Lord Nick's Folly (11 page)

Nick's gaze darted to the still figure in the bed. "Well, I shall teach you anyway. Your great-aunt wishes it."

"Impossible. I cannot run fast enough."

The words were whispered, a mere thread of sound again, but still heard clearly in the silence of the room.

"Bathe her forehead in lavender water. My mother swears it is good for a headache. Perhaps it will help Miss Herbert."

"Yes, milord. Mrs. Coxmoor brought in a bottle of it for our use. If nothing else, she will like the scent."

Nick vowed to buy a large bottle of the stuff for Nympha if only she would recover.

They took turns watching her that evening. Nick stubborn in his insistence that he remain close to her. He told himself that he did so because he knew her parents.

When Nick finally returned downstairs late that night, Milburn expressed no desire to see Miss Herbert again, leaving the nursing and care up to the others. "Although, dear chap, I wonder at your sitting with her so often. Is it the done thing? For a gentleman to enter the bedroom of a young lady?"

"I have known her forever, Milburn. I cannot see that it presents a problem. Besides . . . who would spread the tale abroad?" Nick shot a meaningful look at the man who had almost killed Nympha. It was inadvertent, true, but that did not mean Nick had to like the fellow.

"True, true. I meant nothing by the remark I assure you.
I
will be as mute as a fish. But on occasion servants do talk. I imagine the Duke of Portland's and Manver's servants occasionally meet these servants. Were the Coxmoor people to chat, tell about the near disaster . . . well . . ." Milburn's voice trailed off.

Nick stared at him, and Milburn backed off.

"Just wanted to point out a possible difficulty, old man." Milburn took another few steps backward.

"Perhaps you can remove to your uncle's now?"

"No, no, the old fellow cannot tolerate noise or company. I merely check on him as often as I can."

Nick cynically wondered if Mrs. Coxmoor's food was better. He returned to the wing chair near the fireplace, plumped himself on the cushion, and proceeded to stare into the flames while wondering what could possibly happen next.

The maids took care of Nympha during the night, although Mrs. Coxmoor rose once to look in on her. Nick had been unable to sleep until he also checked to see how she fared.

Odd how she had established such a place in his life. At first he had thought her a dratted nuisance, and he did not like her attraction to his brother. He wondered if she still nurtured a
tendre
for him. From little things she had dropped, he rather believed she had put that infatuation behind her. He hoped so.

First thing in the morning Nick made it a point to check on Nympha. He rapped lightly on the door, which was promptly opened by Annie.

"How is she?" Nick peered around the maid. He was overjoyed when his gaze met Nympha's bright blue eyes.

"Mrs. Coxmoor, she says as how you can come in, but only for a few minutes," the maid said with the air of one who has memorized a message.

Nick ignored Annie. He rapidly crossed the room to the bed.

"Before you can ask, I am better." Nympha gave him a cross look. "My head aches some. I should like to know how that ball hit me when I sat on the sidelines." Nick thought that were she able to be up, she would be tapping her foot in annoyance, her arms folded before her.

"I cannot say," Nick answered candidly. "I cannot believe he intended to do you any harm. I have seen tennis balls go every which direction." They hadn't gone with the deadly speed of this particular ball, but what did he know about stray balls?

"Oh, yes, I remember. You belong to a tennis club in London and you play golf at home. What else do you do to occupy your time?" Although serious, her eyes held enough curiosity to please the vainest of men, although Nick was not a vain creature.

"Archery, as I said before. Oh, I also like angling. I ride, but I am not much at hunting." He smiled at Nympha, glad to see her less pale, even if her forehead was a nasty purple, with hints of yellow and green. The lump had subsided quite a fair bit, to his satisfaction.

"I think you are a man of the out-of-doors." She made that pronouncement as though it gave her pleasure to have a first opinion justified.

"You might say that. When you are feeling more the thing, what say we go to that Roman ruin site? I should think it would be a gentle excursion. Dr. Graham said you could have a quiet outing. I should think that exploring the past would be peaceful."

He reached out to pick up her nearest hand. "You had us all very worried." All? Dash it, he had been beside himself with fear and dread. And he had wanted to crown Milburn, and not with a tiara.

"I am sorry you were all so worried. Papa says I have a hard head. Perhaps that helped?" Her smile was brave, and although she seemed tired, she clung to his hand with surprising determination.

"I fancy recuperation gets boring. You are too old to whine and too young to be crotchety. Pity you have the headache. Otherwise I could find you a book to read. Unless . . . you would like me to read to you?"

The door opened and Nick half-turned to see Foley entering with a tray, upon which reposed a bowl of gruel along with thin slices of toast and a dab of cherry jam.

"If you feel up to the toast and jam Cook says you may have them after you finish the gruel." Foley placed the tray on her lap with great care, then retreated with his usual dignity.

"Thank you, Foley." When he had gone, she gave the gruel a rueful look, took a few spoons, then set on the toast and cherry jam with far more enthusiasm. "That gruel tastes like yesterday's dishwater. The jam is heavenly. Annie—toss the gruel out of the window." Nympha cast a mischievous glance at Nick. "I'd not wish to hurt Cook's feelings."

And so the day went, with Nick dancing attendance on her, reading to her from a novel entitled
Emma.
Mrs. Coxmoor kept busy planning things to do when Nympha totally recovered. Milburn disappeared for hours at a time. No one asked where he went. It was a relief to have him gone, if truth be known.

Upon his return following an afternoon ride, he presented Nympha with a slim package. Opening it, she found an exquisite lace fan. She thanked him fervently, making Nick wish he had thought of the gesture. Well, it was nice of Milburn, the very least he could do.

Before dinner Nick met with Mrs. Coxmoor. He explained his feelings about Milburn. "He's a sponger, and they are the most difficult of guests to speed on their way."

"I see what you mean," she said, her expression reflective. "Like you say, there really is no reason for him to harm her." She folded her hands before her, looking extremely regal in her pale gray gown with an overskirt of sheer lace. Her cap was also of the most gossamer lace, resting on her silvery white hair as though the lace had been created just for her. It probably had, come to think on it.

"If, as I believe, you intend to make her a major beneficiary, you would expect him to court her. Witness his present of the lace fan. It is something a suitor would give a young lady. Am I right in my assessment of the situation?" Nick fiddled with the papers scattered over the library desk before glancing up at Mrs. Coxmoor.

"Indeed, you are. Since I have no close family remaining, other than my niece, I thought to provide for the girl who carries my name." She gazed at Nick as though expecting his reaction.

"It is often done that way, I believe." He spotted Foley standing at the library door, and moved to escort Mrs. Coxmoor to the dining room.

"Nympha will be recovered before you know it." He offered comfort, but truly didn't know how the girl would be. How could he? He'd rarely been around her much until the past year when she had haunted the links while they were under construction. Naturally, he had chatted with her at those dinners. He once suspected his mother planned to have him marry Miss Nympha Herbert! Impossible. Yet, he'd do all necessary to keep her out of Milburn's covetous hands. He strongly suspected Milburn wanted the money.

In the days that followed Nympha rebounded with the stamina of one who is naturally of good health. She fretted over her multicolored forehead, arranging her blond locks in such a way as to hide it.

* * * *

At last the day arrived when Mrs. Coxmoor and Nick declared her well enough to venture forth on a gentle excursion. Mrs. Rankin had been put off for a time.

Nympha was almost sorry to be going out. She had enjoyed having Lord Nicholas read to her. The novel was an excellent story, more like real life than the gothic tales that Tabitha favored.

"I fear you have not made any headway in finding that man you hoped to locate while here," she said. Although she knew full well that he had a goal of his own to perform, she had treasured her time with him—even if she had an aching forehead for part of it. That was a surprising reaction she had never expected—to enjoy time spent with Lord Nicholas Stanhope.

She had felt well enough to get out of bed and sit near the fireplace the last two days. Her great-aunt was overly protective, but it was nice to be so cherished. Growing up in a large family gave one little individual attention. Not that she didn't love her sisters; they were as dear as could be. But a mother could only offer so much attention to each one.

They plodded along in the landau at a moderate pace. It enabled all to admire the scenery around them. It was a splendid day with perhaps a hint of rain in the clouds overhead. Nympha thought it a trifle chilly out, and she was thankful for her cozy muff into which she had tucked her hands. Great-Aunt Letitia insisted she have a warm scarf at her neck and a new velvet bonnet to protect her head.

"I contacted Rooke, the owner of the property. There will be no difficulty in our access to the ruins."

"How did he discover them? I imagine they were buried beneath a foot or more of dirt." Nympha turned her attention to her great-aunt, who had thought up this jaunt to entertain her.

"Some years back, around seventeen eighty-six, I think, Hayman Rooke spotted some small tiles, the sort the Romans used in their pavements. They had been working in the north field, and these turned up. Curious, he got his men to dig around, and they found a wall about a foot below the surface. It turned out to be a fair-sized villa with nine rooms, with a hypocaust that showed evidence of having been used." She smiled with appreciation of the slight gasp from Nympha. "Whoever lived there liked bright colors, I must say. Wait until you see them."

Before Nympha could persuade her to reveal what she meant, they arrived at the site.

Lord Nicholas hopped out to first assist Mrs. Coxmoor. He handed Nympha from the carriage as though she was made of spun glass. It was a novel sensation to be treated like a princess. A girl would only be human to respond to that!

Mrs. Coxmoor marched ahead of the others, leaving Lord Nicholas to walk with Nympha. A neat path had been set out so they didn't have to plod through a rough field. When they reached the exposed ruin, Nympha was fascinated by what she saw. "Oh, my! I see what you mean about colors. Look, there are stripes of purple, red, yellow, and green on that wall!" Nympha cried when they reached the dig. "It must have been cheerful in the chill of winter."

"I am surprised to see stucco," Lord Nicholas said. He let go of Nympha's arm, to crouch down, touching the revealed stucco with a tentative finger.

"You must see the mosaic. Come," Great-Aunt Letitia said in her most imperious manner.

Nympha and Lord Nicholas dutifully followed, admired the superb example of mosaic pavement, then wandered about to study the other painted walls, the hypocaust with its little pile of ashes, and a tessellated pavement along a hallway.

Another building close by looked to have storage and perhaps a necessary convenience. "They had a cold bath here." Lord Nicholas pointed at a neatly lettered sign.

"I cannot think I should like a cold bath," Nympha stated firmly, shivering as the wind picked up. "Brr. Isn't it possible they heated the water?"

"No evidence of it." He turned to Great-Aunt Letitia. "Mrs. Coxmoor, I suggest that it is time we return to the Hall. The wind has risen. Nympha looks chilled. It is possible that rain could come at any time. Look how the clouds have come over us."

The three hurried to the landau, settling in it just as the rain began to fall in a gentle drizzle.

"Do you wonder what happened to those people all those years ago?" Nympha cast one last look behind them before the carriage turned onto the main road.

"Well, at least nothing happened to you on this excursion," Great-Aunt Letitia said. She exchanged a look with Lord Nicholas that had Nympha wondering just what had occurred while she was in bed with a wounded head.

She had said nothing about the absence of the other guest at the Hall. Mr. Milburn might be a handsome enough gentleman, but it seemed he did not get along well with Lord Nicholas. After being hit on the head by his tennis ball, she was just as pleased not to deal with him.

Although, to be fair, she was well pleased with his thoughtful gift of a lace fan. It was the prettiest fan she had ever seen, much less owned. And as an atonement, it served extremely well.

Perhaps she would have to do as her father would no doubt advise—forgive and forget. She studied Lord Nicholas again. Just where did he fit into the scene?

Chapter Seven

Nick took the many copies he had made of the sketch of the murdered man, folded and tucked them carefully in his inner coat pocket before setting off for the stables. He had briefly explained to Mrs. Coxmoor that he wanted to explore the town of Mansfield and at the same time mouse about to see if he could learn more regarding the identity of the mysterious dead man. He had the notion of handing out the sketch to various shopkeepers to see what reaction he might get. He'd stop at Binch's first.

The sketches had occupied his time when Nympha had been recovering and he'd had little to do. Somehow he had been reluctant to avail himself of the horse and saddle his hostess had offered him. He'd no wish to go haring off with Milburn, who had grabbed onto the offer like a drowning man would a piece of flotsam.