Lord Nick's Folly (25 page)

"Well, I as much as called you a fortune hunter. That was dreadful of me. I cannot think what maggoty notion got into my mind. As if you would marry someone of my status when you could have any peer's daughter in the realm."

He admired the color that crept over her face when she finally met his gaze. There was something about the pale rose that went so well with blonde hair, although he suspected that she hated her tendency to blush.

"You have an exalted opinion of my standing, I assure you." He quirked one brow at her that had the effect of her blush deepening in embarrassment. "And I find the notion of marrying you rather appealing."

He tossed that out, hoping for a positive response. He toyed with his cup while she stared at him—in shock?

She was definitely skeptical. "No. It's not possible." Perhaps she thought he jested?

He was no coward, but decided to let his words be absorbed before venturing further. If she considered it a bit, the idea of marriage to him might take root in her mind and be acceptable.

"What say we find something entertaining to do today, since you won't agree to anything truly interesting? If it weren't raining what would you suggest?" He set his cup on its saucer with a clink, thinking of a number of things
he
would enjoy doing with his fair nymph.

"A rousing game of battledore and shuttlecock?" She gave him an amused look. She polished off her slice of gammon, then put the final bite of scone into her mouth.

Nick watched.

"Well, have you any ideas?"

If he told her, she would truly mistrust him—and then perhaps not. After all, she had returned his kiss.

"Why not play a game indoors? Surely we could use the ballroom now that all the decorations have been removed. It is not such a violent game."

"You mean
not
like Lord Byron shooting holes in the walls when he is bored?" Her expression was somewhat amused, but nonetheless cautious.

"Precisely." He wondered if it would work. Surely they could hit that dab of cork and feathers back and forth without doing any damage?

She took a final sip of her tea, pushing back her chair to rise from the table. "I shall ask Great-Aunt Letitia. If she approves I will meet you in the ballroom."

Nick also rose from the table, but too slowly to walk with her. Instead he found Foley, explained what Miss Herbert wished to do, going along with him to collect the small battledore rackets and the shuttlecocks.

He leaned against the ballroom door, tossing a shuttlecock in one hand while he waited. He fancied Mrs. Coxmoor would give her permission for the game. She doted on her grandniece, would probably allow her to do as she pleased with anything.

If her doubtful smile was anything to go by, Mrs. Coxmoor had given consent to the game, yet Nympha still wasn't sure of the scheme.

"Come, we shall have a fine time."

And they did for a while. Now the color in her cheeks was from natural exertion. She proved to be a dab hand with the racket, sending the feathered cork high in the air, requiring Nick to dash madly after it. He wondered how good she was at tennis.

"Miss Herbert, Lord Nicholas, madam requests you join her in the drawing room. There are visitors." Foley's face revealed precisely what he thought of such early callers.

Nick pulled out his pocket watch to check the time. Around noon? Who on earth came at this hour of the day?

"It will be people calling after the ball. I imagine even here in the wilds of Nottingham they observe such proprieties." Nympha tossed him an arch glance from eyes no longer an arctic blue.

Nick turned to Foley. "We are both disheveled from the game. We will join madam in the drawing room once we have repaired ourselves."

"Am I so dreadfully mussed?" Nympha asked when Foley had gone.

"Delightfully so, dear girl." Nick found the situation irresistible. He swiftly stepped to her side, tilted up her face, and lightly kissed her. It was like food for a starving man. Could a hungry chap stop at one nibble of sustenance? Nick decided that since she had not slapped his face, nor rushed from his side, he dared to try again. He did so with great success. The rackets and shuttlecocks tumbled to the floor as he took her in his arms and really kissed her. And, by heaven, she kissed him back!

When he released her he wondered if she expected an apology. He wouldn't.

"That ought not to have happened, sirrah," she finally declared once she had pulled herself together. However, her words lacked fury.

"I know," Nick admitted. "That, my dear girl, is what you get for being so thoroughly delectable. Now, we had best restore our appearance before Foley comes to hunt for us again. Your great-aunt will not be pleased if we delay."

"Oh, dear. I tend to forget things when I am around you." She spun away from him, rushing from the ballroom in her haste to please her great-aunt.

Nick sauntered slowly after her, elated with what had happened, but especially what she had just said. So, she tended to forget things when around him, did she? Promising, to be sure.

* * * *

A short time later Nympha paused at the door to the drawing room before gliding in to greet the guests, her blush sarcenet gown swishing about her.

"Nympha, my dear. Sir Mark and Lady Ollerton and Sir Giles Arnold are here." To them Mrs. Coxmoor added, "We are so delighted to see you."

They
all looked at the door as though expecting to see another person. Nympha guessed they wanted to see Lord Nicholas—second son of the Marquess of Lanstone.

The subject of her thoughts entered shortly, and Nympha's heart sank to her toes. He looked every inch of his rank from his carefully tousled hair and pristine cravat to his superbly cut bottle-green coat and biscuit breeches molded to fine legs that needed no padding. That his boots had a shine to rival the candles her great-aunt had ordered lit was almost too much. He strode across the room to bow to Great-Aunt Letitia before turning to face the callers.

"Sir Mark and Lady Ollerton, what a pleasure to be sure. And Sir Giles, it is good to see you again." He shook the men's hands and bowed low over Lady Ollerton's outstretched and ungloved hand. Nympha managed not to giggle at that. And the lady was old enough to be her mother! She simpered and preened like she was sixteen.

How did he do it? In two short sentences he had totally captured them. Of course, the handshaking and bowing had helped. He ought to stand for the Commons. He would be good at all that was required there, from what her papa said when discussing the politics of the day. Perhaps he might consider it if he was to meet the local gentleman who was also in the same position of being a younger son, and destined for the House of Commons.

"Nympha." Her great-aunt recalled Nympha to her duty. When Foley brought in a tray laden with tea, a bottle of fine canary wine, and slices of delicious fruitcake, she became busy. Lord Nicholas endeared himself to the guests by insisting on helping Nympha. He took plates of cake, glasses of wine, and the tea for Lady Ollerton with a charming grace that was so natural one could only view him with admiration.

He quite definitely should stand for the Commons. The House needed a man of his integrity. His handsome looks wouldn't count there, but it wouldn't hurt on the hustings, the temporary platform from which the nomination of candidates for Parliament was made, and on which these men stood while addressing the electors.

Under the general chatter, Nympha edged close to her great-aunt to verify what she thought she knew. "Lord William Bentinck is standing for the Commons here, is he not?"

"And likely to be approved for the by-election when it comes around. I imagine he will win. Why?"

Nympha glanced at Lord Nicholas, then back to her great-aunt. "I think he would do well."

"Hmm. And so he would. Do you intend to challenge him to it?" Great-Aunt's eyes gleamed with impishness.

"That would be a worthy objective, indeed." Nympha made a slow assessment of her projected candidate. Why could he not stand in his home district?

"Does he have a dog? The public likes a man with a dog. Makes him seem more down to earth."

"Lord Nicholas, you have a dog, do you not?" Nympha dared to inquire, knowing she possibly interrupted some banal exchange with Lady Ollerton, who then glared at Nympha with indignant eyes. But it seemed important that she know right now.

He looked justly startled at her query. "As matter of fact, I do. A terrier named Rags. Why?" he gave her a curious gaze.

"I just, er, wondered. I thought I recalled him tagging along after you on the links."

Her mention of his golf links brought eager questions from the gentlemen. Lady Ollerton, seeing she was outnumbered, moved to sit by Mrs. Coxmoor.

"So many men want their dogs, do they not?" She ogled Lord Nicholas with a speculative eye.

"True. I suspect they somehow deem it manly." Nympha darted a glance at Lord Nicholas. He didn't need a dog to look manly. What a pity women did not vote; he would win so easily.

Country calls might be a little longer than Town calls, but they all came to an end eventually. Nympha bade her aunt remain seated, escorting the callers to the door with as much grace as she might muster. Sir Giles was a trifle obsequious in his manner to her. She chalked it up to her inheritance. Then she wondered at her blasé attitude. She was not the same girl she had been when she left the rectory! Once the door closed behind them, she went back to the drawing room.

"That was nicely done, Nympha." Her great-aunt beamed a smile of approval that made Nympha glow with pleasure.

Lord Nicholas leaned against the fireplace mantel. He had been talking with her great-aunt, and she could see he was not pleased with what had been said. "Whose idea is this? I stand for the Commons? How preposterous!"

Nympha regarded her great-aunt and saw at once there would be little help there. "I did, if you must know. You do have a certain way about you. And you get along so admirably with people. Look at Lord Ollerton and Sir Giles—you had them in the palm of your hand in moments—not to mention Lady Ollerton. I thought she just might cart you off with her." She flashed a defiant glower at him, wondering what his next argument would be. She didn't have long to wait.

"The money. I might be comfortably set, but I don't run to those sort of expenses." He gave her a stubborn stare from beneath frowning brows.

"Rubbish, you find a patron, someone who believes in you, who supports your positions. I know you have them, for I have often heard you spouting off on some government folly or other. I imagine the gentlemen in the Commons raise funds in many ways. I doubt many can afford to finance their elections out of their own pocket."

"I already have one folly—yes, I know that is what people call my golf links. I hardly need another." His dark eyes had a hard glint in them, obstinate in his refusal to even consider her suggestion.

"What about Lord William Bentinck? He is a younger son who intends to carve out a career for himself in the Commons. He will represent this district if he wins the next by-election." Nympha took a step closer, determined he at least consider her proposition.

"He'll be nominated I am certain," Great-Aunt Letitia inserted. "You might call on him, sound him out as to the support required. I hardly think you will need to go to the length of having Nympha offer kisses for sale, as did the Duchess of Devonshire in one election."

"I'd not do it!" Nympha stared at her great-aunt with disbelieving eyes. "I do not care if a duchess did such a thing, it is not proper. Is it?" Nympha looked to Lord Nicholas who had an unholy gleam in his eyes and a sly grin forming on that well-shaped mouth.

"I should think it would bring in any amount of cash, not to mention win votes from young and old gentleman alike. I vow—that is almost enough to persuade me. Would you sell kisses for me if I stood?" His grin, lopsided and dazzling, threatened to overcome her scruples.

Nympha backed away a few steps. She didn't care for the direction her idea was taking. Selling kisses, indeed.

"What suggestion do you have for raising money—just supposing I did decide to take this mad start you propose?" He folded his arms over his chest, crossed one leg before the other, and looked the consummate skeptic.

Mrs. Coxmoor cleared her throat, then offered in the mildest of voices, "Nympha will have a considerable amount of money at her disposal. Once I am gone, it will be vast, indeed."

Nympha switched her gaze from her aunt to Lord Nicholas. That was unfair, to dangle her wealth before his eyes. Did her great-aunt think he would marry her to get at her money? That was not what she wanted. Whatever happened to love? Not to mention happily ever after? "Perhaps," she began, then took courage. "Perhaps I could sponsor you? Would you accept money from a woman?"

"Why not," he sneered. "Everyone will wonder what I had to do to obtain it. You will be pilloried, for certain, with the men eyeing you and wondering. And you, a rector's daughter? I don't think so."

"You could, Great-Aunt. No one would say a thing if you decided to finance a campaign for Lord Nicholas. Think how wonderful it would be for him to serve in our government. He truly is a fine man." Nympha gave her great-aunt a pleading look.

"If we are getting into such personal matters, I think you may as well call me Nick, Nympha. And I haven't decided one way or another on this matter. I'm not even sure which party I would enter. I lean to the notion it is a harebrained idea, frankly. I have never in my life considered sitting in the House of Commons. My father has never attended Lords."

"Well," Nympha said, "he has his birds." She could see she would have to explain this later to her great-aunt who positively oozed curiosity at this peculiar remark.

"How true." Lord Nicholas stiffly turned to Mrs. Coxmoor. "My esteemed father collects birds—stuffed or painted. He and my mother presently live in Italy where she paints and he collects."

"How interesting," Mrs. Coxmoor said, looking as though she longed to laugh. "I have always thought it good to have a minor obsession. I ought to think of one."