Page 32 of Tremaine's True Love
Eager good cheer gave way to feminine confusion. Elsie had mastered the transition by her second week under Edward’s roof.
“George Haddonfield? Surely we’d remain on friendly terms with Lady Susannah’s brother? He brought Digby home from his tutoring session merely as a kindness on a frigid day.”
Edward retrieved his quill pen and brushed it over his fingertips. “The situation is delicate. Friendly terms with Susannah’s siblings for now is a prudent course, but George Haddonfield in particular is to be avoided.”
Susannah, notLadySusannah, because Edward already appropriated the privileges of a fiancé. He had systematically decided that most of the ladies with whom Elsie corresponded were not quite the thing, a less-than-ideal association, or better suited to friendship with a woman not bereaved.
In other words, he was choking off Elsie’s friendships, one after the other, lest somebody get wind that Edward Nash was rolled up, a sot, and desperate to marry well.
If only those were the worst of Edward’s shortcomings. “Does George have excessive debts?” Elsie asked.
He did not, of course. The Haddonfields as a family were free of the vices Edward assiduously failed to acknowledge in himself.
“He well might be in dun territory,” Edward said, stroking the feather against his chin. “The Haddonfields have been known to put their unsavory family members on remittance, and George looks to be taking Beckman’s place in that regard.”
“Don’t many gentlemen live in hock to their tailors?” Questions were risky, but Edward was not yet imbibing, so Elsie could venture a few inquiries in the interests of understanding his latest queer start.
More twiddling of the feather while Elsie remained on the edge of her chair and resisted the urge to crack a window, so stuffy did Edward keep this one room
“George’s situation is not as innocent as a few overdue bills among the merchants, Elsie. He has tastes I would not expect a woman of your refinement to comprehend, but they place him among the least appropriate associations you or my nephew could form.”
In a family of large, loud, dramatic men and headstrong, outspoken sisters, George Haddonfield had a quiet independence that appealed strongly to a widow under the thumb of an abhorrent in-law.
So what if George wasn’t a Puritan? Elsie had followed the drum for two years and had become difficult to shock.
“I’ll tell Digby to avoid Mr. Haddonfield’s company,” Elsie said. “Do I maintain a distance from him at the assembly?”
Edward thrived on instructing Elsie, the maids, Digby, and their man of all work, whom Edward insisted on referring to as a footman. Edward probably instructed his horses and hounds, who were at least free to bite and kick him.
Though they’d regret such displays sorely.
“In public, you will show Mr. Haddonfield every courtesy,” Edward said, twiddling the feather between his palms. “Dance with him, make small talk, inquire after his health. Bellefonte is protective of his siblings, and I cannot have it said we were less than gracious to any of Susannah’s family. Other than the civilities, though, you will avoid him. I offer you this guidance, because I know Pendleton would expect it of me.”
Elsie blinked a few times in rapid succession, as if mention of her late husband still had the power to move her to tears. She had Penny to thank for landing her in this hell, and for handing over Digby’s funds to a mean, intemperate wastrel. Penny had been a dear in most regards, but also old-fashioned and something of a pedant.
“I owe you so much, Edward,” Elsie said, rising. “I am very grateful for your guidance. Was there more you wanted to say, or shall I get back to those pies?”
Because making pies was doubtless the acme of every gentlewoman’s ambitions, in Edward’s view.
“Don’t let me keep you, but please have the kitchen send up a tray. These endless figures make a man peckish. A toddy or two as well. Something to ward off the chill, and some comestibles to fortify me until my next meal.”
He came around the desk and held the door for Elsie, doing his impersonation of a blond, handsome exponent of good manners and faultless breeding. Edward would have been better served by fewer manners, more common sense, and a dash of self-restraint. When the door had closed behind her, Elsie paused in the corridor long enough to let the chilly air wash over her.
Of the three Nash offspring, Penny had been the sensible middle brother, not as pretty as Edward, but willing to work to earn his bread, less concerned with appearances, and genuinely devoted to his son. He’d not been the brightest of officers, but he’d worked hard and had had a streak of gruff kindness that had made his sternness bearable.
Norton had been the brash, ginger-haired youngest son, happy to gallop off and buy his colors rather than molder away in rural Kent as an unpaid steward or extra at whist. Elsie suspected Edward had been happy to see Norton go, because younger sons without means could author much mischief.
While Edward was a trial without end. Elsie honestly wanted to warn Lady Susannah to look past the same three tiresome Shakespeare sonnets and a pair of soulful blue eyes. To look at the empty shelves in the so-called library, at how short Digby’s trousers were, at how cold the house was but for the rooms Edward occupied.
Elsie could not afford to warn Lady Susannah, because if Edward did not soon marry wealth, Elsie and Digby might both find themselves on the charity of the parish.
CHAPTERSIX
Tremaine knew he was in trouble—serious, interesting trouble—when he heard the little bell tinkling in the dovecote as the sound of reprieve. He wanted to remain here in Kent, haggling with Bellefonte over his sheep, preventing Lady Nita from attending to her most rebellious errands.
And kissing her.
“Was that a pigeon?” Her ladyship sounded annoyed. “I couldn’t tell.”
