Page 86 of Tremaine's True Love
When the music finally came to a close, Tremaine bowed, Lady Kirsten curtsied low, and he led her back to the side of the room. George and Nita joined them as lines formed for another country-dance.
The room was both warm and fragranced with the exertions of the assemblage, despite some merciful soul having cracked open a window.
“Lady Nita, you dance quite well,” Tremaine said. The three siblings exchanged a glance, suggesting Tremaine had accused his beloved of having horns and a tail.
“As do you, Mr. St. Michael,” Nita replied. “George, perhaps you and Kirsten would be good enough to fetch us a glass of punch?”
George hustled off, dragging Kirsten with him.
“Lady Kirsten took exception to my earlier remarks to Nash,” Tremaine said quietly, because wallflowers, dowagers, and gouty old squires were scattered around the room. “I apologize for engaging the fool in repartee, but he was being an idiot.”
“I understand.”
Uncertainty blended with the single sip of cheap punch in Tremaine’s belly. “What do you understand, my lady?”
Her smile was benevolent, her countenance composed. “Edward has visited the punch bowl frequently this evening, and Susannah has ignored him. Some gentlemen deal poorly with having their wishes thwarted.”
“Good for Lady Susannah.” Tremaine assayed a smile in the direction of his fiancée, but her gaze had returned to the dance floor. His uncertainty acquired a hint of irritation as it occurred to him that Nita had the knack of appearing more composed as she became more distraught.
That recollection cheered him not at all.
* * *
How could you?
Nita tapped her toe more or less at random, smiled at whoever glanced her way, and filled her mind with the memory of Annie’s dirty nappies, the scent of boiled cabbage, Fordyce’s sermons,anythingto keep from crying.
Tremaine St. Michael expected his wife to sit at home and darn his stockings while children suffered and mothers worried helplessly. The betrayal of his public declaration, the sheer presumption of it, hurt like a dislocated joint.
Worse was the sense of having missed the most important symptoms as she’d examined the patient. Nita had noted Tremaine’s pragmatism, his honor, his generosity, and, yes, his gloriously healthy manly physique. She’d been fascinated with his kisses and his passion.
She had utterly ignored what defined him, though: a protective instinct that stretched to distant herds of sheep, his horse, families of hungry children, and cousins in the far-off Highlands.
Such a man was not prepared to tolerate the risks Nita took as a healer.
“Punch,” George said, bearing two cups and a brilliant smile. Kirsten had taken herself off, thank goodness, though pity the fellow with whom she next danced.
“Lady Nita.” Tremaine passed Nita a glass, though the last thing Nita wanted was to add tepid, sickly sweet punch to the upset roiling in her belly.
“My thanks.” She touched the cup to her lips without imbibing, and Tremaine appeared to do the same. Just as he’d appeared to be everything her heart desired.
“Elsie Nash was asking for you, Nita,” George said softly. “She’s frantic about something, unless I miss my guess.”
Tremaine winged his arm, Nita pretended not to see it.
“I won’t be long.” She passed George her cup and hurried away, grateful for an excuse to leave Tremaine’s side. He did not comprehend the hurt he’d done her, and that only made the situation worse.
“Lady Nita, good evening.” Elsie’s smile was brittle, though she was prettily attired in a gown of emerald green. “Are you enjoying the gathering?”
No, Nita was not, and she’d probably never enjoy an assembly again. “Elsie, what’s wrong?”
“Edward would not let me send for you, but Digby is quite ill. Horton will bleed him, and even Penny didn’t favor bleeding a child. I thought if you could stop by—”
Elsie paused to smile at the vicar, who tottered past with his missus, dancing being a sure cure for gout, of course.
“You want me to leave the assembly?” Nita was in no mood to deal with an ailing child, but she was happy to leave the gathering, even to once again sneak up the back stairs at Stonebridge. Anything to get free of this place.
“You can return before anybody knows you’ve left.” Elsie waggled her fingers at Della, who looked far too sophisticated as she turned through the figures of the dance. “Edward insists the boy make the trek to the vicarage daily, despite the weather, despite Digby’s cough growing worse. I fear for my son, or I wouldn’t ask.”
