When She Loved Me (Regency Rogues: Redemption Book 1)

by Rebecca Ruger

  While they might be friendly, Nicole hadn’t any intention of discussing her marriage, or lack thereof, with the girl. It was her own humiliation and she’d prefer to keep it that way. Likewise, she imagined that Lorelei now guessed it wasn’t her place to inquire where her ladyship’s husband had been for the past year.

  At ten minutes before seven, Nicole walked into the drawing room, where she assumed she was to meet the earl before dinner.

  Her husband awaited her, lounging in the blue damask side chair, not the lord’s ornate arm chair. He stood when she entered and offered a respectable bow. Nicole managed to sketch a brief curtsy without causing damage to her precarious coiffure.

  Franklin approached them, his bent form only reaching to the earl’s chest. He offered up a tray with two glasses on it, first to Nicole, who carefully chose one and waited for the earl to take the other. Trevor then stepped to the side and swung his arm to indicate that Nicole should sit. She did so, moving carefully as to not upset her hair.

  “Is there something wrong with your neck? You seem to be... stiff,” he said, and she could just sense his concerned frown.

  Nicole moved her eyes, though barely her head, around the room, and saw that Franklin was still the only other person present, his hands tucked behind his back, which seemed to straighten him a bit.

  “This is Lorelei’s first attempt to manage my hair. It’s not going to hold, I fear. And it’s not her fault—Amelia had worked with it for years and struggled so often she had taken to calling it rather unladylike names.” She glanced down her nose at her drink, forgoing actually lowering her head lest the entire mass of it fall forward. “I’m hoping it makes it through dinner, until she attends me later. I don’t want her to consider her first endeavor a failure.”

  “It has some—er—great height. Is there something... in there?” He’d moved closer to inspect it. He lifted his hand.

  “Don’t touch it.” She jerked away, though managed to tilt her head not at all. “It might topple.”

  She heard Trevor chuckle and saw him sit down across from her, in the chair he’d employed only moments ago.

  There was some silence then, not uncomfortable.

  “What had you—”

  “What brought you—”

  They’d spoken at once, and Nicole melted back into her chair, biting her bottom lip until he tipped his head, allowing that she should proceed. “What brought you into the village today?”

  “Letters to post, and some trivial business matters,” he answered. “Nothing of import. And what had you been reading so animatedly when I came upon you in the bookstore?”

  “Animatedly?”

  “My dear, your hand was fisted, and your brow furrowed to such an extent, I pitied the character whose thoughts or words or actions had instigated such rapt furor.”

  “That dreadful Mr. Darcy,” she said, recalling exactly which passage had wrought so disagreeable a mien. “Or rather, when he was dreadful.”

  “Ah, yes, he prevailed, did he not? Won the hand of the fair Miss Bennet if I recall.”

  “Lord Leven, are you supposing I am to believe that you’ve actually read Miss Austen’s novel?”

  “Not at all, but you may suppose that I once suffered a dinner partner who spent all of the blessed seven courses, giving a full account of Miss Austen’s story, to such effect that even if I had been inclined to have purchased the fiction, I might have saved myself the time and monies, for the lady in question not only offered a complete and thorough chapter by chapter recounting, but then also her own review of the manuscript, that I felt I was indeed on rather intimate terms with the entire Bennet clan and Mr. Darcy as well.”

  Nicole couldn’t help herself but laughed out loud at this picture, of the powerful and some might say unapproachable Earl of Leven having been trapped by politeness and forced to endure possibly several hours’ worth of a retelling of Pride and Prejudice. “Could you not claim illness?” She asked through her laughter. “Or possibly some remembrance of a prior engagement, to have vacated your position at her side?”

  “Possibly, but the dinner was at my own home.”

  Franklin stepped forward and announced that dinner was to be served now. Trevor stood and offered his hand to Nicole, who rose carefully and allowed her husband to lead her to the smaller of the two dining rooms. Trevor released her hand when they’d reached one end of the table, where Henry stood behind that chair. While Trevor made his way to the head of the table, where stood Charlie, Nicole turned and winked at Henry, standing so seriously at attention. The boy smiled at her but only quickly before Trevor faced Nicole again, indicating with a nod that she should sit. Charlie and Henry moved at the same time, pushing their chairs in as they sat. The boys disappeared then, and Franklin moved about the table, refilling first Nicole’s glass and then the earls before taking up a sentinel position near the sideboard. The boys returned shortly, each carrying a circular tray, conveying the first course of soup to the lord and lady.

  Nicole had only enjoyed one taste off the side of the spoon of Abby’s fabulous pea soup when a long curling tress flashed before her eyes, falling away from the main structure and dangling down across one side of her face. While she stared at it, she was aware that Trevor’s spoon was arrested halfway to his mouth, though his jaw still gaped. And his lips twitched.

  “Do not sit there laughing at me,” she said, noticing the pin still held at the end of the fallen lock. “Come and fix this.”

  “Me?”

  Believing no help coming from his end, she picked up the offending tress, which drooped nearly into her soup and lifted it out and up, attempting to guess where she might reattach it.

  “Oh, what a hobble! She will be crushed if I return with it in shambles.”

  Trevor set down his napkin on the table next to his soup and walked the length of the table. At her side, he accepted the loosed lock of hair and wondered aloud what might be done with it. “Shall I just squish it into the bulk of it? How does this pin work—oh, I see.” Nicole felt some pressure against the left side of her head, but only closed her eyes at the nearness of him, his waist just at eye level should she turn. “Voilà, and there you have it,” he said then, and she opened her eyes to find him standing there still. She sensed his hand hovering near her exposed neck. She breathed slowly, her coiffure forgotten.

  The door from the kitchens swung open again, and they were reminded that they were not alone; Franklin had remained at his position even before the footmen returned now with items to add to the first course. Trevor retook his seat just as Charlie and Henry set down individual dishes of lamb cotelletes and artichokes in cream sauce beside each of them.

  The boys remained now, only standing stiffly, side by side, several paces away from the table. Nicole concentrated on the food, slightly unnerved at the thought of making conversation with her husband under the sure scrutiny of Franklin and now the boys as well.

  The earl seemed less troubled by the very idea.

  “I had a visit from your grandmother some weeks ago,” he said casually.

  Nicole nearly spit out the spoonful of soup she’d just sipped.

  “A visit?” She wondered, recalling her grandmother’s extreme distaste of what she perceived as, a completely unacceptable arrangement that must end now or by the saints, I’ll have him flayed alive. “Or, trial by fire?”

  Trevor’s lips quirked. “An amazing woman, with some very critical opinions on certain matters.”

  That was an understatement, she knew well and good, and as confirmed by the gleam in his eye. But for their audience, she might have inquired if this, then, was what had finally brought him round to Lesser House. Instead, she only commented, “We saw grandmother only this past Christmas.”

  “A remarkable woman,” he said. “Truly, I will look forward to meeting her again.”

  Quiet then, while they enjoyed the fare and considered other topics of conversation, though Nicole sadly recalled that there had been a time whe
n words between them flowed quite effortlessly.

  “I’ve sent for Timsby, my valet,” he said shortly.

  “Good Lord, how long are you staying?” That just fell out of her mouth. Nicole clamped her lips and stole a glance at the footmen, who were doing a superb job of pretending they had no sense of hearing. “I only meant... you must have so many affairs that require your attention in London.”

  Trevor’s dark eyes showed a restrained indulgence as he met her gaze, and he said, quite pointedly, “There are many affairs here that require my attention, first and foremost.”

  Nicole tried to ignore this, but his eyes upon her so piercing and heated just now, brought a flush to her cheeks and a swift recollection of his kiss only hours ago.

  She pushed her soup bowl away and ignored the lamb and artichokes, sitting back in her chair to signify this course was finished. Henry thankfully understood the cue and swept in to remove these dishes. Charlie’s eyes darted to Franklin—the earl was still attending the dishes before him—and Franklin nodded an assent, which then had Charlie likewise clearing the bowl and plates before the earl, his cheeks pinkened and his eyes upon only the table. Trevor was left holding still his soup spoon as all else before him was confiscated.

  He set the spoon down and looked up at Nicole, just met her eyes steadily, but then continued to stare and soon with a growing intensity that she felt suddenly quite exposed. He continued to regard her, and she wondered if he were recalling their earlier kiss. Earlier kiss? No, that language was entirely too tame to describe what had transpired between them earlier. And he was doing it again, now with his eyes, caressing her, holding her captive, forcing her breath to rush in and out that her lips parted to give her ease.

  The footmen returned, and Nicole remembered where she was and closed her mouth and made to rearrange the remaining silverware in front of her. Henry was at her side then and placed several dishes before her, but she hadn’t any idea what they were. She’d witnessed and had been the recipient of several gazes from Trevor, both before and after they had married. She had glimpsed his watchful gaze and his laughing one and last year had several times observed his protective and angry glances, but she knew she had never perceived so hungry a gaze as she had just now. She felt naked and vulnerable and heated all at once. With a pretense of composure, she lifted a fork and feigned interest in the plates before her.

  Having a sense about her that she needed some suitable bit of conversation that would rankle him, effectively reminding her of his mercurial moods—not one of her favorite things about Trevor—Nicole said casually, “I hope you shan’t mind muslin gowns at dinner. I will have exhausted my supply of silks in a matter of days.”

  “What has become of your trousseau?” Her husband asked then, lifting his eyes from her bosom, where this silk showed more of a décolletage than her daytime muslins did.

  “I gave them away,” she announced. This was very helpful, she believed, knowing he would denounce this, and tell her the Countess of Leven did not simply give things away, to the neglect of her own person. He would be angry, and it would put her on better footing with him.

  But Trevor only said, “We shall have to purchase others, I suppose.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Nicole actually slept in the next morning, the sun already shining by the time she opened her eyes. She’d not been able to find rest for quite some time last night, playing over and over in her mind the events of the day. But for all the time spent mulling over her present circumstances, as it regarded Trevor’s visitation to Lesser House, she was no further ahead in knowing exactly what was happening or why.

  She would today make a fuss to Mrs. Abercorn over the fine dinner she’d presented last evening, though truth be told, Nicole could recall little of it. She would commend Charlie and Henry on their upstanding occupation, for she had after some time forgotten about their presence, which was a true testament to their successful employment. She wouldn’t exactly say that she had much enjoyed the evening spent with her husband, this being near impossible with so much unanswered and unknown between them, and with her being so constantly wary of the intent of each word he spoke, but it had proved so much less awful than she’d imagined.

  At the end of the evening, Trevor had only said goodnight to her at the bottom of the stairs. She’d insisted to herself then, and several more times while she’d lain awake, that it was relief she felt, having staunchly struck down the disappointment she felt that he’d not even attempted to steal a kiss of any kind.

  She pulled back the bed covers to rise just now when the door opened, and Lorelei peeked her head in. “Oh, very good, you’re awake, my lady.” And she entered the bedroom fully then and placed the ewer and basin on the low cupboard. “We’ll get you dressed for breakfast.”

  Nicole’s initial reaction was to balk at this, and remind the maid that she’d been successfully dressing herself since coming to the abbey, but Lorelei’s cheerful dancing around the room, humming as she swung open the wardrobe doors, precluded this, and the maid’s next words had Nicole feeling a bit guilty for having denied Lorelei her desired purpose over the past year.

  “Oh, my lady, it’s all I’ve ever dreamed of doing, since I was little, being the attendant to a kind lady in a great house. I didn’t want to force myself on you, but I’m ever so grateful his lordship has come and set this to rights.”

  With as much grace as she could muster now, indeed feeling particularly chastised, Nicole rose and allowed Lorelei to attend her.

  Half an hour later, Nicole entered the rarely used morning room, as Lorelei had told her breakfast would henceforth be served here. She found her husband already helping himself at the sideboard, piling bacon and eggs and breads and cheeses onto his plate. He turned as she entered and bid her a good morning with a generous smile and a glance that raked her head to toe and brightened her cheeks.

  Nicole smiled stiffly, one hand worrying the collar of her gown as she approached the round table, curiously set for three. She said good morning to Franklin, who nodded with a fond smile and met her at the table, just in time to pull out her chair. “I’ll bring your chocolate, my lady.”

  She was really starting to believe if she heard one more ‘my lady’ she might scream.

  “Good morning, my lord, my lady,” said Ian as he walked into the room.

  God’s wounds! Ian, too?

  “Mr. Wendell,” Trevor said in greeting, just now regaining his chair, his plate full.

  Nicole sat mute, watching as Ian then sat at the third place setting and helped himself to the coffee pot in the center of the table while Trevor announced matter-of-factly, his eyes on Nicole, “I thought it a good idea to start our day with all the business of the abbey. Later, Mr. Wendell will give a tour that I might reacquaint myself with the entire property.”

  Nicole’s eyes met Ian’s, saw just the flicker of unease—or was that guilt for this defection? —before he steeled his expression in such a way that Nicole read into it, this is the right way to proceed.

  She schooled her own features, and her mind as well, into acceptance. She wasn’t so petty as to eschew the needs and administration of the abbey for the sake of her own satisfaction, or rather for any desire to thwart her own husband that he might then depart. She rose and attended her own plate at the sideboard, choosing only a bit of eggs and some pastry. “Where shall we begin?” she asked.

  Trevor answered as Nicole regained her seat and Franklin just then set down a delicate cup and saucer, the chocolate steaming. “You both, having spent more time here in the past year than I have in my entire life, would have a fair idea about how things go along.” He sipped from his own cup and then tapped the stack of books he’d brought to the table. “It occurs to me that with all the information I’ve been handed since my father died, never have I ever been shown anything, not one piece of information or paperwork, about Hyndman Abbey. So, let’s start at the beginning.”

  Ian sighed and considered this, where to star
t. “The abbey is just over six thousand acres, with the manor house and parkland residing on fifty-five of these. The village, Hornfield, only stretches about two square miles, being, as you know, directly adjacent to the edge of the parkland. There are 26 tenant farmers leasing 100-acre plots and 33 farmers leasing 50 acre plots. There is a 500-acre woodland—give or take—which serves well for hunting. Now, inside the village, there are 27 buildings and 17 residences, with a total of seven being vacant.”

  Nicole found her seat again and set her plate down before her. “But that doesn’t include Mr. Newson’s horse-trading plot, several acres at the north end of Hornfield. He doesn’t exactly lease it but gives a percentage of his income four times a year, when he holds the auctions. And then there’s gypsum mine, though that has been shuttered for at least a decade, we are told.”

  “The mine was shuttered?” Trevor asked. “Was it tapped?”

  Ian and Nicole shook their heads. Ian said, “The consensus around here is that the mine—like the sawmill and the brewery—have only fallen away due to disregard.”

  Nicole explained, “When the estate began to neglect necessary repairs and upkeep, the mine was forced to shut down and the workers moved on or away. When the small lake near the sawmill dried up, there was no water to power the mill and that, too, was abandoned.”

  “Hmmm. Even Wentworth Manor, which is three times the size of the abbey, hasn’t a mill or mine,” Trevor mused.

  Nicole added, “The records show that in 1800, there was more than twice the number of tenant farms and the estate, as a whole, consisted of over 500 persons. Presently, there are less than 300 people who live within the boundaries.”

  “And what income does the estate provide now, at these numbers?”

  Ian flipped through the pages of his ledger. “Last year, the abbey grossed almost a thousand pounds.” He pushed the book over to Trevor. “But you can see the expenses, for the house and staff, and what few repairs and maintenance we allowed, puts only about 700 pounds into the Leven coffers.”