Page 35 of Tremaine's True Love
She was interested inhim.In letting him dote on her, in doting on him.
“Nicholas and his countess are devoted,” Nita said. “Their mutual doting is sweet.”
“It’s nearly nauseating,” Mr. St. Michael countered. “Lovey this, lambie that, darling Nicholas the other. Five years from now, they’ll barely speak to each other over their morning tea.”
Mr. St. Michael was wrong. Whatever else was true about Nicholas, he loved ferociously and unrelentingly, and his countess reciprocated his sentiments.
“What will you call your wife, Mr. St. Michael, when you’re doting on her a little?” Nita regretted the question immediately, because any answer would make her sad. Mr. St. Michael wouldn’t ever be doting onher, would he?
“I’ll call my wife Mrs. St. Michael,” he replied. “Tell me about Edward Nash’s situation.”
Mr. St. Michael was shy about this doting business, and yet Nita had the sense he’d make a thorough job of it, nonetheless.
“Edward Nash is the oldest of three brothers,” Nita said, “two of whom are deceased. He’s always known a baronetcy was coming his way, and thus he deals from a sense of entitlement. His vanity has been indulged too, by his parents and the local mamas, and that didn’t help.”
“Vain, selfish, and handsome. He ought to be a viscount, at least. What are his weaknesses?” A fox reconnoitering a henhouse would ask such a question.
“A want of coin.” Nita had been up the back stairs at Stonebridge, seen the barren corridors, uncurtained windows, and unlit sconces. “Perhaps it’s more that Edward suffers an inability to properly manage coin. He’s parsimonious with his sister-in-law and nephew, and he has trouble keeping help. Even at the holidays, the Nash household doesn’t entertain to speak of.”
Nita could share that much, because those were facts rather than medical confidences.
“Despite that,” Mr. St. Michael said, “Mr. Nash himself is doubtless always dressed in the height of rural fashion, he rides a handsome young piece of bloodstock, and he’s considered quite the catch by the ladies of the parish.”
“Some of the ladies.” Perhaps other ladies were warned by their fathers and brothers that Edward Nash was pockets to let and an embarrassment to his gender when in his cups. Nita allowed the conversation to wander to other topics, but all too soon the horses were cantering into the Stonebridge stable yard.
“Your expression is not congenial,” Mr. St. Michael observed as he assisted Nita to dismount.
The groom led the horses away, allowing Nita to speak freely.
“I usually approach this household with dread, fearing my sister might end her days in misery here. I do enjoy the company of Mr. Nash’s widowed sister-in-law, and Elsie Nash has a delightful son, Digby.”
Mr. St. Michael shifted, so his sheer bulk stood between Nita and the bitter wind. She had the sense his movement was instinctive, because he’d taken the same position when they’d inspected the sheep.
“Shall I buy the merinos simply to make it less likely your sister will wed Nash?”
Was he offering to buy the sheep because of Nita’s fears regarding Susannah, or was he speaking hypothetically?
“I am for anything that makes a union between Susannah and Edward Nash less likely, Mr. St. Michael, but at the same time, I want you to have those sheep because you’ll care for them properly. You appreciate their value. Susannah is a grown woman, though. Who am I to override her choices?”
He winged his arm at Nita, abruptly the gentleman escorting a lady, but his expression had been fleetingly puzzled, as if his conscientious regard for livestock ought to have escaped Nita’s notice.
Shy and bashful both, and in the space of a few minutes’ conversation. Oh, yes, Nita was interested in this man. Dangerously interested.
Edward was on his best, gratingly gracious behavior, inquiring earnestly after Nita’s family, most especially afterdearSusannah, and hoping that Mr. St. Michael could join in the rustic merriment at the assembly.
“Will Mrs. Nash attend?” Nita asked, and where was Elsie, the closest thing Edward had to a hostess? Nita had served the tea at Edward’s request, but the one cake she’d attempted had been stale.
“You may depend upon it,” Edward said with a smile Nita could barely endure. “Our diversions are few enough here in the country, we must enjoy them when we may. Mr. St. Michael, a pleasure to make the acquaintance of a friend of the Haddonfields.”
Edward showed them to the door, cautioning them to take care against the cold, entreating them to give his regards to the earl and his countess, also to ourdearSusannah—of course,of course!—and assuring them he looked forward to seeing them at the assembly.
The soul of earnest charm. Nita wanted to retch.
“Interesting exercise,” Mr. St. Michael said, whipping the tail of his scarf over his shoulder as they took the path toward the stable. “You’re right again. Nash is either suffering financially or he pinches what pennies he has. The carpets are dusty and bare, the house smells of tallow, and the andirons haven’t been blacked in a week. Where are your gloves, my dear?”
“Drat. I left them inside.” How quickly he’d noticed too.
“I’ll let the groom know we’re ready for the horses while you retrieve your gloves.”
