Lord Nick's Folly (12 page)

Nick still had no clue as to precisely where Milburn went on his jaunts, as the man was as tight-lipped as could be about his uncle's condition. Nick wanted him gone, yet could scarce push him out the door.

"I wish you the best of luck with the sketches—you will likely have need of it," Mrs. Coxmoor had said in parting. He left the house feeling somewhat disheartened.

"Lord Nicholas! You are off to Mansfield?"

Nick turned back to see Nympha hurrying across the cobbled yard to where he waited.

Miss Herbert wore a simple cream dress over which she had tossed a scarlet cloak. On her blond curls she had perched the same chip-straw hat she'd worn before. She made a rather fetching picture, and smelled even better when she came close, a light scent of lavender clinging to her.

She was a dainty morsel, and one he ought to stay clear of if he had any sense. He tried to tell himself he wanted to remain free to do as he pleased, that he wanted no entanglements, but Miss Herbert seemed to make mice-feet of his intentions. He doubted if she had the slightest idea of the effect she had on him. He was just becoming aware of the magnitude of his feelings himself.

She carried a stack of precisely folded missives. "These need to be sent. If you could manage that while in town, it would save sending someone else with them."

At his raised brow, she continued. "They are invitations for the masquerade ball my great-aunt insists she must give. She said something about celebrating my recovery, but it is a rather grand way to do that!"

"To ease your mind, she did mention a masquerade before," he reminded, while imagining Nympha in an alluring costume that would do justice to her slim, yet very elegant figure.

"Still, it will be a vast amount of work, I will wager." Nympha's smile looked a bit rueful, as though she was well aware on whose shoulders the work would fall.

"Your great-aunt will undoubtedly have others to do most of the work involved. I have observed she is very good at deputizing the jobs to be done."

"I know. But thank you."

He accepted the faultlessly folded notes, admiring the thick cream paper and beautifully inscribed addresses. "I'll be off." Her wistful expression caught at his heart, and he almost asked if she would like to come along, but she might interfere with his investigation.

"You have errands, I suppose?"

"Would you like to come with me?" Where had those words come from? He supposed she could stroll about the town, perhaps giving him ideas as to where he might leave a copy of the sketch. The notion that he would enjoy her company flitted through his mind to be dismissed at once.

His spontaneous offer was met with an ecstatic smile. "Indeed, I would! Let me fetch my reticule—I'll be but a few moments."

He was an idiot. Certifiably. He reminded himself of his original intentions, wryly surmising that whatever they had been, they had fallen in a heap when he had insisted that Nympha travel north with him.

His traveling coach with his grays in harness was brought forth from the excellent stables. His coachman had befriended the chap who had driven Mrs. Coxmoor's vehicle and remained with it until repaired. There was a bit of mystery there as well. The wheelwright had insisted that there was no reason the accident should have happened. Every other part of the coach had been in tiptop condition, and too new to fall apart.

Nick decided he wasn't all that fond of mysteries.

Miss Herbert was as good as her word. She hurried from the house to join him, popping into the coach with a pleased grin lighting her attractive face. "The maids were all occupied so I decided to go without one. It ought to be acceptable? Surely your company is as good as a footman's?" Her eyes teased.

"I should think so." Odd, how Nick hadn't truly realized what a lovely girl she was. Even when he spent hours reading to her while she recovered, he had never seen her looking anything but nice. Her hair was always brushed, a smile—even if wan—hovered over her lips, and her polite manners all seemed a part of her nature. She had been well raised.

"I do enjoy looking about. Even if I do not buy a thing, it is lovely to see what there is on offer." She folded her hands in her lap and gave him a sparkling look.

What a decidedly novel notion. Nick tried to imagine any of the London beauties he had met offering such a naive remark and couldn't. Perhaps that was one thing that appealed to him about Nympha Herbert—her freshness and lack of Town boredom.

She wore a pair of her new gloves. He saw her secretly admiring them, smoothing them over her graceful hands. He was glad she had acquired something she so obviously wanted; then he grimaced. Good grief, he was becoming a sentimental bore.

"Do you have many errands in town?" Her query was diffident, quite as though it mattered not to her.

"Perhaps you may help me. I made sketches of the man I am trying to locate. I would like to place them about in the hope someone might recognize him." Nick almost kicked himself for blurting out this information, but on second thought it might be wise to do just this. But Miss Herbert had a winsome way about her. He would wager that a person might be more inclined to favor her instead of him.

"That is why you wanted the drawing paper! I confess I had wondered about that. You always had your brother creating drawings for your golf links. I could not imagine what you might sketch. May I see it?"

The coach rumbled into Mansfield as Nick pulled the batch of papers from his pocket. He peeled one paper from the collection and offered it to her.

She gasped.

"What is it?" Nick was confused. No one else he had talked to knew the identity of the stranger. How could Nympha Herbert recognize him?

"I have seen a man who appeared remarkably like this person. He was with Mr. Milburn. They were on your golf links, and I suspect they were arguing—you know, like you do when you perceive a play to be other than your opponent declares? Do you know what happened to him? I did not see him after that. I never gave him a thought, to be truthful. But I did not forget him completely." She studied the drawing again before handing it back to Nick.

"Remarkable. I have sought answers everywhere, and here you are." Nick wondered if he should reveal what had happened to the mystery man. Clearly, Miss Herbert was not made of spun sugar. On the other hand, he wondered if it was better to remain silent. What she didn't know couldn't hurt her. And Miss Herbert had a penchant for falling into difficulties.

"I told Thursby to set us down at the inn. I imagine the locals fetch their mail from here?"

"I have no idea, but perhaps you have the right of it." She spoke with the assurance that comes from living in a village and knowing the ways of rural society.

Nick had handed the stack of invitations back to Miss Herbert when he dug out his sketches. Now she sat primly holding them on her lap.

The coachman deposited them directly in front of the inn. Nick gave Thursby instructions for the day. Miss Herbert accepted Nick's proffered arm with polite decorum.

She walked into the inn with him to hand the invitations over to the innkeeper, who nodded his concurrence with Nick's supposition.

"These will be sorted and picked up by the various grooms and maids today, to be sure."

Nick and Miss Herbert left the inn to make their way along the main street to the marketplace.

"We shall stop at Binch's first." Nick gestured to the shop across from where they walked. "I showed him the sketch before. He wanted one to keep."

"Mrs. Rankin is to come tomorrow. In addition to my new dresses—and there are far too many of them—I am to have a costume for the masquerade. What shall you wear?"

"If you are to be Maid Marian, as your aunt suggested, I shall be Robin Hood. Perhaps you would like to go to Sherwood Forest to absorb some of the atmosphere? You might have better feeling for the sort of costume you should wear."

"I suspect Mrs. Rankin has made a great many Maid Marian costumes if she has been a mantua maker here for many years. I would wager it is a popular costume."

Nympha went ahead into Binch's, followed closely by Lord Nicholas. She waited politely while his lordship handed the sketch to the proprietor. There most definitely was recognition in Binch's eyes. It had flared briefly, but it was there.

"You recognize the man?" Nympha queried.

"Can't put a name to him, but he has been in here. Paid cash for his purchases. Never gave his name."

Nympha shared a look of disappointment with Lord Nicholas. "Thank you." She was about to leave with his lordship when she paused. "If you can think of anything else, please let us know." The image haunted her and she pushed it away; determined not to allow her sensibilities to surface.

Once they returned to the pavement, they continued on to the next shop.

"Paying cash is not that unusual, I suppose," Nympha ventured. "Papa said it is always best to pay cash for what you buy. After all, the merchant has bills to pay. I should imagine that if everyone paid bills promptly, businesses would be far better off."

"Spoken like a true rector's daughter," Lord Nicholas said, his tone teasing.

Nympha's heart sank; she felt snubbed. She admired the handsome gentleman at her side, and now he taunted her. They continued in silence, as she had no wish to say anything to him. Should she voice another opinion, he would likely ridicule that as well.

Perhaps he sensed her feelings of umbrage, for a short time later, after calling in at a fair number of shops, he stopped in the center of the market. In his imposing manner, which to be sure was a part of him, he said, "I believe we need a restoring cup of tea and perhaps a biscuit or three." There was no doubt in his mind that she would accept the offer for tea. He probably had women swarming over him when he was in London, ready and eager to do his bidding.

"If you like." She wished she had stayed at her great-aunt's. Misery crept up in her, reminding her of the vast gulf between her and this handsome lord, the son of a marquess. Perhaps inheriting her great-aunt's fortune and estate might make her more acceptable in the eyes of a gentleman. But a man like Lord Nicholas had sufficient in his own right. Could it be that lack of position would not rank all that high in his calculations? And pigs might fly.

She would wager the woman he married would come from a noble family, the higher, the better. Although, what she was thinking of to include Lord Nicholas with a thought of marriage was beyond common sense. It was not so long ago that she had declared she couldn't stand the man. Besides, wasn't he merely being polite to her? Keeping an eye on the daughter of his rector, most likely as a friendly favor?

How often had she heard derogatory comments on cits and their money? If she inherited from her aunt—and it seemed that she might—would she be viewed in the same light? Papa often declared it was the love of money that was the root of evil. Money was nice to have; it made life more agreeable. But she wanted more than money.

Could she settle for a marriage without love? If money made it possible, she would prefer to wait until she could find her ideal, a man she could love and who would love her in return. She knew it would be impossible to live with a man who scorned her very thoughts.

However, money would make her independent. She could pick and choose—and that was a comforting thought.

They settled in a private parlor to the rear of the inn. Tea and biscuits were fetched them immediately. The door prudently was left ajar. Again Nympha watched the deference given his lordship. Yet, she had to admit that she had been treated politely as well. Cynically, she wondered if that was because it was speculated that she might be the one to inherit the vast riches her great-aunt possessed.

"What is it?" Lord Nicholas inquired once she had poured his tea and offered thinly sliced lemon.

"What is what?" Nympha wasn't sure what he meant by those words and she certainly wasn't going to assume a thing. One could fall into a pit of trouble by saying the wrong words.

"Something is on your mind. While I have been chatting up the various shopkeepers, you have been trailing along behind like a disapproving shadow. I said something you did not like?"

She gave him a startled stare. Through the open door to the hall she saw a maid hurry past. The inn was quiet, too quiet. "I do not know what you mean."

"You became silent after your remarks on paying debts promptly. I see nothing wrong with your statement. I did not disagree with you. So what put your back up?"

"But then, I spoke as a true rector's daughter, and I expect I always shall. Once a value has been instilled in a person, I should think it difficult to eradicate."

"Remind me to talk with you after you inherit the vast estate your great-aunt intends to bequeath you." His intent gaze pierced. She almost felt it touch her skin.

Nympha paused, her teacup in hand before her mouth. She stared at him over the brim of the cup. "She said that to you?"

He nodded.

"Oh." Her lone word was a great exhalation of air. "That could present a problem or two." She thought a few moments. "But it would give me the opportunity to help my sisters and Adam. My parents as well."

"What would you do with the lace manufactories? The coal mine? Her other interests?" He held his teacup before him just as she did, like a shield to ward off something unwanted.

"If I marry, my husband might wish to assume the control of them." She continued to hold her teacup in front of her, forgetting she had wanted the beverage.

"I urge you to marry well, in that event. A man who is astute in business, or gifted with finding good managers." His face seemed carved from stone for a moment.

Her searching eyes could detect no expression of any sort. "Perhaps I should call upon you for guidance in that event." She was goaded into adding, "I fancy you know every gentleman of interest and importance. Better still, you would know who I ought not marry—the wastrels and gamesters. I have heard tales that many of those sort are extremely charming and handsome."

"They live by their wits and charm, most often." At once he softened, yet his gaze seemed probing—for something he sought. "My advice is to take care. Better common sense than charm and wit. There are any number of charming scoundrels around."