When she concluded the morning's session, Mrs. Coxmoor advised the pair to get a breath of fresh air following their lunch.
"You must allow your poor brains a bit of time to assimilate all I have put in them today. Perhaps in a week or so you will have a basic grasp of the business."
Nympha nodded, leaving the room with her head reeling with facts and figures. And she was supposed to take over the running of it all? She paused at the bottom of the stairs and turned to Lord Nicholas. "I hope she lives for many years—and in full possession of all her faculties. Either that or I shall have to find myself an honest and astute husband quickly!"
"Perhaps you may have both."
When he did not say anything more, she nodded, then ran lightly up the stairs to her room. So ... he thought she should find herself a husband? What she wanted and what she might have were likely two different things.
Unless . . . Lord Nicholas Stanhope did not have as much wealth as she had thought. Perhaps he needed to marry for money. In that event, she might have ... what? A marriage such as she feared? A loveless union? His kisses were expert if those samples were anything to go by. He could tease amusingly and converse with sensible comments. But surely there were daughters of peers who also had money. He could aim as high as he pleased.
No, she had better not dream. Best to search elsewhere. Perhaps her great-aunt had someone in mind. She knew the area well. Maybe that was why she planned the masquerade ball! Could it be that she intended to introduce Nympha to those she deemed acceptable partners in more than a dance?
Intriguing thought!
Once she found her pelisse that had a close hood attached, she marched down the stairs, intent upon doing as told—get a breath of fresh air as soon as she had a bite to eat. She had little appetite; a sandwich was sufficient. It took but moments to consume that and a piece of fruit.
She headed for the front door.
Lord Nicholas was not in sight in any direction. Mr. Milburn was. She wondered if he had lain in wait for her.
"Going out? I wondered if you would like to join me for a bit of archery. Your great-aunt said you might enjoy it. What say?"
Nympha gave him an assessing stare. He was neatly garbed, flatteringly interested in her company, and did not seem as though he wanted to kiss her. There was no heat in his eyes, no warmth in his expression. "That would be just lovely."
They walked in companionable silence until they found where the archery butt had been set up. Apparently Mr. Milburn had planned this in advance, for two bows of different lengths plus a supply of arrows were close by.
"Have you done this before?" Mr. Milburn handed her the sorter of the two bows, before picking up an arrow.
"Not exactly."
He grinned, and Nympha felt more in charity, seeing a more likeable side of the man.
"Allow me to help you. Miss Herbert. You will want to stand at a right angle to the target, like so." He gently positioned her, not permitting his hands to linger at her waist as she might have expected.
She had placed her hand where one obviously was supposed to grasp the bow. She glanced up at him for more help.
He handed her a slim wand of wood. "The arrow."
"I know that," she said, fearing she was a bit curt with him, but heavens above, everyone knew what an arrow looked like. Shooting it was another matter.
He stood behind her, placing one hand over hers. "Now you take the other hand and draw back the bowstring."
When Nympha faltered at this, finding the bowstring taut, he wrapped his other arm about her, to enclose her hand with his. She discovered she was enveloped in his clasp, disconcertingly close to his body. Yet she felt none of the disturbing sensations that had assailed her when she had been so close to Lord Nicholas. "The next step is nocking the arrow, like so." He proceeded to put the arrow on the bowstring with the feather up along the left side of the string.
"Now draw the bowstring back. That arrow ought to be between the second and third fingers. Swing the bow up, aim at the target, and release."
Of course it wasn't as simple as that, but Nympha had tried this once before so she had a vague notion of what she was supposed to do.
The arrow sailed past the butt, landing in the grassy plot behind it.
"Ah, getting a bit of practice in are we?" Lord Nicholas said as he joined them, looking as though he had just returned from a fast jaunt through the gardens.
"Mr. Milburn is helping me with my archery. I seem to have forgotten much of what I learned." Nympha slanted an amused glance at his lordship. He appeared a little annoyed.
"Show me your progress, in that event."
After giving Lord Nicholas a reproving look, Nympha again took an arrow, nocked it, raised the bow as reminded, then released the arrow, hoping it might end up somewhere near the target. It didn't. She sighed in utter frustration and exasperation. Why did she have such a time with any sport?
"May I offer a suggestion, Miss Herbert? You might find your aim better if you try to sight along the arrow, then let the bowstring roll off your fingers. Like this."
Lord Nicholas picked up the other bow, grabbed an arrow to nock it just so.
Nympha watched as he appeared to aim a bit high over the butt—at least it seemed that way to her. It was amazing to watch that bowstring just roll off his fingers. The arrow shot in the air and hit dead center.
She clapped in appreciation, allowing her bow to fall to the ground. Lord Nicholas reached for it before Mr. Milburn could react. He offered the bow to Nympha, stepping behind her just as Mr. Milburn had.
"Now, you do it. You can, you know. You can do anything if you just try. Never give up on a thing if it means something to you." He gave her a steady regard that went straight to her heart.
Again she nocked the arrow to the bowstring, then raised it. Only this time Lord Nicholas wrapped his arms about her, guiding her arm, raising the bow so that the arrow was aimed higher, just as she observed his had been.
"I hit it!" True, the arrow was in the red band, but it wasn't in the grass.
At once she became aware of his proximity, the scent of costmary in his linens, the solid body so close to her. Why, she could feel his waistcoat pressing into her, the lean power of his legs against hers. She ought to be shocked, she supposed. Instead, she found it a rather heady sensation.
He had used a light tangy lotion when he shaved that morning. It still clung to his skin, and it teased her nose with its sharpness.
Had she ever been so aware of another?
He let go of her bow, stepping slowly away. Had he also been affected by their closeness? It was odd that Mr. Milburn's proximity had not had the slightest impact on her, none at all. All of which proved nothing, other than she was susceptible in some manner to his lordship.
She observed the two men eyeing each other like a pair of dogs about to fight. Not if she could help it!
"Please, could you help me once more, Mr. Milburn? I have trouble with the arrow."
Before Mr. Milburn could move, however. Lord Nicholas had picked up an arrow, stepped forward, placed the arrow in her right hand, and nudged her bow in place.
"I think you will do splendidly, my dear. Just aim high. One ought never aim low in archery—or in life, either."
She caught his sidelong glance at Mr. Milburn. The two evidently considered they were rivals. What a bit of folly that was!
Chapter Nine
When Nympha returned to her room, feeling slightly breathless and certainly confused, she found Mrs. Rankin awaiting her. A handsome gown of a pleasing shade of blue had replaced the simple costume Nympha had envisioned. She slipped it over her head, then watched in the looking glass as Mrs. Rankin laced up the back. The thin linen fabric clung to her like a second skin.
"Now, this is how the gown is to be laced. It must be tight, so there will be no gaps," the mantua maker explained to Annie.
Nympha studied her reflection, swallowing with care. If this was an example of how Maid Marian looked, it was a wonder every man in the county hadn't attempted to toss her over his saddle and ride off with her. "It is, er, very revealing in a way, isn't it?"
"That they were, miss. If you study the gowns worn by the effigies on all those old tombstones and in the stained-glass images, that's the way they were."
"Oh, mercy."
"You will have a sheer veil for your head, and your hair
ought
to be in braids."
"A wig! Just the thing," Nympha declared. Wearing a wig would make it seem like a play, that it wasn't her in this garb. Because what she saw in the looking glass was more than a trifle disturbing.
She slipped from the gown to try on the lilac-sprigged muslin. It certainly was more decorous. Tiny lilac flowers were so close together that the fabric almost appeared all lilac at a distance. The high neck had a treble ruff of lace, and there were scallops of lace on the bodice as well as the lower edge of the long sleeves.
"I intend to add more scallops of lace around the lower part of the skirt as well, but I wished to see if the fit was right first." Mrs. Rankin poked and pinned until content.
Nympha almost said that the lace might be left off the skirt until she recalled that she was now the inheritor of a lace manufactory. Not only was it stylish to use the lace, but it was also a good advertisement. Although, precisely who was to see her in the wilds of Nottinghamshire was beyond her. Even if this area was called the Dukeries because of the large number of dukes here, it didn't mean they did all that much socializing.
The cherry-striped percale she tried next had been designed with a low neckline, but it had such a ravishing ruffle around it that Nympha swallowed all objections. Puffed sleeves peeped out from beneath the wide ruffle, and a deep flounce was trimmed with a self-fabric cord and truly looked stylish. It was the prettiest afternoon dress she had seen. When she told this to Mrs. Rankin, the good lady blushed and curtsied.
To don her simple cream muslin, sewn in the rectory drawing room, was not easy to do. What a difference fabric of the first quality made in a gown—not to mention superior sewing and fit.
She left her room, intent upon reaching the drawing room where she thought to find her great-aunt, when she was stopped by her great-aunt's abigail, Talbot.
"Would you come with me, miss? Mrs. Coxmoor wishes to see you in her room."
Curious, Nympha obediently followed in the wake of the abigail. Her great-aunt must toss garments away often, as the maid was garbed in the highest fashion. The silvery gray favored by Great-Aunt Letitia looked well on her.
"Come in. Come in," her great-aunt demanded. "I want your opinion. My late husband favored red, but I am becoming weary of it. What do you think of a different paper in here?"
Nympha stared at the red walls. The vibrant color overwhelmed the classic lines of the walnut four-poster bed, not to mention the beautifully designed chests and the writing desk with its delicate chair.
"What about a Chinese style of paper?" Nympha slowly pivoted, inspecting the furnishings. "We read that it is all the style now, since Brighton is turning oriental. A cream background with flowers and birds would be charming in here. Then you could have cream draperies bordered with green, perhaps," Nympha concluded, quite carried away by the mental image of how the room might appear.
"The very thing. Langley in Mansfield claims to have a vast assortment of paper hangings. He won't, of course, have any Chinese-style paper, and I will enjoy twitting him about it. Thinks he is so smart and fashionable. Humph. He advertises that he can have a room papered on the shortest notice. I will wager you it is impossible." The elderly lady assumed a pixyish smile, her eyes twinkling with mischief.
"Indeed, ma'am, it will be interesting to see what he has in stock." Nympha waited to see what would be next.
"Good. You can set out now. You have plenty of time before you need to be home for dinner. Select the paper. I can order the draperies from London, using a scrap of it for color. Tell him I want it done at once."
She nodded emphatically, shooing Nympha from her room with more energy than Nympha had at the thought of dashing into Mansfield to search for paper hangings to be put on the bedroom walls.
"Ah, Miss Herbert," Lord Nicholas cried when he spotted her crossing the entryway, dressed for her jaunt.
"Good afternoon, my lord. I am off to Mansfield."
He glanced at the longcase clock that stood in the corner of the entry. "Rather late, don't you think?"
"Great-Aunt wishes me to select new bedroom wallpaper for her. I suggested the oriental sort, and she now declares that is the very thing to have."
"I'll go with you. It is not right for you to go on such an errand all alone."
Since Nympha had intended to take Annie with her, she shook her head. To no avail. "I insist, dear girl. Can't have you taking any chances." Since it hadn't bothered him in the least to have Nympha trotting behind him all over the golf course, she found this hard to believe.
A footman fetched his lordship's hat and gloves. In minutes Lord Nicholas was escorting Nympha out of the house to the waiting coach.
"I must say, your great-aunt certainly has excellent servants. They anticipate her wishes better than mine do."
"She must have sent instructions when I went to put on my pelisse. Mrs. Rankin had a few questions, and by the time I met you in the entry at least twenty minutes must have elapsed."
She was quite certain his lordship noticed her trembling reaction to him when he assisted her into the coach. How could he not? He was a man who seemed to observe the slightest thing. Could he guess how his merest touch affected her? Oh, she hoped not!
This time he sat next to her, and in a way that was better. She didn't have to wonder why he stared at her so, as if she had a bit of smut on her nose. On the other hand, when the coach swayed from side to side on the less-than-smooth road, she could feel his body against hers—all the way from thigh to shoulder.