Lord Nick's Folly (7 page)

Mr. Milburn trotted down the stairs to join them. He refused to be excluded from any conversation, and immediately commenced what amounted to a lecture on the beauties of the area, particularly Sherwood Forest, until they reached the open door leading to the drawing room.

"Ah, I see you all are recovered from any ill effects of travel." Mrs. Coxmoor swiftly took in her grandniece's simple white crepe. "White is supposedly the only color for a young miss who is making her come-out. Somehow, I believe otherwise. I cannot see where the palest green or blue would not do. What do you think, Lord Nicholas? I would wager that you have spent time in London."

"True, white is widely worn, but I agree with you regarding pale colors. White is not always kind."

"And," Nympha inserted with a look at his lordship, "it becomes dirty if one so much as looks at it."

"Tell me of your plans, gentlemen. Mr. Milburn, you intend to find a relative? What is his name—perhaps I may know of him?" Her great-aunt studied the somewhat overdressed gentleman with what Nympha considered a very assessing look.

"Sir Cosmo Milburn, ma'am. I am not certain where he lives. I know his son better. We went to school together, but we didn't spend any time visiting back and forth, if you know what I mean." Mr. Milburn appeared a trifle uncomfortable with the question, which Nympha thought harmless, indeed, nothing more than any polite hostess might ask.

"I have heard of the baronet, but he is somewhat of a recluse, and seldom goes into company. His son is rarely seen." Her great-aunt turned to Lord Nicholas, but did not quiz him on his plans; rather, she merely gave him a look that seemed full of speculation.

"I intend to do a bit of seeing the sights around here." Lord Nicholas gave the elderly lady a disarming smile. "I imagine your grandniece is anxiously looking forward to viewing a bit of Sherwood Forest."

"He thinks I should like to discover a Robin Hood there. I fancy that would be the last thing desired!" Nympha's voice was full of her disdain.

At that fortuitous moment Foley appeared in the doorway to announce in a grand manner that dinner was served.

As they walked into the imposing dining room, the walls of which were covered in the same red silk, Great-Aunt Letitia drew Nympha to her side. "And what would you like to do, dear? I am persuaded you would enjoy hunting for lace. You must have some for yourself, and perhaps your mother and sisters would welcome some as well? We can go to the factory and select whatever you wish, you know."

Visions of lace danced before Nympha for several moments. Sensible of the cost this would represent, Nympha hedged. "Perhaps a bit of lace, ma'am. There are several garments I should like to trim." She glanced down at her white crepe, with puffed trim but sadly lacking any lace, and thought of her petticoat. "It would be very nice."

"We shall see." Great-Aunt Letitia smiled, a pleased sort of expression that told Nympha nothing more than she would have her wish to acquire a bit of lace.

"I must apologize for my subterfuge. I was not injured. I merely wanted the pleasure of a visit from you. I feared your father might thwart my wish."

"I did wonder. I'm happy to see you in good health, ma'am." Nympha speculated as to why her elderly relative wanted to see her.

The dinner was all that any of them might expect in so fine a house, and more than Nympha had imagined. Great-Aunt Letitia casually mentioned that she had begun to employ the latest style in serving—
à la russe.
"I observed it while in Russia last summer. I think it an eminently sensible way to serve guests."

Nympha looked to the sideboard where, rather than arranged on the table, the serving dishes were set out in splendor. The footmen handed them around to the guests in strict rotation. The plate of soup set before her had a heavenly aroma, one she couldn't identify, but delicious to her taste. The footman whisked away her soup plate the moment she had finished, to replace it with a pretty china dinner plate.

It amused her to have first the fine beef roast served, then the potatoes, followed by beans smothered in a cream sauce, and lastly a marvelous sauce for the meat. The various aromas teased her nose. She would have to let Drusilla know about that sauce, for it not only had a heavenly scent of sage about it, but also other subtle flavors.

The same routine was repeated with the desserts, a lemony pudding in a meringue basket and a chocolate soufflé. Nympha elected to have a bit of each—how could she choose only one!

The soufflé floated down her throat in an essence of chocolate delight. The lemon and meringue was unlike anything she had tasted before combining those two— sharp yet sweet, light yet rich.

A glance at Lord Nicholas revealed that he appeared to be enjoying the food as much as she did.

The service à
la russe
seemed very practical from Nympha's limited experience. When she had dined at Lanstone Hall, it had been a mad confusion of serving dishes here and there on the table, and she often did not have access to the foods she particularly enjoyed.

Mama would be amazed to learn that you could have far fewer dishes to be served, limiting the work in the kitchen. It might be easier on the budget as well.

By the time they left the dining room the hour was late, and Nympha longed for her bed. Some of her fatigue must have shown in her face, for it was suggested by her thoughtful great-aunt that she retire at once. "It must have been a long day for you, dear girl."

"Thank you, most observant of great-aunts. I am very tired and will welcome that lovely bed in my room." Nympha managed a graceful curtsy.

Mr. Milburn offered to see Nympha to the top of the stairs, holding her candle for her most gallantly as they walked up the stairs together. He spoke softly to her as they went up the steps. Whatever he had to say made her laugh.

Nick stood by Mrs. Coxmoor. He hoped he might have his opportunity now to speak about the identity of the murdered man.

"I gather you want to talk with me. Come. we can have a few minutes of peace before your friend returns." She led the way into the drawing room and she immediately crossed to the sofa where apparently she liked to sit.

Thanking his stars that he had tucked his sketch of the murdered man inside his waistcoat in case of just such an opportunity, he hastily pulled it forth. "Do you by chance recognize this man?"

She considered the drawing for several moments before answering. "I have seen such a face—but it is not one I can put a name to right away. I gather your friend is not included in your search?" She again studied the sketch in her hands, then looked up at Nick.

"I prefer to keep this to myself for the moment. Your grandniece is not aware of the sketch either."

Footsteps alerted them to Mr. Milburn's imminent return. Rather than hand the sketch to Nick, Mrs. Coxmoor tucked it into her reticule, then began a conversation on the local attractions.

"Sherwood Forest, by all means," Nick said as though it had been offered him.

"I intend to give a ball—perhaps a masquerade where Nympha can be Maid Marian. You can portray Robin Hood if you should like."

Nick grinned. "How clever of you to think of that. I believe Miss Herbert would enjoy that very much. I know she looks forward to buying the lace."

"Everyone does," Mrs. Coxmoor replied with some complacency. "Every petticoat requires a few rows of lace; every white gown would benefit from it as well. There is a great deal of lace made hereabouts, as you may know."

"I understand your husband had a lace factory?"

"He also employed a considerable number of women who did cottage work, making the lace at home. There are some patterns that are as yet difficult to produce by machine. And there are people who prefer to buy lace that is handmade." She turned her head toward the door. "Ah. Mr. Milburn, we were just discussing the sights to be found in this area."

"Your grandniece mentioned some Roman ruins nearby," Nick said as Milburn sat down on the other end of the sofa Nick occupied.

"What about Newstead Abbey?" Milburn looked from Mrs. Coxmoor to Nick, his brows raised in query.

"I do not know if Lord Byron is in residence. I hope that Nympha is not one of those girls who sigh over his poetry." Mrs. Coxmoor frowned at the very thought.

Rather than answer. Nick rose and bowed to the elderly lady he estimated must be tiring, in spite of appearing twenty years younger than she was. "It has been a long day, ma'am. We rose early to make certain we would be here before dark."

"And you do not stay up late in London?"

"Perhaps, but I expect you do not."

She gave him a rueful smile. "Very thoughtful of you, young man. I took a fine nap this afternoon so as to be fresh in the event you arrived this day." She gave Milburn a speculative look.

He rose at once, bowing politely to his hostess. "Yes, it is time we all headed for our bed, I'd say. I must thank you again for offering your hospitality to a stranger. Much appreciated." He glanced to Nick, then walked at his side as they left the room.

Behind them, Foley marched in to see to his mistress.

"So, you entertained Miss Herbert on the way up the stairs." Nick glanced at Milburn, surprised to see a red flush creep up his face.

"Well, she is a shy young thing. I'd not do anything out of the way, you know."

"No need to be defensive, Milburn. I know you to be a gentleman." But Nick didn't think Nympha Herbert the least shy, young though she might be. After listening to her opinion on everything from poetry and novels to scenery, he knew she was far too opinionated to be called shy.

Alone in his room. Nick mulled over Milburn's behavior and decided there was nothing improper there. Yet Nick experienced a strange compulsion to protect Miss Herbert from any attentions Milburn cared to send her way. What had he said to her to make her chuckle in such an engaging manner? He'd give a monkey to know.

* * * *

Morning brought Nympha bright eyes and curiosity about her surroundings. With the sun shining, albeit through clouds here and there, she wanted to explore outdoors.

Once she had finished her chocolate and rolls, she bade Annie help her dress—which was becoming easier as Annie's wrist returned to normal.

"I don't hear anyone downstairs, miss. House be as quiet as a tomb."

Nympha donned her cloak with haste, tying the tapes with eager fingers, then pulled on gloves. "I wish to explore a little, see something of the gardens. I shall return in time to partake of a light breakfast."

She skimmed down the central staircase. No matter it was early, Foley materialized to open the front door for her. "The early tulips are to the left, miss. Quite nice, they are, too."

With a word of thanks, she marched down to the gravel path, then turned to the left. It didn't take her long to find the enormous beds of barely opened tulips. The first bed was of red tulips for the most part, with two stripes of white dividing it. Oh, how her mother would have enjoyed seeing this display. She wandered on to admire a bed of early pink, still in bud, with the greenery of later-blooming tulips around them, and a border of hardy blue pansies. Another bed of short yellow tulips interspersed with white were quite showy, even if short of stem. Purple pansies bordered this bed. She bent over to pick a few of the fragrant blooms.

"Good morning, Miss Herbert. Out and about early, I see."

"Mr. Milburn! Fancy seeing you here." Nympha shot up, staring at him with surprise. On their journey north she had the impression that Mr. Milburn had a difficult time waking and took his time dressing. He did not believe in the simplicity of garb that Lord Nicholas did. However, his cravat appeared hastily tied, and he had the look of one who had been in a rush. In a hurry to see her? She found that difficult to believe. Clutching her pansies in uneasy fingers, she took a step toward the house.

"It is a lovely morning. Why not see a little of the grounds as long as we are out and about?"

She felt flustered. If Annie were here, she would not hesitate. Then, spotting a gardener up ahead, Nympha nodded agreement. Naturally, Mr. Milburn would not do anything out of line, but she felt better knowing someone else was around.

"I suppose that accustomed to living in a village where nothing exciting ever happens, you are finding this trip to be delightful," he said.

Nympha imagined that most people who lived in London or a larger town would think the same. "The trip has been lovely, but you must not think that village life is always dull. Why, not too long ago we had a murder in the village. Or, I should say, on the golf links that Lord Nicholas created. It caused quite a sensation."

"I heard a rumor of the violent end to a life. Tell me, did anyone see who did the deed?" He took hold of her arm to guide her around a wheelbarrow that had weeds and dead leaves heaped in it.

If Nympha thought this was an exceedingly peculiar conversation to have early in the morning while walking in the gardens, she didn't say so. "No, and that was frightening. But Papa said whoever killed the person was likely long gone by the time the body was discovered."

"So, they have no clue as to who might have murdered him?"

"Not really. Oh—did you happen to see any strangers about when you were talking to that man? I saw you out near the links that same day, only earlier. ‘Tis such a lovely area, with the trees, ponds, and neatly scythed grass, that I go there often simply to enjoy it—much like a park."

"Ah, no, not in the least. The chap I spoke to was an old acquaintance, and we chatted briefly before I returned to my lodging. And," he continued with a smile, "I remained in the village for some days following."

"What a pity. That is," she hastily added, "that you couldn't have helped to find a clue."

Clouds obscured the sun, and Nympha found the air becoming a trifle chilly. She changed her direction, slipping away from Mr. Milburn's hold, to return to the warmth of the house.

He followed closely at her side, chatting about the scenery and the gardens.

Nympha would not have thought him a chatty man. They reached the house without her having to utter a word.