Lord Nick's Folly (28 page)

Mrs. Coxmoor stepped back, murmured something comforting, and urged James to assist Nick to his room.

"That man!" she snarled when the men had gone.

"Well, if it is any comfort to you, Mr. Milburn was worse off than Nick, that is. Lord Nicholas. His knee came through his breeches when he fell, and he was decidedly whipped when they stopped."

"The score?"

"Thirty-love on the last game, although it was not completed. I couldn't say what all the games totaled. Perhaps Lord Nicholas kept track?"

"I am glad he soundly beat Mr. Milburn. One can't help but wonder why the man was so insistent on playing, and so hard at that."

"I suspect he wanted to hurt Lord Nicholas."

"Possibly." Her great-aunt stalked off to the drawing room, motioning Nympha to follow her.

The remainder of the day went extremely quietly. The servants tiptoed about their duties.

Lady Anne came, demanding to see Lord Nicholas. Foley firmly declined the prospect of her seeing the injured man. Since Nympha was in the act of crossing the entry when Lady Anne came, she stepped forward to greet the unwelcome caller.

"Perhaps I may be of help, my lady? I fear Lord Nicholas is in his room at present. None of us wishes to disturb him."

"Well, I think him despicable. I could not believe how battered my dear Sir Jared was when he came back from playing a mere game of tennis."

"Sir Jared?" Nympha immediately pounced on the vital words in the sentence. "His uncle has gone aloft?"

"You had not heard? Yesterday, as matter of fact."

His uncle had died yesterday? Why had he said nothing? And to attend the ball when he should have been in mourning was shocking, to say the least. On the other hand, it was no less than one might expect of such a man.

Lady Anne was not appeased, leaving the house in a huff in spite of Nympha's attempts to smooth matters over.

The remaining hours of the day were without intrusions of any sort, for which Nympha was profoundly thankful.

Nick joined them at dinner, wincing only slightly when he ate. "I intend to go to church with you come morning. You will attend?"

"By all means. I fancy the vicar may have a few words to say regarding the demise of the late Sir Cosmo Milburn."

"So Milburn now has his title, such as it is?" Nick's voice reflected his doubts.

"Yes. Although now he has the wealth in hand, he may be off to London at once." Mrs. Coxmoor raised her glass in a toast. "To the departure of a most unpleasant man."

Chapter Sixteen

Nick groaned when Simpson touched him lightly to awaken him. He ached in spite of the liniment Simpson had gently rubbed into his shoulder before he slept last night. He carefully stretched out the many kinks in his body. Perhaps the day would not be too trying after all. He could always hope.

"Forgive me, my lord, but you did say you wished to attend divine services this morning." Simpson withdrew to begin preparations for the day's events. Fine biscuit-colored pantaloons, a discreet waistcoat of quality cassimere in a pale cream, and a dark blue coat of the best Bath cloth were reverently placed on a nearby chair. His best shoes, polished to a blinding shine, sat on the floor beside these garments.

"So I did. I seem to have one folly after another, don't I?" Nick eased himself from the bed, gingerly moving his shoulders, relieved that the aching seemed less. "As to that, my lord, I'd not say you commit follies." "What would you say?" Nick wondered aloud. "Things seem to happen when you are around. You
are
an active gentleman. It is a pity that you should have become involved with Mr. Milburn." The valet set out the shaving gear, shaking his head when his master shaved himself instead of properly allowing Simpson to do it.

"Oh, he is Sir Jared now. Uncle popped off the day of the ball." Nick cocked a knowing eye at his shrewd valet.

"Indeed? And he attended anyway? Shocking behavior, if I may say so." Simpson tenderly assisted his master into his shirt, then set about changing him into the premier gentleman he was.

When Nick joined the others at the breakfast table he felt as though he could tolerate sitting in the straight-back pew for an hour. Unless the vicar, the Reverend Mr. Bowerbank, was one of those prosy preachers who wished to impress the listeners with the quality of his voice and the erudite wanderings of his mind.

They left the house in Mrs. Coxmoor's coach. Nick had to admire its comfort. Small wonder that Nympha was reluctant to travel in his when she had experienced such luxury.

Nympha wore the stylish bonnet he had bought her in Nottingham. It sat nicely on her head, with blue ribands and flowers draped around its brim. With it she wore her elegantly cut white muslin. She'd pinned a cameo to the front of the dress, closing up what must be a very low neckline. She looked wonderful.

The church service proved to be well attended. A small organ provided the music. It was not what he heard in London, but was quite agreeable, mostly because he was sitting beside Nympha.

The reverend had reached what he obviously felt was a telling point in his homily when a loud noise was heard.

The entire building shook sharply as though some demon was objecting to what the reverend had to say. Nick felt a rolling shock, like a wave on dry ground. To say it was disconcerting was far too mild. He felt dizzy for a few moments. A glance at Nympha revealed wide-eyed fright.

People screamed, chairs tumbled over, some books fell off a shelf in the back of the church, and the chandelier swayed. Nick glanced up to see dust and lime falling everywhere. It was like he had imagined the end of the world, with chaos reigning. Mrs. Coxmoor coughed, dust all about her.

"Let's get out of here. I think a beam may have given way." He grabbed Nympha's hand, pulled Mrs. Coxmoor to her feet, and attempted to lead them from the building to the street. He could hear a roaring, rumbling noise, as though the army decided to fire off a number of cannon at once. He knew there was no army anywhere near here, not even a small militia.

Everyone else immediately attempted to leave too, people instantly rushing to make their escape. They pushed and shoved, and Nick could almost smell their fear of being trapped inside a collapsing building.

"Nick," Nympha screamed as she was pulled from his clasp and knocked to the floor. A burly man with his thin, acidulated wife trampled over Nympha, anxious to flee and not caring whom they trod on.

"Run while you can!" Nick cried to Mrs. Coxmoor. He fought to rescue his darling girl. "Stand aside!" Nympha was down, possibly hurt, and he wasn't going to allow anyone else to trample on her! He knelt and quickly grabbed her up in his arms. No time to assess her injuries.

He forged his way through the thinning throng. Several had been hurt. Nympha was not the only one who had been thrown down. While he felt sorry for them, his only true concern was for Nympha and Mrs. Coxmoor.

At last they made it through the door of the church to the fresh air outside. People thronged about the street, bewildered expressions on numb faces. A mother counted heads. A man whose pregnant wife had fainted begged for a doctor. The Reverend Mr. Bowerbank displayed heretofore-unknown heroic qualities by administering to those injured.

Nick placed Nympha against a fallen gravestone not far from the street, his concern for her almost choking him. Mrs. Coxmoor slumped against another. He glanced about to see the people calming down, talking in shaken voices, leaning against one another, dazed, confused.

Nick gently brushed dust and lime from Nympha's hair, figuring her new bonnet must be a squashed blob on the church floor. "Where does it hurt the most?"

"Oh, here and there. It's not too bad. What a dreadful mess I must be. I'm so glad I don't have a looking glass to hand." Her gown would never be the same again. Being trampled on doesn't lend itself to improvement.

He half-smiled in spite of the situation's severity.

Mrs. Coxmoor had managed to cling to her bonnet;

Now she brushed down her dress, then looked about to assess the damage. "Won't be able to hold services in there for a time to come. The place is a shambles."

A bloodcurdling scream rent the air from close to the west side of the church. Nick craned his neck to see what had happened. "A stone fell on someone—came from the roof," he was told by an onlooker.

"Nick, see what happened," Mrs. Coxmoor commanded. "I shall watch over Nympha. Please?"

Obediently, Nick wound his way through the throng to find Lady Anne in hysterics, kneeling beside an ominously still Sir Jared Milburn. Beside his head was a stone gargoyle, one of many that served as waterspouts for the roof gutters.

"Oh, is he? He can't be! Oh, I fear he must be!" she cried to Nick as he neared the spot.

Nick knelt to check the still figure, finding precisely what he expected. "He's dead, Lady Anne." It was a blunt speech, but he had no time for gentle words now. "I expect your parents will see to matters for you."

Nick rose, paused a moment to look at the face of the man he suspected of murder as well as an attempt on Nympha's life. He could feel no regret at his passing, other than sorrow for a life misspent.

Lady Anne ran back to the duchess, who offered comfort and an arm on which to lean. Behind her Lord Henry helped Lady Jane to the family carriage, his tall, lean figure standing out above the crowd. The Reverend Mr. Bowerbank dealt with Sir Jared.

Nick went back to the women and explained what had occurred. Both expressed horror at the accident, but it was muted with the knowledge of what sort of man had been killed.

"We must leave here. I am certain our coachman will bring our carriage. Can you see it. Lord Nicholas?" Mrs. Coxmoor fanned herself with a lace handkerchief.

Nick craned his neck to see the familiar vehicle slowly making its way through the milling crowd. He didn't ask, he scooped Mrs. Coxmoor up in his arms. "Sirrah," she cried indignantly, "Nympha is the one hurt." Nick ignored her.

"I'll be back for you in seconds," he cried to Nympha. "Don't move!" He hated to part from her for a moment, but as the coach drew closer, he knew it would be brief.

Again he forged his way through the throng of people, only this time they were more willing to ease aside. Many were heading for home, no doubt wondering what they would find when they got there.

When he reached the coach, the footman had the door open for him. Nick gently deposited the lady inside, saw to her comfort, before whirling to run back. There was no proof that the strange occurrence might not recur. He wanted to be away from here if it did. He dashed back to Nympha.

She was precisely where he left her, leaning against the headstone as though a carved adornment. He drew her to her feet, and uncaring of those around, kissed her soundly. "If anything had happened to you . . ." He cradled her close to him, nestling her in his arms.

"I shall be fine. I think." She leaned back in his arms to give him a misty smile, somewhat marred by the dust and lime streaked across her face.

He gathered her up carefully, walking back to the coach as though he carried a priceless object. She was priceless, to him. He placed her in the coach as well, tucking her up with care next to her great-aunt.

Before he entered the vehicle, he stepped forward to speak to the coachman. "How bad is the town?"

"Seems as though there is scarcely a street that doesn't have chimneys thrown down from what I saw and heard." The man shook his head in amazement. "I saw houses with cracks across 'em, windows split, plaster trim knocked off. Never saw nothing like it in all my born days. Hope to heaven I never do again." He nodded at the horses, adding, "They were jittery just afore the shakin' began. Still a mite bit frightened."

Nick nodded in understanding. "Best try to head for Coxmoor Hall at once. Who knows what we will find when we get there." With that sobering thought. Nick left him, entering the coach to sit opposite the two women.

"I do believe that is a church service I will never forget," Mrs. Coxmoor vowed, sounding more shaken than she looked. "Bowerbank will likely declare it a divine warning. He might be right at that."

"There is Sir Giles Arnold, also heading out of town," Nympha observed as she leaned forward to look out of the window.

"I would imagine he also wonders what he will find when he gets home." Nick looked at the departing carriage, tearing along the road as though the hounds of hell were after him.

"What about the castle?" Nympha wondered.

"Those thick walls should withstand more than we experienced today." Nick broached the subject that really worried him now that they were safe. "What do you think about your house, ma'am?" Nick decided it might be well to prepare the elderly lady for a shock. He had no idea what condition the house might be in when they reached it.

"My husband wanted it built with thick walls to insulate against the cold. Perhaps that will be a help?"

"The chimneys may have fallen. Your coachman said that hardly a street in Mansfield doesn't have some chimneys thrown down," Nick cautioned.

"But some were all right? In that case, let us pray for the best." She sat with folded hands, still looking a bit shaken. Dust and lime had drifted all over her, in spite of her attempts to brush off. She looked as though she had been inspecting fireplace chimneys.

Come to think on it, Nick might be doing just that before long. Well—he looked down at himself—he needn't bother to change his clothes. What had been his best waistcoat was filthy. His blue coat, always a favorite, had dust and lime ground into it. The knees of his fine pantaloons were covered with dirt from when he had knelt in the graveyard. All in all, he was a disaster. Not even his shoes had escaped—they were covered in thick dust.

Before long they reached the avenue leading to Coxmoor Hall. Nick opened the window, wanting to see immediately what had occurred to the house, if anything.

When it came into view, it appeared as though little had happened to it, the chimneys stood as always. From all he could see, the windows were intact.