Page 87 of Tremaine's True Love
Behind Elsie’s fine manners lurked a mother at the breaking point, the same breaking point Addy Chalmers had danced along for years.
Damn Edward Nash, damn all the hale, healthy men who thought their needs trumped anybody else’s.
“Avoid the punch,” Nita said, “and if somebody asks, I sought a moment of fresh air to clear my head. Tell Kirsten to dance with Edward, and then let Della and Leah have a go at him.”
“Thank you, my lady. If there’s ever anything I can do to repay you, you have only to ask.”
Nita returned to George’s side, and that meant once again facing Tremaine. He was painfully attractive in his evening attire, and he danced beautifully. His smile was indulgent and sweet.
Nita longed to be Mrs. Tremaine St. Michael, but did Tremaine honestly believe choosing wallpaper for his formal parlor was more important than a small boy’s life?
“George, I need a moment of your time,” Nita said.
“Mr. St. Michael, you’ll excuse us?”
The special, just-for-you smile faltered. “Are you well, my lady?”
“I enjoy excellent health, thank you.” Despite tired feet, an aching heart, a throbbing head, and a crushing bewilderment, Nita yet enjoyed excellent health.
Offer to come with me. Please, offer to come with me, and I’ll hold out hope that we can reconcile our differences.Except that since becoming engaged to her, Tremaine’s public behavior had been punctiliously proper.
“I’ll await your return, then.” He bowed smartly and Nita had no choice but to lead George from the room.
“What in the hell are you doing, Nita Haddonfield?” George asked as he held her cloak for her. “Your absence will be remarked, and Elsie Nash was near tears when she accosted me.”
“I’m near tears too, George, but nobody will remark my absence as long as Mr. St. Michael is standing up with the wallflowers. Take me to Stonebridge, please.”
George cursed colorfully—he was a Haddonfield, through and through—then shrugged into his greatcoat.
“It’s the boy, isn’t it? He’s worsened, and Nash has denied him medical care.”
Nita wrapped a scarf around her neck. “If Edward has denied Digby the tender ministrations of Dr. Horton, then we may hold out hope of the child’s eventual recovery.”
If only Nita could be as sanguine about her own marital prospects.
CHAPTERFIFTEEN
“Dance with me, Mrs. Nash?” George held out a hand to Elsie, willing her to accept his invitation. Before dropping George back at the assembly rooms, Nita had tasked him to convey news to a worried mother, and George would not fail either woman.
Elsie didn’t immediately take his hand, though George did not withdraw his offer. “You don’t want to be seen dancing with me, Elsie. Dance with me anyway. I promise I’ll not inflict any unwanted kisses on you.”
He’d surprised her—also himself. She placed the tips of her gloved fingers on his palm.
“I’d be honored, Mr. Haddonfield.” Then, as George led her out onto the dance floor, she added softly, “It isn’t what you think.”
The orchestra lumbered through the triple meter introduction to the evening’s second and final waltz.
“What do I think?” GeorgethoughtElsie was too sweet to live in fear of Edward Nash’s next bout of temper, too good to endure the situation she’d been thrust into.
“You think a few wild oats on your part would give me a permanent dislike of a man I’ve known to be nothing but honorable,” Elsie said softly. “You’re very wrong. Edward’s petty tyranny is all that limits my association with you.”
The music began and George moved off with Elsie in his arms. She was smaller than his sisters, more easily led, and entirely feminine.
His goddamned idiot cock took note of that last, his personal sexual weather vane, cheerfully aligning itself with any available breeze. He’d sowed acres of wild oats in places both predictable and unlikely, and had little harvest to show for it.
“Digby is flirting with lung fever,” George said. “Nita isn’t worried, but she mixed up mustard plasters for his chest, ordered willow bark tea to keep the fever down, and beef tea to ease his throat. I’ve had a word with Vicar. Edward will receive a note tomorrow canceling Digby’s lessons for the week because of Vicar’s gout.”
The choir fund was five pounds richer for Digby’s holiday, affirming once again that Vicar’s view of Christian charity did not match George’s.
