Page 76 of Tremaine's True Love
Well, hell.Nick closed the sketchbook and pivoted on his stool. “St. Michael, good morning. I was expecting my countess.” And what had George done now to provoke such a comment?
“You make your birdhouses here?” St. Michael stood inside the door, studying Nick’s workshop. He wore riding attire, his greatcoat was open rather than buttoned, and his hands were bare.
“I do, and I come here to think.” The cat put two paws on Nick’s shoulder, as if contemplating assuming a perch there.
“Lady Nita has accepted my suit,” St. Michael said, reaching for a “book” then drawing his hand back. “Atrompe l’oeil. Very clever. I didn’t think old Fordyce would be to your taste.”
“I have sisters, and thus Fordyce graces our library. They read him when they’re in want of merriment. I suppose you’ve come to talk about the damned sheep?”
In other circumstances, St. Michael might have been a friend. He was shrewd, did not stand on ceremony, and enjoyed the pragmatic outlook of those born to a former generation of Continental aristos, and yet he wasn’t at all who and what Nick had envisioned for Nita.
“I’ve come to talk about Lady Nita’s settlements, assuming you’ll bless our union.”
St. Michael left off inspecting the birdhouse and moved on to the tools Nick had hung along one wall. Some Nick had made himself, the grips smoothed to exactly fit his grasp.
“You aren’t like any earl I’ve met before,” St. Michael murmured, “and I’ve met plenty.”
“You aren’t like any sheep farmer I’ve met before. With respect to the settlements, my father set aside funds for each of my sisters, but his means were modest.”
“I am not marrying your sister because I need more coin,” St. Michael said gently. He lifted a hammer off the wall. “This could do some damage.”
The handle was oak, the weight one Nick had forged as a younger man.
“Stop playing with my toys, St. Michael. The purpose of the settlements is not to entice you to offer for the lady.Sheis your prize, and woe to you if you don’t realize that. The settlements are for Nita, so she knows we value her and will see her provided for should she be widowed.”
Though Papa hadn’t managed to set aside enough to guarantee that outcome, unless Nita was widowed in great old age. Nick had explained these circumstances to his sisters and had yet to find a remedy for it. The cat commenced kneading Nick’s shoulder, needlelike claws digging through the fabric of his shirt and waistcoat.
St. Michael set the hammer back in its bracket and plucked the cat away just as Nick would have set the beast on the floor. The dratted pest commenced purring as St. Michael scratched it under the chin.
“How can I have a serious negotiation, Bellefonte, when you allow even the beasts to do as they please with your person? What is your position on the sheep?”
“Leave the sheep out of this. I’ve had other offers.” St. Michael’s fingers paused, and the cat commenced switching its tail.
“Other offers? Plural? Does Lady Kirsten have a suitor perhaps?”
“None of your damned business, but if she did, her suitor would doubtless want those sheep too.”
St. Michael resumed studying the birdhouse, as if the books were truly titles on a library shelf. “If you are thinking of the sheep, I am their best option. I take excellent care of my livestock.”
“I’m thinking of my sisters. Edward Nash knows Susannah’s portion is modest, and he’s willing to accept valuable consideration in place of coin.”
St. Michael made a face, like a cat who’d chanced upon a cream pot undefended in the pantry and had taken a lick only to find the contents soured.
“Lady Nita does not favor a match between Mr. Nash and Lady Susannah,” St. Michael said as the cat purred in his arms. “Please ask her why.”
“Lady Nita has reasons of her own to take the Nash menfolk into dislike. I cannot allow her fancies to cheat Susannah out of a decent match.” Though Nick didn’t care much for Edward. The man dressed his widowed sister-in-law like a farm wife, took no interest in his nephew, and leered at tavern maids despite paying his addresses to Susannah. “Nash is the first man Susannah has looked upon with favor, and thus I am bound to encourage such a match.”
“Lady Nita’s objections to her sister’s choice are specific to Mr. Edward Nash. I strongly urge you, for the sake of Lady Susannah’s well-being, to speak with your sister.”
“Do you think I haven’t tried?” Nick asked, rising from his stool. “Nita Haddonfield could teach stubbornness to mules. If she’s disinclined to broach a topic, it remains unbroached.”
St. Michael deposited the cat on the workbench. It sat upon Nick’s closed sketchbook, tail wrapped around its paws in perfect, insolent contentment. Nita’s suitor took the vacated stool, lounging back to prop his elbows on the workbench.
“You’ll be glad to give your sister into my keeping?” he asked.
Sisters were not livestock, to be surrendered in the marketplace for a sum certain. “In the churchyard,” Nick said, “I will present a vapid smile for all the biddies, and I’ll accept good wishes on Nita’s account with my usual faultless good cheer. To all save my wife, I will pretend to be vastly pleased that Nita will be yourcomtesse, but, St. Michael, I’d hoped every one of my sisters would be treated to something of a proper courtship.”
“If I’ve found favor in Lady Nita’s eyes, isn’t that courtship enough?”
