Page 93 of Tremaine's True Love
She tucked a leg across Tremaine’s thighs and brushed a thumb over his nipple.
“Very well, we shall talk about this house you’re so fascinated with.”
Nita should be fascinated with the dwelling she’d make her own, any woman should be. Tremaine caught her hand in his and kissed her knuckles.
“I prefer comfort to fashion,” he said, “though the two can be found together. I have an extensive collection of art and sculpture, which can go in a gallery rather than a family wing. I also favor spotless kitchens and a comfortable servants’ parlor. As hard as they work, the staff should at least have a cozy place to take their tea.”
Nita twitched, a peculiar hitch of her shoulders. “All fine priorities in a family home, but for me, the herbal is the most important room. I like the herbal near the laundry, so I have fresh water. An herbal must also be ventilated and have excellent light. I need enough space that I can have visitors there too, and I need shelves to store recipes and references. I’m very particular about my herbal.”
Unease grew inside Tremaine, because his prospective wife hadn’t mentioned her nursery or her private parlor.
“Why would you need room for people to visit you in your herbal, Nita? You’ll have formal parlors, informal parlors, and very likely your own personal sitting room.”
Not to be confused with the sitting room they’d share, adjacent to their bedroom.
She rolled to her back, her gaze on the blank expanse of ceiling above them. “Tremaine, when people seek my healing abilities, they are seldom comfortable doing so in a parlor. Particularly if I’m to examine them, the herbal serves better.”
“What are you saying?” An old-fashioned lady of the manor might tend her own family, even her own servants, but not friends or strangers from outside the household. Even servants were more properly the responsibility of the housekeeper than the lady.
“I danced with Harrison Goodenough at last night’s assembly, Tremaine.”
“The name means nothing.” Panic started flinging fears at Tremaine’s composure: Did Nita’s intended mean nothing to her?
“He’s getting on, but last summer, he had a mishap with his gun and shot himself in the foot.”
That one. “Then he’s a fool, and a lucky fool.”
“He was nearly a dead fool. Dr. Horton wanted to amputate the foot, though the bullet had only grazed the side of it. A great mess and a nasty wound, but no damage to the bones. I saved that foot. I saved a man’s ability to walk unassisted across his own acres, to dance with a woman less than half his age. I very likely saved his life.”
Tremaine’s imagination saw fluttering handkerchiefs, but he kept his tone agreeable.
“You’re proud of that, rightly so, my lady. What does that bit of poulticing and stitching have to do with our household?”
Nita sat up, taking away her warmth and about half of Tremaine’s patience. They’d had a wonderful night, and now she was off on some female flight that made no sense.
“Croup can kill a newborn,” she said. “They’re not even supposed to have croup, but Addy Chalmers lives in straitened circumstances, and Evan has ever been sickly. Had I not responded when Mary sought my aid, wee Annie could be dead.”
Inside Tremaine, something did die. He didn’t give it a name, but it was a close relative of hope and healing, the very gifts Nita spread before any who sought them from her.
“You are telling me that even when we marry, even when our own children fill our nursery, you will continue to tend any and all who have need of you.” Tremaine had called upon negotiating skills to offer that summary, upon the ability to restate in the clearest terms an opponent’s position, usually before he annihilated that position.
Nita left off studying the small blaze lighting the hearth and turned to regard Tremaine. Her braid was ratty, her shoulders bare, and her eyes shadowed with sleep.
“I have a gift, Tremaine St. Michael. I can save lives. I can reduce and eliminate suffering. I’ve worked hard to acquire these skills, and planning your dinner parties or picking out wallpaper for your nursery is not more important than wee Annie’s life. Addy is at the end of her tether. Losing one more child will see the others on the parish and Addy in a pauper’s grave. I can’t have that on my conscience.”
Tremaine climbed out of the bed, barely keeping his voice below a shout. “Has it occurred to you thatyouare perhaps the reason Evan remains in poor health?”
His question was desperate, but Nita’s life was arguably in the balance along with Tremaine’s sanity and most of his honor.
How had he not seen this? How had he not realized that Nita’s sense of responsibility had defined her for too long to be eclipsed by a recent attraction to a mere husband?
“I haven’t treated Evan,” she said, drawing the covers up under her arms.
“You treated Digby Nash, and he’s ill. Then you lark into the Chalmers household, dispensing sweetness, light, and very likely contagion.”
Tremaine’s reasoning was cruel,also entirely valid.
“I take precautions,” Nita said, reaching for the blue robe draped across the foot of the bed. She couldn’t grab that robe and keep the covers under her chin, so Tremaine tossed it to her.
