Chapter Six
Nicholas looked at himself dourly in the tall mahogany-framed mirror. He was dressed in the long-tailed coat, knee breeches, and silk stockings that were requisite attire in the ballroom. Another evening of being stared at, he thought sourly. Of being laughed at.
His gaze rose to the scar on his cheek. Lucky, he told himself, touching light fingertips to the ridges of melted skin. I am lucky. But he didn’t feel lucky at this moment.
A footman entered, bearing a note. “Sir?”
His mood lifted as he turned to take it. It must be from Lady Isabella, crying off—
No, his name was inscribed in his brother’s hand.
His mood became sourer. He broke the seal and unfolded the paper, skimming the few lines of writing quickly. Unfortunate circumstance . . . distressing for the family .
