Page 84 of Tremaine's True Love
George stuck his head into Nita’s room, rapping his knuckles on her door. “Fifteen minutes, you two. Nicholas says he’ll open the dancing with Leah, and he’s already pacing the library. Kirsten and Suze are down there tormenting him while Leah makes a final stop in the nursery.”
“And Mr. St. Michael?” Nita asked, stealing a glance at her image in the mirror. Even saying his name pleased her and banished some of the upset Della’s comment had caused. Nita would soon be Mrs. St. Michael.
Very soon.
“St. Michael’s my next stop,” George said, “though may I say, you both look delicious and will be the envy of all, save our sisters, who are also very nicely turned out.”
George withdrew, and Della bounced off the bed. “George should be married. He’s too dear to wander around the Continent pretending he’s debauched.”
Excellent point. “George is not debauched,” Nita said, “but his more unconventional tastes are problematic.”
“Byron has the same tastes,” Della retorted, “and he didn’t depart for the Continent until his creditors took exception to his debts. He married.”
“Byron married miserably by all accounts and he is titled.” Though Byron was also a father at least twice over. “Shouldn’t you be fetching your boots, Della?”
“I’ll fetch my boots,” Della said, “but you needn’t feel guilty just because you and Mr. St. Michael are besotted while George remains lonely.”
Della was formidable when hurling insights. Nita folded a shawl over her arm and gave Della a one-armed, possibly even dress-wrinkling, hug.
“You’ll make new friends in London,” Nita said, recalling all too well the same false platitudes flung at her as she prepared for her come-out. “And you will always be welcome in my home. Mr. St. Michael is in want of family. I think that’s one reason he’s attracted to me, because I bring a large and loving family to the union.”
“A large and loud family,” Della said, smiling. “You look lovely, Neets. Mr. St. Michael’s regard has brought a sparkle to your eye. I’m envious.”
Della was also sweet, as George was sweet. Della’s envy was a cheerful gift, laughingly tossed into Nita’s lap. “I love you, Della Haddonfield, and I will miss you when I leave this household.”
Della hugged her back, the embrace leaving Nita unaccountably melancholy. Della skipped off in search of her boots, and Nita grabbed a beaded reticule from the vanity. She was to be married, the plainest, oldest, least romantic of the Haddonfield sisters, and married to a dear, handsome man of means.
Nita could hardly believe her good fortune, despite Tremaine’s assurance that their vows would soon be spoken. He was Nita’s lover already, her friend, and her fiancé. That he’d denied himself the pleasure of spending his seed in the conjugal act was an indication of his regard for her, surely.
So why did Nita feel as if Tremaine withheld from his prospective wife not the risk of conception, but rather, a piece of his heart?
She took one last look at herself in the mirror, but Della had tilted it, so Nita’s reflection was from the shoulders down. Now that she had the privacy to study her image, she was vaguely disturbed by what she saw.
“I look like Mama.” The realization brought no joy. From the neck down Nita looked very much like a gaunt, pale, even spectral version of her departed mother. She turned from the mirror, blew out the candles one by one, and prepared to smile and dance her way through yet another local assembly.
* * *
Two violins in close harmony and a wheezy little spinet were small competition for dozens of pairs of dancing feet. The thump and slide of those feet echoed a thumping in Tremaine’s temples. Nita, however, was luminous in her blue velvet finery, a smiling, sparkling testament to gracious cheer and graceful movement.
And she was soon to be his.
“The winter assemblies always have a desperate quality to them,” Edward Nash observed from Tremaine’s side. “One certainly wishes the rooms had more open windows.”
Alas, one might be tempted to jump from such a window, though Tremaine could identify no specific reason for his irritability other than present company.
“Mr. Nash, greetings. Your sister-in-law is a lovely addition to the gathering.” Lovely, but when greeting Elsie Nash, Tremaine had sensed that the woman also suffered anxiety over more than her attire, which was several years out of fashion.
No blackened eyes, though. Tremaine had been relieved to note that Elsie Nash was free of injuries. Nita would likely have called Mr. Nash out otherwise.
“Have you and Bellefonte come to an agreement regarding the merinos?” Nash took a gulp of punch that Tremaine had set aside after one cautious sip.
“Business at a social function, Mr. Nash?” Tremaine countered softly. “Surely we should focus on which lovely lady we’ll lead out next rather than on a herd of sheep?”
Tremaine had been at pains to ensure the sheep were as good as in Nash’s grasping, gloved hands—if that’s where Bellefonte wanted them—despite Nita’s loathing for Edward Nash. Let him take up bargaining with the earl—or with Lady Susannah.
“Bleating sheep, bleating women,” Nash said. “The topics are related. Susannah will see that I have those sheep, I’m sure.”
LadySusannah, for pity’s sake. “You’re that confident of your suit?”
