Page 73 of Tremaine's True Love
Thank God.“If it’s any comfort, I know exactly how you feel.”
Susannah leaned against Nita’s shoulder, a gesture of defeated affection Suze hadn’t offered her older sister in a decade.
“You couldn’t possibly know how I feel, Neets. I have been an idiot. Three times, and Edward has yet to propose, because of those stupid perishing sheep.”
When had Nita allowed the Bard to so thoroughly kidnap her sister?
“I could too know,” Nita said. “I’ll describe the symptoms, with which I have firsthand acquaintance: bewilderment, self-castigation, and a towering fear that one’s fall from propriety will become glaringly evident. After a day or two, you admit to disappointment, in the fellow, in yourself, and in the experience. Most of all, in the experience. Then it happens again, and you can see no improvement, and that’s even more disappointing.”
Susannah wiped at her cheek with the end of Nita’s scarf. “Disappointment, by God. The first time, Edward was in a hurry, and I was quite honestly surprised. The last time, I let him ambush me in the saddle room. Do you know how itchy a horse blanket can be against one’s fundament?”
As itchy as self-doubt, as itchy as regret against a woman’s heart.
“Probably as itchy as a worn wool rug in the servants’ parlor,” Nita replied. “Did Edward force you?”
Susannah kicked her boot heels against the solid wood of the mounting block. “No, he did not. He persuaded, and I thought I was being shrewd, creating an obligation to offer for me, which is an awful thing to admit. I was an idiot. Edward did not have to force me, not the first time.”
Which meant something less than charm had resulted in the subsequent occasions. Damn Edward.
“Norton was much the same,” Nita said as somebody pulled the barn door all but closed against the worsening weather. “He insisted I’d like it, that the business improved with repetition. Norton lied, if he meant repetition with him.”
“Norton?” Susannah sat up. “Norton Nash? Nita, he was sent down from university any number of times. You poor thing, he had acowlick.”
“Mama was ill, I was lonely, and he was charming.” How simple it sounded now—and how pathetic. How desperate.
“Maybe loneliness qualifies as an illness in young women, then, because I’m not sure I even like Edward. I thought I did. I like Shakespeare, mostly.” Susannah sounded so cast down, so betrayed.
“When it’s the right man, you’ll know it. Your hindsight will be stunningly clear, then. Edward’s not the right man, Suze.”
“Are your tisanes effective?”
“Very little about medicine is guaranteed.” While Nita’s determination to help her sister was unrelenting, and certain parts of her were becomingquitechilled. “I should have paid more attention to you and less to Addy Chalmers and Harrison Goodenough.”
Nita would never admit that to Nicholas though, any more than she’d admit sick babies terrified her.
“When a man shoots himself in the foot, his situation is hard to ignore, Neets.”
“True enough.” Old Mr. Goodenough had been drunk at the time, trying to fire from the saddle at some varmint and unable to get his gun from its scabbard. “What will you do, Suze?”
Around them, the stable yard was filling up with snow, while from inside the barn, the comforting scents of livestock and hay wafted on a chilly breeze. Concern for Susannah weighed down Nita’s happiness at being engaged and leavened her joy with gratitude.
Tremaine St. Michael was so much more worthy than all the Norton Nashes in the world,and he was hers.
“I will read”—Susannah peered at the books—“Mr. Burns’s poetry and some essay by a Mrs. Wollstonecraft. Looks interesting. I like Mr. St. Michael, Nita. He isn’t silly, and yet he can laugh.”
Odd that Susannah, a sober soul if ever there was one, should make that observation.
“Mr. St. Michael respects my medical knowledge and is a marvelous kisser.” Odder still that Nita should offer that.
Susannah stood, books in hand, and whipped off the fetching, impractical little hat. “Best of all, Mr. St. Michael hasn’t a cowlick.”
They returned to the house on that cheering observation, then commended each other to the comforts of a long, hot soaking bath.
* * *
The snow let up after dumping a foot of cold inconvenience on all in the shire, though as Tremaine’s visit to Kent stretched on, he enjoyed a sunny sense of a negotiation coming to a profitable conclusion. He’d tendered his offer to Lady Nita; she’d investigated his prospects and found them to her liking.
Several days after Tremaine had become engaged, all that remained was to agree on settlements with the Earl of Bellefonte.
