggerated sigh. “Very well. Tell your marquis that if he brings more of that sauce with him, he can come for dinner. Say … seven o’clock.”
“Yes, Papa.” Securing her cap, Nicole bolted.
“That brown sauce tastes good on lamb,” Nick called after her. “He can bring some of that, too. And those little iced cakes.”
A peal of laughter was her reply, followed an instant later by the closing of the front door.
Moving aside the curtain, Nick glanced out the window, watching his daughter race toward her future.
“Alicia,” he murmured softly, raising his eyes to the skies. “It’s in your hands now. You gave me my miracle. Please … give Nickie hers.”
Silence ensued.
But from behind a cloud a ray of sunlight shimmered.
“You and Alexander needn’t rush off.” Dustin grinned as he walked Ariana to her carriage. “Why, my nephew has much havoc left to wreak. Half the manor remains intact.”
“But Mrs. Hopkins remains anything but,” Ariana retorted, shifting Alexander from her arms to the carriage seat and indicating his governess, now collapsed against the cushions, snoring. “I only hope the poor woman doesn’t tender her resignation the instant we arrive at Broddington.”
“Doubtful. Your son is too precious to abandon—unruly or not.” Dustin shook his head in amazement as Alexander began digging under the cushions for an undetected toy. “He doesn’t even look tired.” Leaning in, he ruffled the tiny dark head, chuckling as, for the sixth time that day, Alexander groped for his uncle’s upper lip, looking utterly perplexed by the absence of a mustache. “It’s gone, little ruffian,” Dustin informed him. “Thanks to you. You’ll have to find another way to torture me.”
“Fear not,” Ariana said cheerfully. “He shall.” Rising on tiptoe, she kissed Dustin’s cheek. “Take care of yourself.”
“I intend to. Tell my brother to stop worrying about me.”
“Tell him yourself. We’ll be back in a fortnight. For the Derby.” Ariana’s gaze flickered past Dustin, captured by a flash of motion. “I believe your brilliant young jockey wishes to speak with you,” she observed, catching sight of Alden Stoddard as he rounded the corner of the manor at a dead run, then—having spied them—halted in his tracks.
