Page 50 of Tremaine's True Love
“Drove her nigh barmy, to be so little and dear. I don’t think it much bothers her lately.”
St. Michael glanced up from his epistle. “She’s very dear, also brave, maybe too brave.” He might have asked George to name his seconds in the same tone, so fierce was Nita’s newly acquired shepherd boy and champion.
“You did propose,” George said, feeling pity for the handsome St. Michael, which was an odd relief from indiscriminate desire. “Maybe you’re lonely too, St. Michael.”
George certainly was.
Now where had that notion come from?
St. Michael appended a signature to his letter, legible but with a slight flourish to the initial capitals. Beckman had said that St. Michael dealt in fine art in addition to wool.
“The question is, Mr. Haddonfield, does the lady see any advantage in my suit. One must think practically in any negotiation.”
St. Michael would think at least in part with his breeding organs, like any other male. In this, he and George were no different. And yet loneliness was a problem the breeding organs could not solve.
A day for insights, apparently. George took another sip of his drink and recalled Elsie Nash’s invitation to share a fresh biscuit and cup of tea on a cold day.
“What does Nicholas say about your proposing to Nita?” George asked, for any Haddonfield must be mindful of the earl’s position on matters of significance. Nicholas was tolerant, patient, and practical, but also trying to step into the old earl’s shoes, a delicate and difficult task.
“Bellefonte is attempting to lure two men to the altar with the same flock of sheep,” St. Michael said, casting sand over his letter. “He’s neglected to consider how we’re to lure the ladies to the altar. A man cannot be married to a lot of bleating livestock.”
“How to lure the object of one’s tender emotions is always a fraught question,” George allowed. “How will you answer it?”
St. Michael sat back. “I want those sheep, but if I acquire them as part of your sister’s dowry, Lady Nita will not be well pleased. Lady Nita doesn’t want Squire Nash to have Lady Susannahorthe sheep, but then, what does Lady Susannah want, and what does the earl want?”
“Do you come from a large family?”
“I own enormous quantities of sheep, but come from barely any family at all.”
“One would not have guessed as much.” George passed St. Michael his glass. “You’ll need this more than I do, but when it comes to my sisters, I’ve been plagued by a thought.”
St. Michael poured the sand off his letter. “Don’t be coy. If I’m not engaged soon, we might be traveling to Germany together.”
Interesting prospect, about which St. Michael seemed to feel no hesitation.
“My sisters each need what the other has.” George would never have aired this notion before Nicholas. “Nita needs more poetry and rest, Susannah needs a purpose beyond verse and endless sedentary hours of embroidery. Della needs to be taken more seriously and patted on the head less, and Kirsten needs to laugh more and be cosseted.”
St. Michael waved the letter gently over the dust bin, then laid it exactly in the middle of the blotter.
“Nash represents a purpose for Lady Susannah, then,” he said. “A household she can take in hand, an estate she can help run. Interesting.”
He took the last sip of George’s drink, managing to make even that mundane activity attractive. George noted it, probably the way Nita noted that an infant in the churchyard was healthy or St. Michael would note that a herd of sheep was in good weight.
A passing observation, not a passionate preoccupation—thank God.
George took the empty glass over to the sideboard. “So you want Nita, but she’ll turn you down if she thinks you’re marrying her to get the sheep, and yet, Nash shouldn’t have the sheep either. Complicated.”
“She might turn me down because I’m no sort of marital bargain, and because I haven’t proposed.”
St. Michael would propose though. He might not get the prescribed words out in the prescribed order, but he’d convey his intentions well enough.
Lucky Nita. St. Michael would give her babies and a household to run while putting a stop to the endless progression of sore throats, influenza, and rheumatism that now filled her days.
“I would not want to see Lady Susannah attached to Nash’s household,” St. Michael said, “though my hesitance is unrelated to the fate of the sheep.”
George had pleasant associations with Stonebridge. Warm ginger biscuits, the Second Punic War, and Elsie Nash’s surprising tolerance.
“Suze wants Edward Nash,” George said. “The man’s fate is sealed. Nicholas will like that she’s close by, and so will I.”
