Lord Nick's Folly (6 page)

Before he could reply the coach turned off the main road that had brought them north to a side avenue.

"I believe we are near the end of your journey, Miss Herbert." Nick peered out of the coach window, hoping to see a glimpse of Coxmoor Hall. The avenue was well tended, the gravel neatly raked. To either side of the avenue was a lush parkland with deer roaming beneath spreading oak trees of stately size. Banks of rhododendrons were massed here and there, their lavender-tinged buds beginning to open.

This was not a modest estate.

A glance behind showed that Milburn had elected to follow them. Evidently he hoped to make the acquaintance of the widow much as Nick did, but probably for vastly different reasons. Milburn was not a poor man, and he had hinted he was to come into a comfortable inheritance before too long. Yet Nick doubted if a man of his tastes ever had enough money. Nick wanted information, and he hoped Mrs. Coxmoor would be a fountain of facts and possibly figures.

He returned his attention to Miss Herbert when she cleared her throat.

"I suppose it is silly, but of a sudden I am a bit nervous." Nympha gestured with her hand to the exquisite parkland to either side of the coach. "I truly had not expected this. I thought perhaps a modest villa or a neat manor. But this . . ."

"Cheer up, I won't leave you until you are comfortable here. Sometimes it helps to have a familiar face about when you are thrust into a strange situation."

"As I said before, you are amazingly kind. You make me ashamed of some of the thoughts I harbored about you. And I will
not
share them now, but know I find you admirable. Most of the time," she amended when she recalled a few of his more autocratic decrees given along the way. That attitude had been bred into him. He could no more
not
be that way than not breathe!

At last the coachman drew them up before a very large residence built of warm-tinted stone. It rose three stories, with an impressive portico in the center front. This was not an unassuming dwelling, not in the least.

There was a flurry of activity as the groom opened the door, then let down the steps. He offered his hand, and Nympha hesitantly stepped from the coach to gaze about her. Her first thought was that she wished her mother could see this magnificence. Her second was—what in the world was she doing here?

Lord Nicholas followed her from the coach. As they slowly walked up the stairs to the entry level, Mr. Milburn left his post-chaise, paying the postboy before he hurried to join them while his baggage was unloaded. It would seem he intended to beg transport from Lord Nicholas. Nympha stole a glance at his lordship to see if he indicated a reaction to this bit of effrontery.

She encountered a dark-eyed stare that told her nothing. Before she might venture a word, the large and very impressive oak door opened. A dignified butler bowed with exquisite courtesy, then ushered them into the hall.

"Miss Herbert, we have been expecting you." He looked at the two gentlemen with her, his brow raised a fraction.

"I am Lord Nicholas Stanhope and this is Mr. Milburn. We escorted Miss Herbert when the coach in which she traveled met with an accident. If we might speak with Mrs. Coxmoor?"

"Follow me."

And they did. They trod across the marble-paved hall, its black-and-white preciseness a foil for the lush red of the silk wall hangings and the rich paintings hung on them. Nympha's gaze darted about her, taking note of probable ancestors, interesting people.

Annie was taken in hand along with the luggage, heading up the stairs, leaving Simpson standing quietly near the door. The maid's eyes looked as though they were about to start from her head at the sight of such splendor.

The footman stationed outside the drawing room threw open the double doors.

"Miss Nympha Herbert, Lord Nicholas Stanhope, and Mr. Milburn, madam." The butler bowed, then backed from the room as though Mrs. Coxmoor were royalty.

Nympha advanced into the room, awed by all around her. She could easily spend days absorbing the details of this particular room. The walls here were also hung with red silk, and there was a magnificent looking glass topped by a gilded eagle above the fireplace. A tall, slender lady rose from a sofa of red figured silk. Slender, garbed in a beautiful gray silk sarcenet gown of utter simplicity, she did not appear her age, which Nympha knew approached seventy.

"So you are Nympha!" Great-Aunt Letitia quickly crossed to wrap her grandniece in a swift lavender-scented hug. "How like your mother you are—when she was a girl. I recall her well."

"Thank you, ma'am. I bring greetings from her and my father." Nympha smiled at her great-aunt, who, in spite of the magnificence of her surroundings, looked cozily as she ought. She shared the family nose, and there was a hint of Grandmother about her eyes.

Mrs. Coxmoor turned to Lord Nicholas and Mr. Milburn, her brows raised in question.

"Your traveling coach met with an accident," Lord Nicholas said, bowing. He went on to explain the decision for the three to travel on together.

"You live near here? Or do you visit? I do not recognize either name." Mrs. Coxmoor's gaze was penetrating.

"I am here to explore the area, perhaps locate someone I know. Milburn is rusticating, I believe." Lord Nicholas turned to look at him.

"I confess, I merely travel about for the pleasure of it. That and to meet a relative of mine."

"We were hoping you might suggest a suitable inn to be found in Mansfield." Lord Nicholas bowed again, displaying the elegant manners Nympha had noted were a part of him.

Nympha was proud to have been a part of such company. "I must say, ma'am, that Lord Nicholas saw to it that we stayed in none but the finest of inns while coming north. I am indebted to him for his concern and care."

Mrs. Coxmoor's gaze raked the two men with a lightning glance. "Please, you must stay with us. I fear the inn in Mansfield would not satisfy you, not if your standards are above the ordinary. After all you have done for my grandniece it is the least I can do. Goodness knows there are sufficient rooms in this great pile of stone."

Neither gentleman was slow to accept. Of course, they made little noises of protest, but brief ones, before agreeing that it would be of all things wonderful to remain in Miss Herbert's company—as well as with Mrs. Coxmoor.

"Good, then it is settled." She crossed to tug a silken rope near the fireplace that brought the butler into the room within moments.

"Foley, see that rooms are prepared for the gentlemen. They will be staying with us for a time."

Foley bowed. "Indeed, madam."

"And Foley, have James bring refreshments."

"Yes,
madam."

Nympha wondered if she would ever become accustomed to such austere formality after the simplicity of the rectory.

Mrs. Coxmoor returned her attention to her guests. "Do tell me all about your journey. Precisely what happened to the traveling coach? It was in good repair when it left here, but I know what the roads can be like." She gestured to the sofa opposite the one on which she had been seated, then drew Nympha to sit at her side, facing the gentlemen.

Nick set forth the bare bones of the accident, omitting any mention of his suspicions. After all, nothing else had occurred to mar the trip. Miss Herbert interposed comments where she thought necessary.

"Well, it seems you have had quite an adventure, my dear," Mrs. Coxmoor said with a somewhat arch look at her grandniece. "Let us hope that the rest of your visit will be equally enlivening."

Chapter Four

"Everything is of the finest, my lord. Mr. Milburn has even been assigned a man to do for him." Simpson sniffed his disapproval of any gentleman who would travel without his valet. "This is the best of households from what I can see to this point." He paused in unpacking Nick's apparel to give him a respectful look. The valet was surprisingly fussy about accommodations, expecting the cream for his master. That he would also appreciate nice rooms for the staff was left unsaid. He'd reported that his small room adjacent to Nick's was all he could want in comfort.

"Nice to have your approval," Nick murmured as he casually strolled across to inspect the view from the large bedroom he had been given. The rug beneath his feet was thick and soft, appearing to be of excellent quality. There was a hint of lavender in the room, most pleasant. His room in his new home would likely not suit him better. As a matter of fact, he could pick up a few ideas from this house for his own.

"Madam will tolerate nothing but the latest, I was informed when I inquired about facilities." Simpson unbent enough to offer the faintest of smiles. "Indeed, sir, you have truly landed on your feet."

"Hmm." The view from his window showed a well-tended garden looking its early spring best. Green shoots indicated where perennials would later bloom. Early tulips were in bud. The grass was perfectly scythed—he'd wager a weed wouldn't dare to pop up anywhere it wasn't wanted. He could see a sizable pond in the distance with the willows at its edge showing a tinge of green on their dancing branches.

He turned from this bucolic scene to study his room. A mammoth four-poster bed was centered on one wall. He would hazard it offered utmost comfort. Behind it hung light blue silk with a vaguely Greek motif he liked. A handsome desk equipped with everything he could need for writing was opposite the bed between two windows. Comfortable-looking chairs covered in a dark blue-and-white print were scattered about the room, small tables at the side of each, upon which one might place a lamp or candle, or glass of brandy—a fine bottle of which he noted stood on the dresser where Simpson still fussed.

"Mrs. Coxmoor believes in treating her guests, even unexpected ones, quite well. Wonder how her husband made his wealth?" Unlike many of the
ton,
Nick was not above chatting with his valet. The fellow was a wizard at learning anything of interest, and Nick had often found his knack invaluable.

"As to that, milord, I learned that the late Mr. Coxmoor had interests in a coal mine and a lace factory, among other things. No matter what he turned his hand to, he made money at it. Could have bought himself a barony had he wished. Decided he would rather be a plain mister."

Nick smiled at the disbelief in Simpson's voice. It was hard for his valet to imagine a gentleman not wanting a title to give him a bit of prestige. Most men coveted that distinction.

"Madam did not seem to mind either way, so there you have it," Simpson continued. "The house is not so very old, but she is fond of it, for she and Mr. Coxmoor devised much of the plan. I fancy that is why she remains here, although the house is far too large for one person."

"Yet all I saw coming up here was in perfect order, so her income has not diminished." Nick went to the neat stand that now held his shaving gear, a bowl of warmish water, and anything else he might wish. His beard grew far too fast to be pleasing, so he took care of that before dressing for dinner. Simpson deplored his habit of shaving himself; Nick always replied he needed the practice in the event that Simpson might not be around at some point in the future. Surprisingly enough, the meal was to be held the same time as one might expect in London. He wished to be down early so to possibly chat with his hostess.

He wondered briefly how Milburn fared with the borrowed valet, then dismissed the man from his mind. Far better to speculate on how he was to approach Mrs. Coxmoor regarding the identity of the murdered man.

* * * *

In a very large bedroom on the far side of the house Nympha plumped herself down on a chaise lounge to study her room. My, it would be difficult to return home after this magnificence. If she had thought the exterior impressive, the interior of the house was awesome.

Delicate gold-and-white striped paper adorned the wall, with pretty Dutch landscapes hung here and there. The four-poster bed was exquisitely carved in walnut, and the pale rose-figured bed covering looked sumptuous. More pale rose and a fragile green had been used in covering the chairs, and the colors were echoed in the fanciful thick rug she suspected came from China. Best of all was a wonderful walnut desk outfitted with rich cream hot-pressed paper. The bottle of ink seemed to be green. She couldn't imagine what Tabitha would say to receive a letter written with green ink!

"Best change for dinner, miss. You do not want to be rushed," Annie cautioned.

"Little difference it would make. None of my dresses will do justice to this house—or my great-aunt's elegance. Wait until you get a glimpse of her. She is remarkable. No one would ever believe her to be my
great-aunt."

But Nympha submitted to a change of garb, and thought that the simple white crepe she and her mother had made looked just what it was, simple and homemade. Having been preached to all her life of the dangers of pride, she sighed and picked up her gloves and reticule before leaving her room.

The stairway was in the center of the house, and here Nympha encountered Lord Nicholas.

Nympha smiled, pleased that her relative could offer such fine accommodations to her friends, for she now considered them as such after days of traveling in their company. She supposed some high sticklers would have insisted Lord Nicholas had compromised her by traveling with her in the carriage. But with Annie and Simpson often inside for one reason or another, she doubted that argument would hold water. Besides, she was the rector's daughter, wearing drab clothes. Who would believe the handsome, dashing Lord Nicholas would give her an amorous look?

Quite as though he had seen into her mind, a smiling Lord Nicholas immediately offered his arm to her. "Settling in nicely?"

"Have you looked from your windows? Mine reveals a lovely prospect. I had no idea that Nottinghamshire was so pleasant."

"Hmm, indeed. Looks quite civilized, in fact." Lord Nicholas exchanged an amused glance with her, and Nympha felt the most peculiar little jolt to her heart as her eyes met his. It must be the aftereffect of such prolonged travel. It could be nothing else!