While Nympha groped for the right words. Lord Nicholas entered the drawing room, closely followed by Mr. Milburn.
"Gentlemen, I see we are to have the pleasure of both your company this evening." Great-Aunt Letitia smiled at them with impartiality. She sat on her favorite sofa, her back as erect as could be, wearing a gown of gray silk that was a wonder of simplicity. Nympha thought that while there was a queenly aspect to her, it was best not to forget her shrewdness.
Lord Nicholas bowed over her hand before going to stand by the fireplace. Nottinghamshire might have a salubrious climate—not humid nor subject to cold blasts from the north—but it could still be chilly on a March evening.
Mr. Milburn also bowed low over her great-aunt's hand, before turning to Nympha, bowing to her as well. He took note of the lace fan in her hands. "I am pleased to see you favor my modest present, Miss Herbert. How gratified I must be to see it has found favor in your eyes."
"I should be a foolish girl to think it other than beautiful. It was kind of you to think of me." Nympha retreated just enough so he would not be so close. While she admitted he was handsome and possessed a polished address, she still could not forget that tennis ball hitting her poor forehead.
She began to see why the fathers of heiresses took umbrage at those half-pay officers and second sons who sought a rich daughter to wed. If this was a small sample of what she might expect, she had better find a husband fast!
"It is good to see you back to normal. I was utterly desolated that by watching a simple game of tennis you would have been so badly injured." He smiled at her with a warmth she had not observed before. It was hard not to be cynical about his interest. She was willing to wager he had learned about her inheritance. The footman who served as valet to him would have been agog with the news. She doubted there was a servant who didn't eavesdrop or gossip.
Dinner was a trial. The food was its usual excellent quality, served with customary style. If Nympha found it a difficult meal, it was because both gentlemen complimented her to a degree beyond what she felt proper. There was nothing outstanding about her blue silk gown;
nor was her hair out of the common way. Annie had dressed it simply, drawing it up to the top of her crown, allowing the curls to fall. She thought the two men could as well have dumped the butter boat over her head as well as all the fine phrases!
After the ladies left the dining room and the men behind, she was able to relax with her great-aunt. In spite of her imposing personality, Nympha found she was drawn to her. The more time she spent with her elderly relative, the more at ease she was with her and the better she liked her.
"You must learn to cope with flattery, my dear. I have endured it much of my life. When one is a simple girl with few prospects and subsequently obtains vast wealth, things change. You will have to learn to discern between true compliments and false flattery. You must take note of the eyes, my dear. So much of one's character is revealed in the eyes."
When the gentlemen joined them shortly, both men apparently not given to spending time with each other over the port, Nympha made a point to study the eyes of both men. Lord Nicholas had dark eyes, yet when he had held her close this afternoon she had seen golden sparks in them, a warmth that permeated her to the core. Were they honest and faithful? Was he? At this point she couldn't say. She knew what she wished, but how often did a wish come true?
Mr. Milburn's eyes were almost black. She could detect no sign of warmth in them, no flecks of gold or any other color. As to what character might be revealed in his eyes, she couldn't imagine what it might be. She turned from him to meet her great-aunt's gaze and shrugged.
The conversation was general, with Great-Aunt Letitia commenting on the fate of the income tax that ought to be repealed now that the war was over.
"I understand that the Commons is demanding the income tax be repealed. After all, those men have to be reelected, and it is a highly unpopular tax." She studied both men, likely to gauge their reaction. "We have been taxed on just about everything imaginable. The income tax is tyranny in its worst form!"
"How true, ma'am. It is a good thing they intend to bum all the records," Lord Nicholas inserted. "You think the opposition will succeed in ousting it?"
"Rumors reach us faster than you might think. After all, we are but one hundred and thirty-eight miles from London, give or take a few. A fast courier can have news here in a day or two of hard riding." Her eyes, a sharp blue that appeared to miss nothing, held a gleam of enthusiasm.
"The repeal of the income tax would benefit you a fair amount, I suppose," Mr. Milburn declared. "It is a horrid tax, but is there such a thing as a fair and just tax?"
"The colonials demanded such and did not get it. Let us hope that the members of Parliament learned that particular lesson well. I can recall the nonsense put forth by the greedy hand of the government. They were shortsighted, looking only to the moment, not seeing the side of those people across the Atlantic from us. They dared to call an educated people a clutch of felons. What a slap in the face that must have been."
Nympha listened as Lord Nicholas and her great-aunt discussed the politics of the day. Eventually tiring of the topic, she rose to quietly walk to the pianoforte. Locating a bit of music she knew, she sat down to play, thinking to offer a bit of soft music.
Mr. Milburn followed, offering to turn the pages for her. He glanced at the pair talking politics and smiled.
Nympha thought she detected smugness in that expression. Yet she appreciated his attentions. What woman could resist having a refined gentleman to turn pages for her?
Nick watched Milburn fawn over Nympha. Why, the fellow practically drooled. Not that she wasn't a delectable piece, garbed in a simple blue silk that draped over her slim form to reveal an excellent figure. The lace shawl emphasized her beauty. She merited attention; it simply galled Nick that Milburn was there and he was here. But then, he liked the great-aunt, found her fascinating to discuss matters with—particularly politics. It was amazing how well-informed she was. Politics were oddly fascinating.
Nick hadn't been able to prod Milburn into revealing his financial status. The best he'd been able to elicit was a vague comment on the dearth of heiresses. Milburn had come out with an odd remark to the effect of being glad he was not to be dependent on one of them.
Was he to inherit a considerable amount? From whom? His uncle? And when would this take place? Not that one could always determine when a death might occur.
Unless . . . one arranged for it to happen.
"If you will excuse me all, I am for bed. I cannot remain up as late as I once did," Mrs. Coxmoor said as she rose from her sofa. She waved a handkerchief in Nympha's direction. "Stay if you will. I shall see you in the morning."
Nympha, thinking it far safer to head for her room, rose as well. "I will join you." She curtsied to the men, not looking at either one of them directly. "Good night."
She could only hope that sleep would come quickly.
* * * *
Mrs. Rankin appeared bright and early the next morning. Her two assistants carried the baskets of thread and all else required. Nympha met them in the entry hall after leaving the breakfast room. She had eaten quickly and very alone.
The mantua maker was efficient in taking her measurements, then determining which of the fabrics should be made up first.
"I need a costume for the masquerade ball my great-aunt is giving. She wishes me to attend as Maid Marian. Do you have such a costume made, or could you make up a simple garment for me to wear? I want nothing elaborate, just something tasteful."
Mrs. Rankin was no fool. She well knew the importance of the clothes she was to sew for this young woman. If it was true that she was to be the heiress, there could be any number of lucrative orders in the future, providing the results were pleasing. Even Nympha realized this.
"I know the very thing—like this." She hastily sketched a gown. fitted with a tight lacing in the back so that it clung to the body. The neck had an interesting design at the opening slit, and the sleeves were long, the points reaching to the knees. "There should be a girdle, high around the front and brought forward at the hips. The ends tie, to hang down almost to the hem. All it takes is fabric and a bit of time. Your great-aunt has all the fine linen you might wish."
"Excellent. My maid can locate what is necessary. Perhaps the housekeeper will know where the fabric can be found. I fear the ball is very soon. What about the gentlemen? Is there a place where they might find the correct attire?"
"Nottingham might have something. Then again, perhaps they could find something in the attics here? No one ever tosses out a thing. There must be trunks full of old clothes up there."
Nympha nodded. She sped from the room after deciding to have the lilac spotted muslin and the blush sarcenet made up first. A tinge of rose stained her cheeks when she thought of how Lord Nicholas had suggested she have some of that fabric. There had been a suspicious glint in his eyes, quite as though he had something more intimate in mind. A glance at the hall looking glass confirmed her high color.
"You are in fine looks this morning, Miss Herbert." It was the very man in her thoughts, Nicholas. "Dare I inquire what has given you those rosy cheeks?"
"No." She was abrupt, but far too flustered to think of a way to explain that glow. She rushed into a change of subject. "If you do not have a costume yet, perhaps we may be able to find one in the attics. Mrs. Rankin suggested you might."
He agreed with alacrity. Nympha sought permission from her great-aunt, who replied, "As long as I am not required to go up there, you may use anything you find. Look in the gray trunk first. Once you have something, I shall see you in the library, my dear. You as well, my lord, if you please."
Nympha found her way to the attics at once, with Lord Nicholas close on her heels. The gray trunk yielded surprising riches.
"Dark green hose will do." He emerged from the depths of the large trunk with a pair of long hose in hand.
He held them up for her inspection. Nympha thought they might be serviceable with a bit of repair. With them came an interesting set of leather strips that she puzzled over until Lord Nicholas guessed at their use.
"I fancy these were used to wind around the leg to hold on the hose. And here are the boots to go with them."
"Here's a green tunic to match—almost." Nympha pulled forth a heavy linen item. "And a hood of a greenish blue. It even has a point in the back. You shall be very Robin Hoodish, I think." Nympha draped all the latest items across him with a gesture of triumph. If she found placing the clothing against him to be disturbing, she gave no hint of her reaction. She tried valiantly to pretend it was no more than her brother standing beside her, and not some dashing and very handsome lord.
Simpson had trailed them to the attics and now retrieved the items of clothing. He could be heard muttering about cleaning and airing and repairing all the way back downstairs.
He left Nympha and Nick alone, which was precisely what Nick had hoped. She knelt at the trunk, replacing items that had been tossed about to reasonable order.
Being alone with Nick was not what Nympha had longed for—she rose at once to follow Simpson.
"Nympha, you cannot ignore me forever, you know."
"Who said I am trying to ignore you, my lord?" Nympha backed away from him in the direction of the door. At least, he suspected that was her intent.
He followed her—equally intent upon apologizing if such was necessary. It was dashed hard to get a moment alone with her.
"You have avoided me since yesterday—Sherwood Forest, to be precise. Must I apologize?" He examined her face, wishing she would look up at him. Her creamy skin was faintly tinged with rose. Lavender scent, uniquely a part of her, drifted over to tease his nose. She was quite bewitching.
She studied her hands, now folded before her in a tight, nervous clasp.
"I guarantee I do not bite, my dear." He eased two steps in her direction.
"I am not your dear. I am not anyone's dear. As to an apology, I am not sure I want it." She backed away two steps.
"You seem torn. Could it be that you enjoyed it as much as I did?" He tilted his head at an angle, giving her what he had been told was a beguiling smile.
"I must go! Great-Aunt said I was to come to the library as soon as we found you a costume. I believe you are to join us." With that, she whirled about, and this time flew down the stairs as though the hounds of hell were at her heels.
There was nothing to do but follow her. Milburn met him on the landing, seeming puzzled.
"Did I not see Miss Herbert come tearing down the stairs? What happened, old man?" He smirked, making Nick long to punch him in the jaw. Of course, that was a common sensation, so it was hardly something new.
"We were hunting for a costume for me to wear. Simpson is even now making repairs on what we found. Have you thought of something? Or will you take refuge in a domino?" Nick smiled, a narrow glimmer of amusement.
"I intend to go as King John, a far more imposing character than that fellow Robin Hood. He was definitely lower class, dear chap."
Nick refrained from reminding Milburn that Robin Hood got the girl.
Leaving Milburn to his dreams. Nick sauntered down the remaining steps to the main floor, around to the library.
Mrs. Coxmoor gave him a searching stare before motioning him to join them. Without comment, she returned her attention to her grandniece, offering information on the business she was to inherit.
As a lesson it was riveting. Nick paid close attention to every word. If things turned out as he was beginning to hope, he would need to know all this. In the event they didn't, the knowledge would be useful for his investments. What a pity they didn't offer lectures of this sort at Oxford. It was far more illuminating and practical than Latin and Greek.