Page 78 of Tremaine's True Love
“You allowed her to deal with… that?” St. Michael said, abruptly appropriating a very French portion of dismay.
“Makes me bilious to think of it,” Nick said, using a hasp to stir the coals in one of the braziers. “The allowing started before my father fell ill, so yes. Nita knows her herbs, but she’s also a competent surgeon and physician. Dr. Horton is behind the times in his science, and most people around here know it and take advantage of Nita accordingly.”
“Then Horton should find a younger assistant.”
St. Michael was a dab hand at solving other people’s problems. Children would cure him of that arrogance if Nita didn’t see to it.
“I’ve told Horton that,” Nick said, “and he scoffs at the very notion. Vicar agrees with him and says the problem is that Nita lacks a proper sense of her place in the world. I cannot say the man is wrong.”
Though neither was Nita to blame for allowing others to need her.
The cat on the far side of the door was aggravatingly persistent.
“Your vicar may not be wrong,” St. Michael said, “but he’s not very Christian either. If he did more to inspire his flock’s charitable impulses, Lady Nita wouldn’t be scouring your larder for the parish poor.”
The Scots were of necessity a practical people, also fiercely loyal to family. St. Michael would not criticize Nita for her generosity or caring, and that was some relief.
“The old vicar was a kinder soul,” Nick said, feeling abruptly chilly. “We miss him.” Nick missed his father too. Sorely, every day. For the first time, it occurred to Nick that Nita must miss her papa every bit as much if not more.
And her mama and her other married brothers, for whom she’d made Belle Maison a well-organized, comfortable home.
“You are worried for your sister’s happiness,” St. Michael said, taking the hammer from Nick’s grasp and hanging it again in its assigned location. “That speaks well of you. Whatever funds you have set aside for Lady Nita, I will triple them upon our marriage and you can manage them as you see fit. I want six rams, one tup, and twelve ewes, of my choosing, including the tup’s mama.”
“Agreed,” Nick said, “but only because you will give Nita those happy years, those children and grandchildren. Choose the best of the herd, and convince her that she need not accept every obligation put before her, that she’s dear and precious in herself.”
The hammer would not hang straight for St. Michael, and the damned cat would not cease scratching at the door, so Nick took pity on the beast.
“I have promised your sister we can bide near her family for much of the year, though the matter of children is in the Almighty’s hands.” St. Michael paused in the open doorway. “As for that other—the sore throats and whatnot—she’s done with it, particularly with the infections and diseases. As my countess, she’ll have many agreeable tasks to keep her busy, and her health will no longer be put at risk for others. I’ve warned her that I take seriously the welfare of my dependents, and Lady Nita is done waging war on illness and death.”
Nick would have been more reassured by this pronouncement had Nita been present to confirm it. St. Michael at least had the right objective.
Nick offered his hand. “Best of luck, St. Michael, and welcome to the family.”
St. Michael shook firmly, then departed, leaving Nick once again in the cat’s company, with no earthly idea what manner of wedding gift to make for his oldest sister.
* * *
“That is ten pounds,” Kirsten said.
“Not my ten pounds,” Nita replied, stuffing the money back into the pocket of her cloak. “Mr. St. Michael asked me to pass it along to Addy, but one hesitates.”
“You think she’ll drink it?”
Kirsten rode a flighty, elegant mare with a fine opinion of herself, though this morning, Hecate was content to plod along at Atlas’s side.
“I often wonder how I’d fare, were I in Addy’s place,” Nita said, turning down the lane that led to the Chalmers cottage. “If a young man wheedled my virtue from me, got me with child, then abandoned me, opening the door for his family and mine to turn their backs on me as well, how would I manage?”
“You’re thinking of Norton? Any one of our brothers would have brought him up to scratch, Nita.”
Atlas stumbled, an occasional bad step in snowy footing common for even the most surefooted horse.
“I’m thinking of myself, of whether I could have borne to become Norton’s wife. I wanted to be in love with him, but—” Compared to what Nita felt for Tremaine St. Michael, her attraction to Norton Nash had been more curiosity and boredom than affection.
And loneliness. Heaps and years of loneliness. “Norton was more fun-loving and less vain than Edward,” Kirsten said, “but Elsie got the pick of that litter.”
While Susannah had made a play for the runt.
“I’m encouraged whenever I see smoke coming from Addy’s chimney,” Nita said, drawing Atlas to a halt before the rickety porch. “Smoke means Addy hasn’t left her children to freeze to death.”
