Page 74 of Tremaine's True Love
Who was nowhere to be found. Tremaine prowled the library, the parlors, the estate office, even the corridors of the family wing. He came upon Lady Della, nose down in Mrs. Wollstonecraft’s eloquence, in a cozy parlor graced with a hearth and two braziers.
“I beg your pardon for disturbing you, my lady, but I can’t seem to locate any of your siblings.”
Nor would Tremaine ask the servants for the whereabouts of his prospective in-laws, lest talk ensue. Lady Nita had said an announcement at the assembly was in order, and until then, Tremaine would observe utmost discretion.
“We’ve been abandoned,” Lady Della said. “Do come in lest you let out all the warmth I hoard so jealously.”
They were to be family, so Tremaine closed the door. Lady Della was at a dangerous age, when young ladies could get themselves into trouble with what felt like daring but was in truth foolishness, and yet Tremaine liked what he knew of her.
“Nita and Kirsten have saddled up in the interests of enjoying fresh air, though I suspect they’ll visit the Chalmers household,” Lady Della said, putting her reading aside. “Susannah went with them, intent no doubt on the lending library, and George rode as escort to ensure no riots ensued when all of my sisters rode out at once.”
From her cozy parlor, the junior sibling somehow knew the whereabouts of four adults, none of whom Tremaine had been able to track down. A farewell visit to the Chalmers family was understandable, or perhaps Lady Nita would entrust their welfare to Lady Kirsten.
“Why didn’t you go with them?” Tremaine asked. The snow had kept everybody on the Belle Maison premises for several days, though Bellefonte himself had worn a path to and from the stable. His countess occasionally went with him, though nobody rode out.
“I have a sniffle.” Lady Della sniffed delicately, mocking Tremaine, herself, or polite fictions in general. “I like your Mrs. Wollstonecraft, and I like better that you’d wave her at Susannah.”
An ally among the in-laws was never to be taken for granted. “Everybody needs a break from Shakespeare.”
“Also fromDebrett’s. My come-out was delayed thanks to Papa’s passing, but Nicholas’s grandmother would have me recite fromDebrett’sas if it were Scripture.”
“I’ve found it useful,” Tremaine said, taking a place near the fire. In cold weather, even a cozy room had chilly floors, a situation Lady Della managed by keeping her slippered feet up on a hassock.
“Will you and Nita make an announcement at the assembly?” She fired that salvo while casually draping a brown and red wool afghan over her knees. As the only dark-haired Haddonfield, the colors flattered her.
“An announcement?”
“Coyness is not your greatest talent, sir. Nita has been different lately. She smiles inwardly and isn’t so brisk outwardly. I saw you coming from her room the other night, and I saw her the next day. She wore ear bobs to dinner.”
Little sapphire and gold drops that went marvelously with Nita’s eyes and with her smiles. The countess had mercifully seated Tremaine next to his intended, so he could torment himself with sidelong glances and the occasional brush of hands under the table.
Nita was owed a bit of wooing, though the sooner they were wed, the better.
“Perhaps the lady and I were merely having a late-night chat about a medical condition.”
“You weren’t suffering from a medical condition,” Lady Della said, “though it apparently afflicts some men worse than an ague. If Susannah and Mr. Nash make no announcement, then I’d beg you and Nita to keep your news quiet as well.”
“I haven’t said we have news.” Though Lady Della had a point. If Susannah were not engaged, kindness suggested an announcement should wait.
“I am the youngest,” Lady Della replied, sounding not very young at all. “I am the smallest, and sooner or later you will hear that I’m an indiscretion for which the old earl forgave my mother. Susannah needs to wed, Mr. St. Michael. I know you want those sheep, and I mean no insult to your regard for Nita, but Susannah needs those sheep more than you do.”
Tremaine took a seat beside Lady Della uninvited. “You should not confide the circumstances of your birth to even me, my lady. While your situation is common enough among titled families, the information could be used to your detriment.”
She held out a plate of biscuits, not ginger. Lemon, maybe. Tremaine took one to be polite.
“Nita said you were kind.” Lady Della set the plate down beside Mrs. Wollstonecraft. “I don’t like Mr. Nash, but I can tell you Susannah hasneedof him, and that means she needs those dratted sheep.”
Lady Della’s expression was disconcertingly determined, and she was regarded by her siblings as adept at gathering information. She appeared to be a darling little aristocratic confection, but something—or someone—had roused her protective instincts where Lady Susannah was concerned.
Tremaine took a bite of biscuit and yielded to the prodding of instinct.
“Do you make a habit of catching your sisters in their rare improprieties?” Lady Della had seen something, caught a glimpse of liberties permitted or even vows anticipated. Did Nita know Susannah had mis-stepped? Did Susannah know her lapse had been observed?
No wonder Bellefonte often wore a harried expression.
“I make a habit out of looking after my siblings,” Lady Della said, that cool, adult thread more evident in her voice than ever. “They look after me. I’m simply returning the favor. That goes for George too.”
Whatever His Handsomeness had to do with the topic at hand.
