Lord Nick's Folly (23 page)

The vicar was a lively dancer, cavorting down the line of a country dance with ease and grace. Nympha had to mind her steps, and thus switched her attention from the newly betrothed pair with appreciation.

When the dance at long last concluded, the vicar mopped his brow. "I declare I need a cooling drink. Would you join me in some lemonade, dear Miss Herbert?"

The vicar was single. Nympha was learning to be wary of every male within the marriageable age. "I should like to sit over there for a few moments. Perhaps you could simply take two glasses from the footman with that tray." She gestured to James, now bearing a tray with glasses of what appeared to be lemonade. She sank down on the lone chair set against the wall near the windows that led to the terrace. She had already enjoyed two glasses of champagne. Lemonade would be good.

The vicar needed no urging. Perhaps he had no ulterior motive and had not intended to improve his situation by an alliance with a rich heiress. She found the thought depressing. Would she now have to judge all men by how she perceived their intentions?

When the vicar returned with two glasses in hand, he handed her one, then sipped from his with appreciation.

"Ah, champagne. How like dear Mrs. Coxmoor to have the finest of everything—right down to her grandniece."

Nympha's warning bells rang again. She took a generous swallow of her drink and nearly choked.

"My dear girl," Lord Nicholas said as he joined them and proceeded to not so gently pound her on her back, "sip it slowly so as to savor the delicate flavor." He ignored her annoyed glare. He plucked another glass of champagne from a tray and offered it to her. "Drink this more slowly, my sweet."

"I was warm. Do you not think it is warm in here? It is most definitely warm." Yet the drink was delicious, and she
was
warm. She took another gulp of the cool liquid with appreciation, smiling at the bubbles that teased her nose. Nympha opened her lace fan to waft it back and forth with more vigor than was likely seemly. Never mind that it didn't particularly go with her costume. She had guessed how it might be with all these people, and brought a defense—her fan. Her energetic use didn't go unnoticed.

"May I suggest a walk along the terrace?" Lord Nicholas proposed smoothly, just as the vicar put himself forward.

"I was about to offer my arm to dear Miss Herbert myself," the vicar said, darting an annoyed glance at his lordship. His Old King Cole crown was tipped to one side, and he stared owlishly through gold-rimmed spectacles.

"I have known Miss Herbert since the cradle, so by way of being an old family friend, I claim first rights." Lord Nicholas placed a proprietary hand on her shoulder.

Nympha wondered what on earth his being a family friend had to do with walking her on the terrace. And since when had he been an
old
family friend?

However, she was not about to deny herself the pleasure of cooling air, or the company of a gentleman of the first stare of elegance. She rose, downed the last sip of champagne, and then placed her hand on his arm after handing the vicar her empty glass.

That last dance must have been more tiring than she had thought, for she felt a bit awkward on her feet.

"Come," Lord Nicholas said, sounding amused at something, perhaps the annoyed vicar in his King Cole costume looking like a frustrated owl.

Little bubbles seemed to be floating through her, and her feet wanted to dance rather than walk. Happiness did odd things to one.

The fresh air felt good, if bracing. Lord Nicholas had grabbed a wrap from somewhere and now draped it around her shoulders. They alone braved the chill of the terrace.

"We won't stay here long. If you prefer we will remain by the door."

"Let's walk." She tucked her arm close to his side, relishing the warmth and strength she found there.

He chuckled for some odd reason. They set off at an ambling walk, his hand on top of hers to keep it warm.

"You are a
very
thoughtful gentleman," she said with a very faint hiccup. "Oh, dear. I suppose that is the result of drinking that delightful champagne?" Her brain was now bubbling with the strangest joy. She wasn't accustomed to drinking champagne.

"It has been known to happen to others."

"And I am a
very
silly girl, I suspect. Yet I am here with you and not the vicar."

He seemed to understand her reasoning, for he replied, "I should say you were clever, not silly. Unless you desire to trap me, as Lady Anne trapped Milburn?"

"No," she said, followed by a long sigh.

"You don't want me?" Now he sounded like he was laughing inside.

"You dare laugh because I said I don't want to trap you? I would not like to snabble a husband that way, thank you very much. I would far rather be wooed with kisses."

"That I can handle with ease, dear girl."

"I wish you would not call me your dear girl, because I am not. Your dear girl, that is. Am I?" She gave the stone balustrade a considering perusal.

"You are."

He put one gloved finger under her chin, tilted her face up, and placed a delicate kiss on lips that had been hungry for his touch ever since the last time he had kissed her. It was amazing how she had learned to enjoy kisses so rapidly. He was the only gentleman who had kissed her, true. But he must do it extremely well, for she decided it had to be the nicest feeling in the world—along with being held in his arms.

She stepped closer to him, wanting his warmth, but unconsciously wishing for something more as well, only she didn't know quite what.

"Nympha," he murmured in a warning voice. Although what he might be warning her against she didn't know. Hadn't he told the vicar he was an old family friend?

And then his lordship really kissed her, just as she had been wishing he might. He was fiercely tender, wrapping her tightly in his arms. When at last he lifted his face from hers, he spun her about and marched her back to the door. They were inside the ballroom before she could begin to complain.

"You do tend to court disaster, dear girl."

"I wouldn't with the vicar." She was
quite
certain that she wouldn't walk with him at all, much less kiss him.

"Thank heaven for small mercies, in that event." He handed the borrowed wrap to a footman.

"I do have some sense, you know. In fact, I am reckoned to be a very sensible girl."

"I wonder . . . ?" He led her along the wall to an open space where people waited for the next dance to commence. "Come. We will try the waltz. You ought to be able to manage if I support you."

"I could support you, too, I suppose."

"We are not talking about the same things. I suggest you curb your tongue before you really fall into trouble."

She became silent, for he took her into his arms, first placing her hands just so, then drawing her close. It was not the least like dancing with her sister. Not at all. One must practice, of course, but a scandalous dance is not permitted at the local country assembly.

"I like this," she said at last.

"So do I, if truth be known. I shall be very sad to see the evening end."

"Umm," she murmured into his shirtfront.

"I suspect we are dancing too close, but since all of us have enjoyed a taste of champagne, others are dancing close as well."

"I think the room is whirling."

"Not in the least; it is you."

"I like it. I think." She smiled at him and closed her eyes as he twirled her about again, slowly, delightfully. She hoped this dance lasted longer than the one with the vicar. Being in his lordship's arms felt very right and good.

Nick smiled down at the exquisite face smiling up at him. Oh, she tempted a man. That dreamy expression said far too much. He hoped that no one else paid the slightest bit of attention to them, and in particular to her.

It had been a touch of madness to take her out on the terrace. March nights were still far too cool, and since no one else dared the elements, they had been just as alone as Milburn with Lady Anne. The main difference was that he would welcome an alliance with Nympha. He thought she might be receptive to him as well, although a man could never be sure of such a thing until the knot was tied. Perhaps not even then.

When the dance ended, he walked with her until they encountered Mrs. Coxmoor. That dear lady sized up the situation in a trice.

"Strong tea, I believe. Come along children." She tucked Nympha's hand close to her side and strolled with a purposefulness that belied her casual air.

In the room set aside for supper, they found the tea they sought. James poured out a cup for each of them and bowed before prudently leaving.

"I am not cold," Nympha protested as the heat from the tea seeped into her hands.

"I can attest to that," Nick murmured naughtily.

"I trust you are the honorable man I judged you?" Mrs. Coxmoor said in an aside.

"Indeed, ma'am. I would never do a thing to harm those I cherish." Nick cast his gaze down at Nympha. The pins holding the veil had slipped, and her blond wig was a tiny bit askew. She still looked wonderful to him.

"Lord Nicholas is from an excellent family, Great-Aunt Letitia. His father is a fine patron of our church. His mother paints beautiful watercolors and is the dearest person you could imagine. His brother married a nice lady. Lady Harriet. I believe they expect the birth of their first child before too long."

"How illuminating," Mrs. Coxmoor said. "Drink your tea, dear."

Nympha obediently drank her strong black tea. When she finished she gave Nick a sapient look that told him he wasn't going to hear any more delightful, if somewhat indiscreet, words this evening.

"What is the reaction to the coming marriage of Lady Anne to Mr. Milburn?" Nick noted the family still grouped closely about the couple.

"I think them well suited," Nympha observed.

"And so they are," Mrs. Coxmoor observed. "The duke seems amenable. He talks about buying a viscountcy for the new son-in-law. Mr. Milburn may have been compromised into a fine marriage from his point of view. I heard his uncle is at death's door. Even if he does not achieve the title of viscount, he will have his baronetcy to fall back upon."

Nick thought back, for some reason recalling Milburn's reference to offering his uncle his favorite cordial. Would he be so bold as to assist his uncle to his final resting place? They would never know. But he'd put nothing past him. He did not envy Milburn his future wife. Imagine being married to that hoyden!

"I think I shall sit down now." Mrs. Coxmoor left them abruptly to walk to where a comfortable chair awaited her.

"One forgets her age. She doesn't seem that old, you know." Nympha placed her hand trustingly on his arm. They slowly walked from that room to stand not far from her aunt. "It is all so beautiful, isn't it?"

"Truly, it is." But Nick wasn't admiring the room, or the couples so gracefully dancing. Instead, he gazed down at Nympha, wondering how he would overcome a problem he saw looming on the near horizon.

She thought
she
would support
him.
She had said as much when that champagne took over her tongue.
In vino veritas
was most apt on occasions. In wine comes truth, and sometimes the truth is not palatable.

All good things eventually must come to an end. He claimed the final waltz with her, not in the least caring what the locals thought about his monopolizing the heiress.

After the dance ended, having constituted of a companionable silence for the most part, they joined Mrs. Coxmoor to bid the guests a good night.

Few had very far to travel, and there had been no highwaymen around these parts for a long time. All felt safe to remain to enjoy themselves without worry about being stopped on the way home.

When the last person had left, Nick ushered Mrs. Coxmoor and Nympha up the stairs, pausing at Nympha's door first to say a hasty good night when he longed to kiss her senseless. He escorted Mrs. Coxmoor to her door instead.

She pushed the door open, permitting Nick a glimpse of the beautiful wallpaper that had been hung.

"You like the new paper in your room?"

"I do, for I was very tired of red. You must remember that—never overdo a good thing." With those words she entered her room, leaving Nick to wander along to his.

* * * *

Nympha slept late the next morning. Upon arising she went to the window to inspect the day.

"How be you this morning, miss?" Annie brought in a tray loaded with hot chocolate and rolls. It also had a note folded neatly and tucked beside one plate. Curious, she hurriedly went to the little table where she indicated she would sit to eat. Before so much as pouring out a cup of hot chocolate, she unfolded the note and read.

"What do you wish to wear, miss?"

"Hmm? Oh, the white muslin, I suppose." Lord Nicholas begged the honor of her company for a drive to Nottingham. Why? He didn't reveal a thing in the note.

Her mind was occupied while she consumed her chocolate and rolls. Contrary to what others indicated might be the case, she remembered all that had occurred last evening, even her injudicious remarks after downing the glasses of champagne too hastily.

How had he taken her comment to support him? She had not meant to say it, even though it was the truth. She had no knowledge of his finances. Second sons were not known for their affluence, unless they had another source of income. Or they married an heiress.

She allowed Annie to help her into the white muslin while she considered the oddity of the second-eldest girl at the rectory worrying about being married for her wealth.

Once Annie had done the tiny buttons at her wrist and tied the complicated tapes at her high waist, Nympha pinned a pretty cameo where the neckline dipped in the front. It was a daring bodice opening, going all the way to the point where the skirt met the bodice. Nympha thought it prudent to have that pin in place!

Still undecided as to what she ought to do, she went down the stairs only to confront Lord Nicholas when she reached the bottom.

"Your great-aunt wishes to see you in her library. I believe her lawyer is with her."