Rubbing his eyes, he caught a whiff of vanilla from his soap. Again Miss Nemo’s face and shy smile filled his mind. She had smelled like a vanilla cake that he would like to bite into. Or simply lick.
What was she doing this morning? Did she want to be his sisters’ governess? Did he want her to stay? It would be dangerous for him to keep her in the castle. He’d never felt such an overwhelming attraction before. Not to thetondebutantes he’d flirted and danced with. Nor to the pretty barmaids he’d kissed. He didn’t trust himself to be near her without touching her. The pull towards her was simply too great.
No. She would have to go. He would give her some money and send her anywhere she wanted in the carriage. As long as it was away from him.
He pulled the cord for a servant. The butler came into the room. He was a portly fellow with a distinctly snobbish air and never a hair out of place. Wick had always respected Mr Harper, and secretly attempted to copy his dignified manners.
The butler bowed. ‘You called, my lord?’
‘Harper, I should like to speak to my sisters.’
‘I am afraid the young ladies have already gone.’
Fear gripped his chest. He wanted to see Miss Nemo again. At least once. He had to touch her hand as he bowed over it.
‘Gone?’
‘Gone to see the new baby camel leopard, my lord,’ the butler intoned. ‘Mrs May has accompanied them to act as chaperone.’
Wick bowed his head in relief and said a prayer of thanks for the housekeeper. His little sisters were going to be the death of him.
‘That will be all, Harper.’
‘Very good, my lord.’
Yawning, Wick returned to the estate’s books. Unlike his father, he had a natural flair for estate management—one he’d inherited from his mother and maternal grandfather. Ever since he’d graduated from Oxford he’d been handling the estate. The Duke, frankly, was not interested, and his mother, who had previously overseen the estate’s finances, was already busier than she needed to be with her perfume company.
He’d also found that whilst Mama was excellent with numbers, she was less focused on the needs of their tenants. She wasn’t unfeeling—she was simply a businesswoman. Wick, however, liked to spend time with the farmers and learn their methods. He planned to farm the home fields next year. He would also replace the roofs on all the cottages instead of taking the less expensive option of continuing to patch them.
After completing his work on the books, Wick had the less pleasant job of riding over to Animal Island to find his sisters.
He should stop at the family crypt and pay his respects. He hadn’t visited it in nearly a year. He liked to suppose that if he didn’t go there, maybe his little brother Charles and his little sister Elizabeth would still be alive. He liked to imagine that they were away at school. He tried not to remember that they had died whenhewas in charge...whilst his parents were in Africa.
Wick had been only sixteen years old at the time—too young for the responsibility of watching over his younger siblings. Matthew had been fourteen and Charles only twelve when they had brought home scarlet fever from school and all five of their younger sisters had caught it. But none so badly as Elizabeth, Mantheria’s identical twin.
They’d been ten years old at the time, and Elizabeth had been slim and frail even before she had contracted the disease. Papa had called her his Little Songbird. She’d never walked when she could skip, nor talked when she could sing. Elizabeth must have made up hundreds of songs for she’d rarely sung the same song twice.
After she’d died, none of his sisters had ever sung again.
He had been powerless to help those he’d loved the most. He had failed his little siblings and his parents. It had been the hardest time of his life.
Now, after riding to the edge of the cemetery, he tried to force himself to get off his horse and go into the family crypt. But his body wouldn’t move.
He was a coward.
Turning his horse, Wick rode through a field of sheep and across the bridge that connected Animal Island to the land.
‘Lord Cheswick,’ said Mr Merrell, doffing his hat. ‘Good to see ye.’
Swinging out of the saddle, Wick held out his hand to the brawny man. ‘And you, sir. Everything appears to be in excellent order.’
Merrell laughed heartily. ‘Ye haven’t even seen the animals yet, my lord. How would ye know?’
Wick wrinkled his nose. ‘My sense of smell tells me all I need to know.’
The head animal keeper barked another loud laugh. ‘Too right. Ye never cared much for any of the creatures. Not like wee Charles. Now, he would’ve made a right fine naturalist. Poor Sadie still misses him.’
‘We all do,’ Wick said quietly.