Page 12 of Tremaine's True Love
“Ready to go?” George asked, climbing into the saddle.
Mr. St. Michael swung up and nudged William forward. “I believe you mentioned a toddy, sir. I’m sure the lady would enjoy one sooner rather than later.”
They rode home in silence, the wind at their backs.
Nita would enjoy a toddy, and then she’d excuse herself from whatever domestic diversions were thrown at her and bring a few extra blankets and provisions to Addy Chalmers and wee Annie Elizabeth.
* * *
“I cannot fathom why Elsie Nash has not remarried,” Kirsten remarked when she, Susannah, and Della were tooling home, hot bricks at their feet, scarves wound round their necks. “She is the dearest woman.”
“Perhaps she’s content to be a member of Edward’s household,” Susannah said. “He has no lady of his own, and a widowed sister-in-law makes a fine hostess.”
Susannah, in her sweet, determined way, aspired to become Edward Nash’s lady, and Mr. Nash seemed keen on the idea too.
“Elsie can waltz,” Kirsten said. “Do you suppose Edward can? You might offer to teach him, Suze, if he hasn’t acquired the knack.” Because for all his memorized couplets of Shakespeare, Edward Nash was in line for a mere baronetcy when some great-uncle or second cousin died. He was rural gentry until that distant day, and likely ignorant of the waltz.
“How would one offer such lessons to a gentleman?” Susannah asked.
In a lifetime of trying, Kirsten would never be as innocent or good as Susannah. “One asks him, in a private moment, if he might assist one to brush upherwaltzing skills before the assembly,” Kirsten explained. “One stumbles at judicious moments in opportune directions when such assistance is rendered, apologizing all the while. One is befuddled by the complexity of the steps.”
Susannah’s consternation was both amusing and worrisome. In the absence of any legal authority over her own person, a woman benefited from mastering a bit of guile.
“Nita doesn’t care for Mr. Nash,” Della said from the backward-facing seat. Little more than her face showed from a swaddling of blankets and lap robes. “I can’t say I do either.”
“Have you a reason for your dislike of Edward?” Susannah asked.
“Elsie Nash is unhappy in her brother-in-law’s household,” Della said.
Kirsten didn’t particularly like Edward Nash either—he had too high an opinion of himself for a man who’d inherited his holdings and done little to make them prosper. He was handsome, though, and he doted on Susannah. Edward and Susannah would have lovely, blond, handsome, poetry-spouting children together.
A dozen at least.
“Widowhood is not generally a cheerful state,” Susannah said.
“Elsie’s husband died more than two years ago,” Della countered. “She has a child to love, and yet she’s not—”
“She’s not at peace,” Kirsten ventured. “Maybe she’s lonely. Pity Adolphus is too young for her.” Because George, despite his grand good looks and abundant charm, would likely never marry.
“She moves like an older woman and has silences like an older woman,” Della said, “as if her heart ached.”
“All the more reason to cheer her with some waltzes,” Susannah replied. “Might we persuade Mr. St. Michael to stay a few extra days? He has the look of a man who knows what he’s about on the dance floor, and our gatherings never have enough nimble bachelors.”
Kirsten and Della exchanged a glance that had nothing to do with planning the local assembly, for Susannah had done it again: arrived for innocent reasons at a suggestion that had not-so-innocent possibilities.
“Nita volunteered to ride to the sheep pastures with him in this weather,” Della said quite casually, “and she was out late last night with Addy Chalmers.”
“Which you had to mention at breakfast,” Kirsten reminded her.
“I like Mr. St. Michael,” Susannah said. “He doesn’t put on airs.”
The gentleman had an odd accent—mostly Scottish with the occasional French elision, a combination that would not endear him to Polite Society’s loftiest hostesses. He was in trade, and he had a brusque quality that made Kirsten leery, though Nita could also be quite brusque—as could Kirsten, all too often.
“You ask him to prolong his stay, Suze,” Della said. “Tell Mr. St. Michael we’re shy a few handsome, dancing bachelors, then have Mr. Nash give you some waltzing lessons.”
Susannah’s brows drew down, and as the coach clattered from rut to bump to rocky turn, her gaze became sweetly, prettily thoughtful.
Also determined.
