Always (ALWAYS trilogy Book 1)

by Cheryl Holt

  Nathan pondered, sipped his drink, then after a bit, he inquired, “Have you ever heard any rumors about my father and me?”

  “What sorts of rumors?”

  “I recently found out I have a pair of half-sisters. My father had a mistress he loved very much, and they had two daughters. Twin girls. I lived with them in London before he passed away, but I didn’t remember.”

  “My goodness,” Trevor murmured.

  “My father asked me to watch over them for him.”

  “That was an enormous charge for him to have leveled. You were…what? Six? Seven?”

  “Six, yes. He probably suspected—should anything ever happen to him—they’d need to be protected from Grandfather.”

  “He was right to fret. Grandfather was a monster.”

  “Might your mother or Godwin have ever mentioned them in your presence? Might you have been privy to any servants’ gossip?”

  Trevor was being assessed so thoroughly that he realized he was being judged on his reply. He couldn’t guess what the correct answer was supposed to be, so he could only be candid.

  “I’ve never heard about them. Not a hint. Not a whiff. I’m as surprised as you are by the news.”

  Nathan studied Trevor’s eyes, then said, “I believe you.”

  “Where are they?” Trevor asked. “Do you know?”

  “No. When Father perished, Grandfather wouldn’t allow them to be brought to Selby, so your mother sent them to an orphanage.”

  Trevor gasped. “Oh, no.”

  “I’ll find them though. Once I return to Selby, it’s the first task on my list, but I have a very long list.”

  “What else is on it?”

  “Your mother and I have to have a discussion about what occurred back then. Afterward, I’m not sure she’ll still be at Selby.”

  “You might kick her out?”

  Trevor’s pulse raced. He wouldn’t wish trouble on his mother, but while she was at Selby, it would be impossible to take Susan there. But if his mother was evicted? It would be a perfect conclusion.

  “Let’s not describe it as kicking her out.” Nathan raised a brow. “Let’s say she might be moving to London in the near future. What would you think about that?”

  “It’s a terrific idea.”

  “If she left, I’d need someone to run the house and the estate for me. It might be a good job for you and Susan. You could manage the property, and she could supervise the manor.”

  Trevor didn’t have to seek Susan’s opinion. It was a marvelous plan. “We would like to do that, and I’d be grateful forever, but is this an indication that you’re leaving on another African expedition? You won’t stay to manage it yourself?”

  “I haven’t decided my path. I had envisioned a different kind of summer. I thought there might be a reason to dawdle and enjoy myself for once, but she had to…I mean I’m never content at Selby, so it’s pointless to tarry.”

  Trevor noticed Nathan’s slip of the tongue, but didn’t pry. He and Nathan weren’t the type to share secrets. Had he pursued an amour? Had a girl caught his fancy?

  Fleetingly, he wondered if it was Nell Drummond. He’d observed them together, and they’d definitely seemed inordinately fond. Where was she now? What had happened—or not happened—between them?

  He’d have to talk to Susan about it. She was so anxious about her friend, and Nell might have confessed a flirtation to her.

  “What about my brother?” he asked. “He can’t be at Selby if I’m there. The quarreling would never end.”

  “He should move to London too. He spends all his time there anyway.”

  Susan took that moment to arrive. She saw Trevor and hurried over, but didn’t pay any attention to the man seated with him.

  “I was worried about you,” she said. “We should head to the church or we’ll be late for our own wedding.” She laughed, then skidded to a halt. “Lord Selby? Why are you in Gretna Green?”

  “Hello, Miss Middleton, and since you’re intent on marrying my cousin, may I call you Susan?”

  “I imagine that would be all right,” she mulishly stated.

  She appeared defiant. She recognized that Nathan’s showing up didn’t bode well for them.

  “Please sit,” Nathan told her.

  She eased down into the chair next to Trevor. Under the table, they linked their fingers, but she was perched on the edge of her seat, as if she’d bolt with the least provocation—and drag Trevor off too.

  “Is my father with you?” she asked Nathan. “Is he on his way?”

  “No.”

  “Are you here to stop us? Because you can’t. We’re determined to proceed.”

  “Your father gave me a message for you,” was Nathan’s reply.

  “What is it?”

  “You’ve been disowned, and you’re about to be disinherited.”

  “I’m not surprised to hear it.”

  “And you won’t ever receive a penny of your dowry.”

  Her shoulders slumped. “I suspected as much.”

  “Trevor claims you’ve thought this through, and you realize you’re about to be a poor man’s bride. Look me in the eye and tell me you understand the consequences of your actions. I must add,” Nathan said before she could respond, “that I doubt you can ever truly comprehend them.”

  “I’m not a child, Lord Selby,” she huffed. “I’ve fretted and dithered, and I know what I’m doing.”

  “Fine, I’ll take you at your word, but I need a vow from you.”

  “What vow?”

  “You must promise me you will never regret marrying Trevor. If times grow hard and money tight, I don’t want rumors to ever filter back to me that you’re ruing your choice or making him miserable because of it. As you mentioned, you’re not a child. You’re an adult woman, and I shall expect you to competently shoulder your burdens as his wife and that you’ll always be glad you’re a member of my family.”

  “That’s all you need from me?” Susan asked. “You need me to promise I’ll always be glad I picked Trevor over Percy?”

  “Yes. You have to swear and you have to be sincere.”

  Susan chuckled and turned to Trevor, smiling at him as she pledged, “I swear to you, Lord Selby, that I will love Trevor Blake until I draw my last breath. I will never complain or protest or criticize over any facet of the life he bestows on me, for I’m sure every second he provides will bring little bits of bliss.” She yanked her gaze to Nathan. “Will that suffice?”

  “Yes, that will suffice, so we should head to the chapel.”

  “You’ll come with us?” Trevor inquired, being astonished by the offer.

  “I’ll come,” Nathan said. “You should have a relative as a witness. It’s not as if anyone else is happy about your mischief. It’s just me—and no one else at all.”

  * * * *

  Nell sat in her bedchamber in the Middletons’ London mansion.

  The house was very quiet, the servants tiptoeing about as if someone had died. And she supposed—in a way—someone had. Albert and Florence had bluntly announced to the staff that they no longer had a daughter. Her name was never to be spoken, and they’d removed all memorabilia, which Nell deemed to be silly.

  Susan had been betrothed to one Blake son, but she’d liked the other one better and had wed him instead. Why was that so awful? Yes, she’d flouted her father’s wishes, but so what?

  The two people most upset by the situation were Edwina and Percy Blake, and Florence couldn’t abide them. Who cared if they were raging?

  The entire fiasco was depressing, exasperating, and very, very sad.

  They’d been back in town for two weeks, and there had been no information about what might be transpiring at Selby. Whenever a carriage rumbled into the driveway, she would rush to the window and peek out, certain it would be Susan arriving with her husband, but it never had been.

  On one pointless occasion, Nell had broached the subject of Susan to Florence, and Florence had sharply
replied that Albert was in the process of changing his Will. Nell had suggested they calm down and reflect awhile prior to making such a monumental decision, but she’d been stridently reprimanded and sent to her room.

  She kept watching the mail, expecting Susan to write, that she might invite Nell to come to Selby as they’d always planned. But no letter had appeared or—if correspondence had been delivered—no letter had been handed to Nell.

  On another pointless occasion, she’d asked Florence where Susan might be, and Florence had claimed no one knew, that she’d vanished with her useless spouse.

  Florence had no problem denouncing a daughter she’d raised for twenty years, but Nell wasn’t that merciless. She didn’t have it in her to behave like that. She yearned to throw caution to the wind, to simply pack her bags and decamp to Selby, but if Susan wasn’t there—as Florence insisted she wasn’t—what would she do?

  Edwina Blake wouldn’t let her tarry, so Nell would have to stagger home, but she’d be in big trouble with Florence and Albert. They’ve view it as a betrayal and would likely kick her out, so where would she live? Would she wallow in a ditch?

  She could attempt to communicate with Susan by repeatedly writing to Selby until she received a response, but if Florence caught her, Florence would judge it to be treachery and would react accordingly.

  Even if she’d been brave enough to defy Florence, she wouldn’t travel to Selby for one other colossal reason: Lord Selby was there. She hadn’t forgotten the chances she’d given him to beg her to stay with him, but he hadn’t been interested.

  She shouldn’t have counted on him or imagined he was growing fond. She wasn’t Cinderella, and he wasn’t Prince Charming. A man like him never wed a female like her, and in his world, naïve ninnies like Nell were a penny a dozen. He’d probably crossed paths with a hundred girls just like her, with a thousand girls just like her, and he’d have seduced each and every one of them.

  She was trying not to be too hard on herself though. He’d been dashing and wonderful, witty and fascinating. She’d never previously met a man like him, and she was positive she never would again. How could she not have loved him? How could she not have fallen under his spell?

  What now?

  She was so bereaved she could barely get out of bed in the morning. She could barely eat or sleep. She couldn’t focus, couldn’t think straight. She was mourning the loss of him, and while her grief would gradually wane, what would be left of her once it did?

  She’d be dead inside, an empty shell whose sunny, happy personality had drifted away.

  Suddenly, there was a brisk knock on her door. She’d been so distracted by her woe that she hadn’t heard anyone approaching. Before she could ask who it was, Florence strutted in.

  “You’re up. Good,” was her curt greeting. “A housemaid told me you were napping.”

  “I wasn’t dozing. I was feeling a bit queasy, so I was resting until it passed.”

  “It’s the fourth time this week a maid has apprised me you were nauseous.”

  “I apologize that you were bothered over it. I’m sure I’ll be better very soon.”

  Nell was nestled in the window seat, staring out at the garden, her mood low, her spirits flagging. Florence studied her caustically, then marched over and pulled up a chair.

  “Since we arrived home,” Florence said, “I’ve been too busy and too aggravated to discuss your…fling with Lord Selby.”

  “Nothing happened between us, so there’s nothing to tell.”

  “Really?” Florence shot back. “You were out with him all night. Don’t deny it. That witch, Edwina Blake, was very clear.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Are you?”

  The question hung in the air, because—of course—Nell wasn’t sorry. Her fleeting amour with Lord Selby had been the grandest event of her life. She was crushed that it had concluded so abruptly, and she had no idea how to regroup in a sane fashion.

  How was she to live without him? It didn’t seem possible.

  “I’m going to inquire about Lord Selby one more time,” Florence said, “and I expect you to be honest with me. Has he ruined you? Is that where we are?”

  Nell steadied her breathing. She was anxious to talk about what had transpired with someone, but Florence Middleton could never be her confidante. Not in this circumstance. Not in any circumstance.

  “I’m afraid to comment, Florence. You’re so angry these days, and I would hate to upset you further.”

  “I shall take your remark as an admission. Lord Selby has seduced you with wicked intent.”

  It was almost a relief to have the truth revealed, and obviously, it was too late to lie. Florence wouldn’t believe her anyway.

  “He didn’t seduce me,” Nell felt compelled to state. “I was a willing participant. He liked me very much, and I liked him in return. It wasn’t wicked.”

  “Well, that’s very special, isn’t it?” Florence snidely asked. “But apparently, you don’t realize that you are likely increasing.”

  Nell scowled. “Increasing…with what?”

  “With his bastard child, you foolish dunce!”

  The moment Florence spoke the words aloud, a potent certainty swept through Nell. Her body seemed to shout, Yes, yes, that’s what’s wrong!

  Nell didn’t know much about a woman’s symptoms when she was in the family way—maidens were kept in the dark on every issue—but from practically the minute they’d rolled away from Selby, she’d been sick at her stomach. She’d thought it was from stress, from heartbreak, from missing Lord Selby so much she worried she might simply die over being parted from him.

  “You think I’m having a baby?” she cautiously asked.

  “I wouldn’t hesitate to bet on it. Now confess your disgrace to me, and I’ll help you. Your mother was my friend, so I have a duty to you, but this is an offer I shall make once, and I will not make it again. Did he play on your sympathies? Was he successful? Are you dishonored?”

  Florence glared, her overwhelming personality smashing into Nell, grinding her down to a pile of dust.

  “Yes, I’m ruined,” Nell ultimately murmured.

  Florence pursed her lips, her expression condemning, as if she’d been waiting for years for Nell to engage in lewd conduct, and she’d finally behaved precisely as Florence had always figured she would.

  “We will have to act swiftly to contain the damage,” Florence said.

  “Why?”

  “Because you are increasing, Nell, and the evidence becomes visible very quickly. With your persistent nausea, the housemaids are already speculating about you.”

  “Oh, no.”

  “Oh, yes. In light of the debacle at Selby where our name has been dragged through the mud, I will not tolerate a scandal under my very own roof.”

  “I understand.”

  “You have two choices. The first is that you will retire to an unwed mother’s home where we can hide your shame from our acquaintances. After you give birth, the child will be put out for adoption. You couldn’t return to us afterward though. I wouldn’t welcome you back.”

  “Where would I go then?”

  “Albert would buy you a bed in a convent. You could live out your days there, in solitude, as you repent your sins.”

  Just then, a bit of solitude actually sounded marvelous, but she couldn’t imagine having her baby adopted. Everything was happening too fast, and she couldn’t slow it down.

  “What is my other option?” she inquired.

  “I could have Albert find you a husband. He has many associates who owe him favors.”

  “We’d conceal my condition and marry me off to an unsuspecting fellow? It seems awfully deceitful. I couldn’t do it.”

  “I would never trick a man like that. We would select a candidate who’s older, steady, and reliable. We’d confide your peccadillo, and Albert would pay him money to make you worth the bother.”

  “Basically, Albert would sell me.”

  “
Yes, basically.”

  Nell stared down at the floor, remembering her affection for Lord Selby. It was physically painful to realize she might be wed—but not to him.

  “I can’t decide what’s best.” She moaned with despair. “Could I…ah…could we contact Lord Selby? Could we ask him what he would recommend?”

  Florence bristled with affront. “Contact that rutting dog, Selby? After how he’s treated you? Are you mad?”

  “It’s his child. He wouldn’t want me to give it away to strangers or let another man raise it.”

  “You are mad, aren’t you? I suppose you fancy yourself in love with him. I suppose you’ve persuaded yourself he loved you too. You can’t be that stupid.”

  Nell glanced down. “I did love him. I do love him. I can’t deny it. As to him, I wouldn’t claim he loved me too, but he was very fond of me.”

  “He was fond? Is that what you think?”

  “It’s not what I think. It’s what I know.”

  Florence tsked with offense. “I have no idea how to break this to you, so I’ll just spit it out. Lord Selby is engaged to be married. He has been for years.”

  “What?”

  “He’s engaged.”

  Nell studied her, then scoffed. “You’re lying. He would have told me. He would have said.”

  “He would have told me! He would have said!” Florence repeated Nell’s words in a taunting, sing-song voice. “You’re a fool, Nell Drummond, a gullible, ridiculous fool.”

  “Who is his betrothed?” Nell demanded. “If this is the truth, who is it? Tell me her name—if you can!”

  “It’s Sebastian Sinclair’s sister. They’ve been promised practically since they were children.”

  “Where did you hear about it?”

  “The announcement was in the newspapers—when the match was initially contracted—and whenever they’re out and about in public, there are gossipy stories about them. They’re a very handsome couple, and people enjoy seeing them together.”

  Nell was so stunned she felt as if Florence had punched her. “That can’t be right.”

  “Trust me, Nell. Sir Sidney’s daughter could have any man in the kingdom, but she’s never wanted anyone except Nathan Blake. And he has never really wanted anyone but her.”