Page 96 of Tremaine's True Love
“I will travel on,” St. Michael said, getting to his feet. “George passed along some useful information regarding German hostelries, and I’ve connections with most of the Pumpernickel Courts.” St. Michael spoke as if he were planning the funeral of a loved one.
“Shall I send George with you?” Though the weather was again threatening a reprise of winter when spring really ought to be nudging winter aside.
St. Michael put the lid back on the biscuit crock. “No, you shall not. Mr. George Haddonfield has all the earmarks of a fine shepherd and man of business. You will transfer the sheep to Mr. Edward Nash in anticipation of his offer for Lady Susannah. First, however, you will put the fear of a sound thrashing in Nash should his temper threaten to turn violent.”
Nick took a bite of cold, buttered toast. “Are you daft? I don’t want Susannah marrying that buffoon. If I had any doubt of it, the way he went swimming in the punch bowl last night confirms that he’s not a suitableparti. I cannot stop Susannah from accepting his suit, but if I withhold the sheep, I won’t hasten her doom either.”
St. Michael ran a hand through neatly combed dark hair.
“Bellefonte, please attend me. I will be leaving shortly and I’m in no mood to humor earls with poor hearing. You will transfer the sheep to Nash, today if possible, whether Lady Susannah marries the fool or not, because Elsie Nash and her boy are trapped in that household.”
Trapped. On the way home from the assembly, Leah had described Elsie’s situation with the same word.
“My men of business made Nash a delicately worded, conditional, and lucrative offer for those sheep through the post yesterday afternoon,” St. Michael said. “A paragraph buried in the convoluted text requires that Nash turn over guardianship of the boy, Digby, to you or the guardian of your choice. Nash will sell me the sheep at a significant profit to him. I’ll transfer them to your brother George in exchange for his willingness to serve as my factor in France from time to time. If you need funds for the boy, I’ll provide them.”
The toast went down reluctantly. “Why will you provide Nash the funds he needs to put Stonebridge to rights?”
“Lady Susannah is Nita’s sister. If Susannah is not happy, Nita cannot be happy, and many men drink to excess only when their fortunes sink. With Lady Susannah’s help, coin in hand, and you and George to keep an eye on matters, Nash’s worst tendencies can be curbed, particularly if the boy and his mother are not a financial drain. It’s a compromise, my lord, as many bargains must be. Lady Susannah deserves better, but a gentleman does not argue with a lady.”
Did Nita realize the caliber of man she was rejecting? “That is a significant investment based on hope, St. Michael.”
“On prediction, your lordship. I’m no longer in the business of hoping.”
St. Michael’s scheme bore a hint of intrigue, and yet Nick couldn’t find a flaw with it. “You’ll be out considerable coin, and George might not want the sheep.”
“You underestimate your brother, my lord. He’s nobody’s fool, not afraid of hard work, and he listens more than he talks. He also loves his sisters as dearly as you do, and his good qualities are far more numerous than his few trivial shortcomings. Rent him pasture if you must, but if he has sense, he’ll soon have his own establishment.”
Nick took a swallow of tea to ease the lump in his throat caused by cold toast, but the tea had grown cold too.
“I underestimated you, St. Michael,” Nick said. “Nita will regret refusing your suit, and when she does, I hope your affections are not otherwise engaged. One question, though. You have land in France and probably relatives there too. Why hire George to oversee those holdings?”
St. Michael stalked off in the direction of the door. “Because I am sick to death of travel, and the time has come to put my memories of France behind me. You will offer my farewells to your countess and your siblings.”
Then he was gone, leaving Nick with a sister to console—and lecture.
* * *
“I have means,” George said. “A great-aunt on my mother’s side decided that because I was neither heir nor spare, nor handsome by-blow, I ought to have a start in life. I also have some luck with investments. You and Digby would want for nothing.”
The Stonebridge kitchen was warm because the morning’s bread had just come out of the oven. The fresh-baked fragrance competed with the stink of tallow though, a scent George associated with student lodgings and cheap inns. If he didn’t propose to Elsie here, though, sitting with her at the kitchen table, he’d likely never have another opportunity.
“Digby was resting quietly when you brought me home,” Elsie said, “and if it weren’t for him…”
Some of George’s proposal was because of the boy, but not all. By no means all.
“Elsie, I’m the son of an earl. Nicholas will support my request to become Digby’s guardian if we’re married. Edward will not quibble at allowing me to assume the boy’s expenses, and in a few years, Digby will be off to public school in any case.”
The weak light filtering through the windows showed the fatigue around Elsie’s eyes, but also the beauty of her features. She was small and weary, and yet she had lovely eyes, an elegant profile, and a mouth—
That mouth had the power to wake a man up, to reveal to him choices he could make, paths he could choose.
“You pity me,” Elsie said, “and yet I’m tempted anyway, George Haddonfield. Digby likes you, and you’d be a wonderful father.”
George took her hand, a hand that shouldn’t have calluses. “I will make you a wonderful husband, Elsie, or give it my best try.”
“I should not have kissed you.”
That’s all they’d done—kiss, albeit with startling passion—and on the short drive to Stonebridge, they’d snuggled under the lap robes necessary when traveling by sleigh, as any couple might have snuggled.
