Lord Nick's Folly (24 page)

"You may as well come along. I might need a supporting hand—or sympathy." Nympha flashed a teasing smile at him.

"I am not certain my presence is desired."

"As you wish." She'd not dragoon anyone into doing anything.

Like any perverse male, he elected to join her anyway, pausing at the door of the library. He bowed to Mrs. Coxmoor with the correct degree of hesitancy. "Miss Herbert suggested I might attend?"

"You may as well. Nottingham will be there tomorrow, or even later today." Mrs. Coxmoor gave them an amused look, while the lawyer frowned over his spectacles.

"This young man, Mr. Smedley, has some papers you are to sign, Nympha." Great-Aunt Letitia gestured to the gentleman at the desk. "I have made a final disposition of my estate—signed, witnessed, and sealed. All is to be yours, dearest girl. I trust you to use it wisely. I believe you will never mismanage it, nor throw away the money foolishly. I have observed in you the traits of honesty and frugality, both of which I admire."

Nympha was glad of his lordship's surprisingly soothing closeness. As stimulating as he often proved to be, he could also lend a sympathetic ear or countenance.

Nympha read over the papers handed to her, then went to the desk to sign where indicated. When all was completed, she again sat down, very thankful for a solid chair beneath her. Her altered station in life was almost too much to comprehend. This house was to be hers, along with the factories, the coal mine, everything. She glanced at Lord Nicholas, wondering what went on in his mind.

"That does it. Miss Herbert. All is in order here," Mr. Smedley said while bundling up the papers. Some copies were placed aside, likely for the safe that hid behind the oil painting hanging above the fireplace mantel. "I trust that if there is ever any manner in which I might serve you, you will not hesitate to call upon me?"

"Thank you. I will remember that." Nympha curtsied to her great-aunt and the lawyer before leaving the room.

"Do you wish to take the drive to Nottingham now?" Lord Nicholas inquired.

"I think that would be nice." She sent a maid up to her room for a pelisse, reticule, and bonnet. She felt oddly reluctant to leave Lord Nicholas. They walked to the entry hall, waiting there for the required items.

"The papers cover my possible marriage," she said at last into the silence of the hall. They stood alone, Foley having been summoned to the library.

"That is a good thing, to have all eventualities covered." Lord Nicholas stood at her side drawing on his York tan gloves.

"Even though my husband can manage everything, most of the money and this house are in my hands, but I share the rest. I suspect it is an unusual circumstance. I can't say I have ever given much thought to settlements." She gave him a wan smile, her mind returning to the simple statement that she could support him.

"Settlements can be the very devil, I imagine, depending on what is involved."

He had said nothing of his own circumstances, leading Nympha to wonder what they might be. Hadn't her father said something about Lord Nicholas being the recipient of a bequest from an aunt or grandmother? Her memory failed her when she most wanted to recall the words.

Annie bustled down the stairs at that point, doubtless horrified if anyone else should help her mistress into her pelisse. Within minutes Nympha was ready to depart.

"The curricle ought to be here by now. I trust you will find that agreeable? We could have taken the coach, but I thought since the day was fine and there is little wind, the curricle would be acceptable."

"I think it would be good."

Garbed in a silvery gray dress of finest kerseymere and trimmed with a lace ruff, her aunt along with the lawyer, joined them in the hall.

Lord Nicholas greeted the lawyer with a polite expression. "We are traveling to Nottingham as well, sir."

"You take the coach or the curricle?" Mrs. Coxmoor studied Nympha's pelisse likely with an eye to its warmth.

"Lord Nicholas thought the weather so fine that a drive in the curricle would be nice." Nympha sought to assure her relative that she agreed with the vehicle choice.

"Nice spring day," Mr. Smedley concurred.

In short order Mr. Smedley departed in his equipage, a shiny black coach of high respectability.

Nympha and Lord Nicholas followed in his wake.

They spoke of common things while traveling. The ball was discussed at length, the coming marriage as well.

"Mr. Milburn left this morning, did you know?" Lord Nicholas glanced at Nympha. "The duchess invited him to the castle, and you may well imagine he lost no time in packing his gear. Your great-aunt offered the loan of the coach so he might arrive in style."

"I will not miss him. But he does not deserve such fine treatment." Nympha fixed her eyes on the distant spire of the larger church in Nottingham.

"It has been my observation that too often that is the case. We can only hope that the guilty will reap their just rewards eventually."

"His will be having to live with Lady Anne." Nympha couldn't stifle a chuckle at the thought.

"You know, I'd not be surprised if he went to London by himself. Actually, it might be safer for Lady Anne."

Nympha sobered at once. "I'd not considered that aspect. Surely you do not believe he would harm her? I would suspect that the duke is wise to his sort and would put something in the settlements that restricts Mr. Milburn's access to her income."

"I doubt it. It is customary for a wife's fortune to be in the hands of her husband. He may do with it as he pleases." He fell silent at those words. They seemed to hang in the air between them.

There it was—the custom and law of giving over everything to the husband upon marriage. Her mother had remarked on a widow she thought unlikely to remarry, as she enjoyed her freedom to spend as she pleased. Yet, if a girl trusted her husband to do what was right with the money, why not? It was a worrisome thing. Perhaps she would simply not wed, thus avoiding the entire dilemma.

It wasn't long before they entered the town.

"This is the old Bar Gate, once the restricted entry to the town. Ahead is the Market Place, and there is the Market Cross."

"What a nice name, Angel Row. Do you suppose a row of angels were ever there?" Nympha gazed at the neat row of houses on her right.

"Down here is St. Peter's Church, just beyond Wheeler Gate."

"Papa said the word 'gate' comes from the Danes when they occupied so much of the country."

Lord Nicholas skillfully guided his team down the narrow street to an inn where they might leave the curricle while they explored the town and all it had to offer.

He insisted upon tea and a nuncheon before they set out, and Nympha readily agreed. If she did decide never to marry it would be nice to have some happy memories, of which this would be one.

The nuncheon was ample and tasty. Nick watched as Nympha ate of everything, if a bit sparingly.

Thinking back to the words exchanged while on their way, he wished unsaid his comments regarding the fortune of a woman when she married. Not only had Nympha remained silent, a chill had descended over the carriage that had nothing to do with the weather.

As is so often the case, there was little he might say to offset words once spoken. If he assured Nympha that he didn't care about her fortune, or would not seek to control it once married, he was being premature. He had yet to ask her. Now he wondered if he dared.

Without any vanity, he knew that her father would be pleased to welcome him as a son-in-law. They could spend part of the year in Nottingham, with a visit to his home when they pleased. He'd not give up the house and links he'd worked so hard to obtain, but he had grown to love the home Nympha was to inherit.

"You are deep in thought. I'd not expect scones to merit such contemplation." Her smile was tentative, her eyes guarded.

"I'll confess I was thinking about our prior conversation." Nick decided to be bold. "Are you so afraid of having a husband who might be given control of the vast inheritance you are to receive eventually?"

"It may be some years away, you know. As to my fortune, I doubt I am equipped to deal with it. Perhaps I will be so fortunate as to acquire a husband who will be my partner in all things—the family as well as business."

He thought her pink cheeks delightful. It had likely been difficult for her to give voice to her thoughts.

"Time will tell." It was a trite phrase to offer, and he wished he could think of something more appropriate to say.

They left the inn to wander along Wheeler Gate up to Market Place. The shops here were finer than the ones in Mansfield, offering goods direct from London, or so the signs in the windows insisted. They paused before a millinery shop window.

"I believe there is a bonnet that would look good on you."

Nympha allowed herself to be enticed into trying on a bonnet that went well with her blue pelisse, having blue ribands with cornflowers tucked in the top of a bow. She objected to his buying it, however. With inspired logic Nick claimed it was in appreciation of her company.

He tried to cheer her, pointed out things to amuse, and in general exerted himself as a genial host. He didn't think he had made much progress, however. She was too quiet. She was polite, laughed at his jokes, but nevertheless had an inner quiet he could not pierce.

It was not going to be an easy courtship! But, slow and steady wins the race.

Chapter Fourteen

The next morning Nick looked out of the window to see a rain-washed scene. There was no wind; the rain simply fell in torrents, blotting out the landscape. It was enough to give one a fit of the dismals. He leaned against the window surround, staring off into the liquid gray curtain with a frown.

He wasn't in too good a frame of mind to begin with. The previous day had not gone well. He thought back on the trip to Nottingham, devised with such hope. If he had expected to make any progress in wooing Miss Herbert, he would have done better to stay in bed! While not a total disaster, it had not been well done.

The bonnet was a success, and she promised she would wear it to church this Sunday. He didn't know if that meant she wanted to show it to the vicar and those from the castle, or if she wished to please him. He had insisted upon buying the bonnet for her, although he knew full well it was not proper for a gentleman to buy a bonnet for a young lady. Hang the proprieties. If he wished to please her with a bonnet, he would. Besides, he wanted to show her he had funds enough to live well, if not lavishly.

It had been the matter of her inheritance that dealt the worst blow to his hopes. As far as he could tell, she now viewed him as a fortune hunter. What a touch of irony that was—with him the son of the marquess from Lanstone Hall. All the years he had known her she had been nothing more than the second daughter of the rector. Reverend Herbert was a kind gentleman, given to overlong sermons and absentminded conversation. His wife was the practical mistress of the rectory, and guide for the children. While they might be a cadet branch of an old and highly respected family—and he thought there might be an earl in there somewhere—their rank was nothing compared to his.

Not that he judged people by their rank. He didn't. But he knew others did. Was money coming to have greater importance in Society than rank? It appeared to locally.

Miss Nympha Herbert needed a lesson, but what or how it might be given was more than he could imagine. He would simply have to be his natural self and see what developed.

At least he no longer had to deal with Milburn and his flirting with Nympha. Nick guessed Milburn wanted distance from the one man who connected him to a murder. Come to think of it, just his suspicion was enough to make Milburn wish to dispose of him. Distance was a good thing for both of them! It had been a frustrating experience to sense so strongly that Milburn was guilty and not be able to prove it. Someday . . .

Once dressed, he proceeded to the breakfast room. It was good not to see Milburn's smug face over his coffee cup. On the other hand, the room was ghostly quiet, with the soft-footed ministrations of Foley and James to interrupt his total peace.

Blast it all, he didn't wish for peace right now. All he did was ruminate on his failure of yesterday.

"Good morning."

He twisted around in surprise to find Nympha standing in the doorway, her greeting finding him at a loss. "Good morning, although quite what is good about it is more than I can see. It is pouring outside." He gestured to the window, beyond which could be seen the gray veil of rain.

"I noticed." She walked to the sideboard where she selected a scone and a sliver of gammon. She paused by the table, looking at him, then the chair, then him again.

"I promise not to bite," he assured her with a perfectly straight face.

"I did not think you would."

He couldn't help the chuckle that escaped. When he recalled all the years of evading matchmaking mothers and their precious daughters who were intent on a good marriage, it was amusing to discover the one woman he wanted did not want him. Or if she did, didn't wish to admit it.

She gave him an uncertain look before settling on a chair not too close but not at the other end of the table, either. She set about buttering her scone with purposeful intent.

"What do you propose to do today?" he queried. "Read, I suppose? The light is too dim for needlework." He sent her a quizzing glance, but didn't push for a reply.

"I believe I was very rude to you yesterday," she said after a time, when Foley had again departed from the room.

"How so?" Nick studied her down-bent head. Her curls were more pronounced today, possibly because of the rain. She wore a blue-spotted muslin that emphasized the blue of her eyes—when she looked at him, which she was
not
doing at the moment.

"I cast aspersions on your character. I do not know why. You have not given me reason to believe ill of you. Please," she choked out, "accept my apologies."

"Dear girl, there is nothing for which you need apologize. I cannot recall a thing—unless you are referring to my having to talk you into accepting that attractive bonnet that so well becomes you." He hoped that by giving a positive answer he might discover her reasoning.