The hosts were very pleased that both the Rochfords and the Abbotts made it to the dinner party. Nicholas, with Claire by his arm, made sure to comment on the delicious meal, the perfection in the manner the plates and utensils were lined out on the table, and even the couple’s choice of furnishings in the room. Flattery was a weapon that he learned was potent when speaking with the highborn lords and ladies. 

The pleasantries and goodbyes didn’t last long, and soon enough he was leading Claire away from the scrutiny of the eyes of her peers and into the chilly night of London. However, before they even reached the vehicle, she stopped them both and finally the mask was peeled off her pretty face. She said, [i]“Nicholas- or Nick, whatever you prefer- this is unnecessary. I’m very capable of riding a carriage home by myself and don’t need the pressure of even more polite conversation the entire way. You, on the other hand, should go back inside. I’m not blind, I saw how that red-head looked at you. I think your time would be better spent escorting her home, or any of the other ladies in there. We both know this isn’t going anywhere.”[/i]

That was very true, but unlike Claire, Nick thought it rude to speak what was on his mind and risk offending a lady of her standing. After all, he attended social gatherings like that night’s dinner party to gain the confidence of the upper class, because at the end of the day, he needed them to complete the contract he had with the reigning sovereign of England.

Nicholas opened his mouth to argue, but the lady placed a gloved finger to his lips, silencing him. She continued, [i] “What did I say about polite conversation? I don’t want any more of it. Tell your father you escorted me, or that I refused. It doesn’t matter, but that is what I’m doing, Mr. Rochford. Refusing your company. So have a good night. And thank you for making tonight a little less painful than it could have been.” [/i]

He quietly waited for her to withdraw her finger. Good for him she shared the same sentiment for he cannot stomach to spend more time with the arrogance of a lady whose virtues were compromised. There was nothing good that would come out of their conversation anyway, and at one point, he feared that they might really start hating each other. Instead of pursuing his counterargument, Nick bowed to acknowledge her decision. “Good night, then Ms. Abbot,” he said then turned on his heels and walked to his own carriage breathing easy, relieved breaths, while the cool breeze ruffled his hair.

******

A bottle of half-filled bottle of Bourbon sat on a round side table like a centerpiece. The light from the few wall scones reflected on its glassy surface, adding illumination to the dimly lit foyer. Nicholas sat with his bottle of Bourbon, though while the drink was on the table, he chose to sit on a leather armchair, while toying on a glass of Bourbon. He stared blankly at a painting of a woman and her dog in a boat. The woman stared back.

And then the main door opened, inviting in the cold of the night. 
“Nick, my son,” started Bennett when he saw the younger man sitting by himself in the foyer. He surrendered his coat to the butler that appeared from seemingly nowhere. “I have very pleasant news for you this evening!”

He bet it was hardly worth listening to. Something with the duke made Bennett very excited and it showed at how his face lit up with a sheepish smile. “I have spoken to Lord Abbott,” he said, walking towards Nicholas.

“At length.”

Bennett nodded. “Indeed, we talked at length – him and me – and we were very pleased with the outcome.”

Nick offered the bottle to the old man. He took it and motioned for a glass be brought to him. “I have an idea, but I do hope I am wrong,” he answered. It was the moment of truth. All the time he was staring at the brunette stranger on the painting, he was trying to put the pieces of the events of the night together and there could only be one conclusion. “You want me to marry one of Lord Abbott’s nieces.”

A servant arrived and poured some of the contents of the bottle to Bennett’s glass. He inspected the color with narrowed eyes then turned to his “son” with disturbingly bright eyes. “I need you to marry not just one of the Abbotts, I need you to marry, the heir – Ms. Claire Abbott.”

[i]WHAT?[/i]

Nicholas choked on the liquid he was pouring down his throat, coughed, then poured the rest of the content down his mouth. “What are you talking about?”