Page 34 of Tremaine's True Love
“An errand or two, Mr. St. Michael?”
“We could stop for a pint at your local posting inn,” Tremaine suggested. “Enjoy a cottage pie, ensure the vicar has sent some charity to those in need.”
He would not abet her ladyship’s attempts to visit any sickrooms, but for a chance to spend more time with her, he’d endure a call upon the new mother. Lady Nita was as guileless as her sister Susannah was reported to be, because Tremaine saw the moment understanding dawned.
“I’ll need to change into my habit.”
“I’ll accompany you to the house,” Tremaine replied, “and warn Bellefonte his hospitality is not yet at an end.”
Nor was the fate of the merino sheep settled. Bellefonte had agreed to name a price by correspondence for which Tremaine could purchase the sheep. The sum likely depended upon a blunt discussion with Mr. Nash about the cost of the repairs needed to put Stonebridge to rights and an equally blunt discussion with Lady Susannah.
Complicated business, tending to marriageable sisters, particularly when the earl’s ready capital appeared to be limited and unavailable to dower those sisters. The aristocracy was often caught between the stability of centuries-old agrarian wealth and the need for cold, hard coin that would allow commercial diversification.
“Alfrydd, if you’d have Atlas saddled?” Lady Nita asked, another polite command. “He’ll need his saddlebags. No telling what Mr. St. Michael and I might come across in the shops.”
“I’ll see to it, my lady.”
Alfrydd led William back into the barn, while Tremaine rehearsed his announcement to Bellefonte.I’m back, your lordship, and more intent on taking possession of those sheep than ever.
In a friendly, temporary, adult sort of way, might Lady Nita consider taking a little possession of Tremaine, as well?
* * *
You were exactly, absolutely, one hundred percent right.
Nita was often right. She’d been right that Daryl Bletching’s hand could be saved with poultices, stitching, good care, and liberal doses of willow bark tea. She’d been right that Norma Byler had been carrying twins. She’d been right that Darinda Hampton’s youngest could not tolerate strawberry jam. She’d been right that Winnifred Hess’s ague was the onset of chicken pox.
Nobody rejoiced when Nita was right, Dr. Horton least of all.
Tremaine St. Michael had rejoiced and accorded Nita full victory honors.
How handsome he was when he smiled like that, openly, exuberantly, lips, eyes, cheeks alit with joy, and half of rural Aberdeenshire in his accent—because of her.
Because of what Nita had done for his best lads.
She finished buttoning up the skirt of her riding habit and surveyed her reflection in the mirror. The garment was several years out of fashion, had been mended in two places around the hem, and was looser than when Nita had made it.
She’d never cared about any of that before, nor had she ever hurried to pay a social call on the Nash household, but she did today. Mr. St. Michael boosted her into the saddle, waved off Alfrydd’s offer to send a groom along, and then swung up on William.
“Lead on, my lady. I expect it to start snowing at any minute.”
“A handy excuse for not tarrying at Nash’s. What will your motivation be for calling on Edward socially?” Nita asked, though country households visited back and forth routinely.
“Nash is a fellow appreciator of good poetry.” Said with an amusement that should have made wolves nervous.
“You’re up to something.” Men were frequently up to something, but Tremaine St. Michael would confide his plans in Nita, not shout his orders at her.
“Does Squire Nash want the sheep more, or the lady?” Mr. St. Michael mused as the horses ambled out of the stable yard. “By asking to include the sheep in Lady Susannah’s dowry, maybe Nash is so intent on winning the lady that he’s proposed a bargain easy for the earl to agree to. The sheep are overgrazing their pasture, they require a dedicated shepherd, and they’re becoming inbred.”
Nita applied her diagnostic abilities to Susannah’s situation, something she’d yet to do.
“Or does he want the sheep,” she replied, “and asking for Susannah’s hand ensures he’ll get them, because Nicholas dreads to see his sisters growing old, haunting Belle Maison in their endless spinsterhood. Then too, Edward appears to dote on Susannah, and she is a lady upon whom any husband ought to dote.”
They turned out of the drive, onto the lane that led into the village, and directly into the wind.
“All wives ought to be doted on, at least a little,” Mr. St. Michael observed. “Or where’s the benefit in accepting a fellow’s suit?”
Most girls were raised with an eleventh commandment their brothers were spared:A bad match is better than no match at all.The benefit was in avoiding the shame of spinsterhood. Nita was not interested in marriage—ten commandments were enough for her—but when she’d stood in the stable yard, holding William’s reins and hoping, hoping,hopingthat Mr. St. Michael didn’t have to leave, she’d been honest with herself.
