Always

by Cheryl Holt

  If he was imperiled in the slightest, it would be by cruel words that would roll off like water on a duck’s back.

  His room would be warm and welcoming. Dobbs would have had a bath brought up, liquor poured, and comfortable clothes arranged so he could lounge and loaf and rest. It was so bloody good to be pampered.

  He walked down the hall, and as he reached the foyer, the front door opened, and Miss Drummond blustered in.

  She smelled like sunshine, like flowers and green grass and all that was fresh and beautiful in the world. She was smiling—did she always smile?—and with her chestnut curls bouncing, her straw bonnet hanging by the ribbons, she was pretty as a picture.

  He was inordinately delighted to see her in his home. He didn’t know why, but she fascinated him. She was like a yellow rose in a garden of red ones. Who could guess what changes such a merry, flirtatious girl might stir? Perhaps her luminous presence would deliver some temporary joy to the exhausting house.

  “Hello, Miss Drummond,” he said.

  “You!”

  “Your basket is empty, so you must have finished with your decorating.”

  “Yes, and it looks fabulous—if I do say so myself.”

  “I would expect nothing less from your concerted efforts.”

  She strutted over, and he watched her approach, liking how her shapely hips swished under her skirt.

  “There has been the most interesting rumor about you, sir,” she said once they were toe to toe.

  “What is it?” he asked, but he could figure out what it was.

  “I heard that the Earl has stunned everyone by suddenly returning from his latest lengthy sojourn in Africa. Apparently, he has no manners. He sent no notice, so the staff wasn’t prepared for his arrival. Might it be true, sir, that you are that earl?”

  He grinned; he simply couldn’t help it. “It might be true.”

  “Then I declare you to be a rat and a deceiver.”

  “A rat and a deceiver? Why?”

  She shook a scolding finger in his face. “You told me you were a Blake cousin.”

  “I am.”

  “No, you are thee Blake cousin, the grand and glorious Selby himself.”

  “I agree. I am quite grand and glorious.”

  “Humble too.”

  “Yes, humble is my middle name.”

  “I was joking!”

  She sauntered off, and he wondered where she was going. He wished they resided in another sort of society, that he could invite her to come upstairs with him, to attend him at his bath, to flit around his bedchamber so he could glance up and see her there.

  He just knew he’d feel better.

  “Where are you off to, Miss Drummond?” he called, his curiosity horridly piqued.

  “None of your business, Lord Selby,” she had the temerity to respond.

  “I beg to differ. Everything that occurs at Selby is my business.”

  “If you insist on being apprised—”

  “I absolutely do.”

  “—you’ll have to dance with me tonight. If you will, I promise to tell you all about my day.”

  “Your…day? Why would I need to learn about it?”

  “It’s been so thrilling that I’m certain you’ll lie awake for weeks, reflecting on all my exotic tales.”

  At her sassy, silly comment, he actually laughed. He couldn’t remember when he’d last laughed. It had been so long ago that the noise burst from his throat and sounded rusty.

  He wanted to chase after her, to stroll by her side and chat for the remainder of the afternoon, but she rounded a corner, and he was depressed that she’d left him to his own devices. She hadn’t seemed to have been impressed by him, and the fact that she wasn’t was odd and exhilarating.

  From the moment he’d been moved to Selby at age six, he’d been heir to the Selby title, a little viscount every person in the kingdom—except for his aunt and grandfather—had yearned to please and spoil. As he’d grown older, women had thrown themselves at him, all of them hoping to catch his eye and his heart.

  Unfortunately for all of them, he had no heart, so their affection was never reciprocated. He’d lived his life with courageous, daring men, traveling with Sebastian and Sir Sidney as they’d explored the wilds of Africa. There were no British girls in that world.

  He was home now, and Miss Drummond was present too. How could he have received such a sweet gift? He intended that she would entertain him every second for the next two weeks, and if he could deduce how to linger in her sunny company a bit longer than that, he definitely would.

  Things were looking brighter by the minute.

  CHAPTER THREE

  “What do you think of it?”

  “It’s very grand.”

  Nell smiled at Susan, trying to look positive and supportive.

  Susan was accustomed to the finer things in life, and she was very spoiled, but in a nice way. She expected extravagance to be lavished on her, but she wasn’t snooty about it.

  The Middletons’ mansion in London had been designed by the premier architect of the day, the furnishings supplied by the most renowned craftsmen. Every item, down to the smallest silver spoons in the drawers, had been purchased with the utmost care so Susan’s mother, Florence, could flaunt their wealth.

  Just about any house in the kingdom, except for some of the royal palaces, would have been a step down for her, so it was a relief to find the Selby property in stellar condition.

  She’d only been betrothed for two months, with the mothers intent on getting the young couple to the altar as swiftly as they could. The result was that she’d socialized with Percy on three occasions, one of them being the afternoon he’d stopped by to propose. The other two had been huge suppers hosted by her mother, so there had been no genuine chance for the pair to actually converse.

  The abbreviated courtship had ensured no advance trips to Selby were arranged. This was their first visit, and while they’d heard the property was spectacular, they’d been nervous.

  “I’m glad the manor is beautiful,” Susan said, “and so well maintained. The pristine condition eases some of my worries.”

  “You shouldn’t be having any worries.”

  “I’m about to be a bride, Nell. Every bride has them.”

  “Not you. I refuse to have you fretting.”

  It was evening, supper over, dozens of guests reveling. There was a room set up for the men to play cards, and there was dancing in the receiving parlor. She and Susan had been prancing about for the past hour.

  They were hot and exhausted, their feet hurting in their fancy shoes. They’d stepped outside to cool down. They were leaned on the balustrade, staring out at the park where colored lanterns hung from the trees in the garden. It was lovely, like a decorated fairyland.

  “Do you imagine I’ll be happy here?” Susan absurdly asked.

  “Of course you will be.” Nell’s tone was almost scolding. “Why would you assume—for even a single second—that you might not be?”

  “It’s all happening so fast.”

  “I think it’s better this way. What if your mother had insisted on a year of balls and parties? You’d have hated that.”

  “You’re right—as always.”

  “You’re escaping, Susan, remember?” Nell bent closer and added, “In two weeks, you’ll be Percy’s wife, and you’ll never have to listen to your mother again.”

  “Yes. I need to focus on the important benefits.” Susan bent even closer to whisper, “But living with Edwina Blake might be worse than living with Florence Middleton.”

  “It’s definitely a possibility.”

  “I wonder if there’s an empty cottage on the estate that Percy and I could have for our own.”

  “That’s a terrific idea. With Edwina running roughshod over everyone in the manor, you’ll never have any authority, and it will never seem like your home.”

  “As soon as I feel comfortable discussing it with Percy, I’ll ask if we can have a separ
ate house. He can’t be any more excited about staying with his mother than I am.”

  “And you’ll bring me to live with you, yes? As quickly as you can?”

  “As quickly as I can.”

  Nell had moved in with the Middletons when she was twelve and Susan ten. It was a decade later, and they were all grown up. Susan was marrying, and Nell—with no dowry or prospects—doubted she ever would.

  Susan was about to flee the strict, rule-laden residence that stifled them both, and once she was situated at Selby, Nell would join her. Susan was kind and considerate. She wouldn’t leave Nell behind.

  “I’m concerned about the Earl arriving from Africa,” Susan said.

  “Why?”

  “It may change things. I guess he hasn’t been here in years. What if he kicks out his relatives? What if I start adjusting to my new life and new husband, and we have to depart?”

  “Percy will have your dowry. It’s not as if you’ll be tossed out on the road to wallow in poverty.”

  “No, I suppose not. I have to stop envisioning disaster.”

  “Yes, you do,” Nell said, “and just so you know, I’ve met the illustrious, enigmatic Earl of Selby.”

  Susan’s jaw dropped. “No! How could you keep such a secret from me?”

  “We haven’t had a moment to chat privately since I stumbled on him.”

  “Where did this encounter occur? What’s he like? Why has he returned? Why now? Spill all, you horrid tease!”

  Before Nell could reply, Florence bustled outside.

  “Susan!” she hissed, and she swooped over to them like a pirate ship about to commit mayhem.

  Nell and Susan flinched and whipped around as if they were guilty, as if they’d been engaged in gross misbehavior, but Florence had that effect on them. She constantly admonished and chastised, and their interactions with her were fraught with tension and exasperation.

  At age fifty, she was a rotund, ungainly woman, with gray hair and icy blue eyes. She was a few inches shorter than Nell, but her large girth and stern, rigid attitudes made her seem much larger.

  Currently, she looked ridiculous. Because she would be introduced to the neighbors as the bride’s mother, she’d pulled out her best diamonds. Her neck, fingers, and wrists were dripping with them. The tiara on her head could probably have funded the annual budget of most small countries.

  With it being a rural house party, it was completely inappropriate for her to have donned so many jewels. Earlier, Susan had tried to hint that such an ostentatious display might appear crass to the rustic guests, but with Florence, there was no telling her anything.

  She’d been married to Albert for thirty-five years, and they’d started from humble beginnings. Through effort, toil, and luck, they’d become one of the wealthiest couples in the kingdom. She felt entitled to parade her good fortune and couldn’t be convinced that less was often more.

  “Yes, Mother, what is it?” Susan slyly pinched Nell on the waist, their signal that her mother was about to act in an absurd fashion.

  “Why are you loafing out here?” Florence fumed.

  “We were hot from dancing,” Susan explained. “We decided to cool down before the next set commences.”

  “You’re the bride-to-be. How dare you vanish!”

  “Sorry,” Susan mumbled. There was no point in arguing.

  “People are asking after you. They’ve noticed you’re missing. Get inside at once! And remain inside!”

  “Should I come in too?” Nell inquired merely to be impertinent, and Florence responded as Nell could have predicted she would.

  “I don’t care what you do, Nell. Come in. Stay out. Just don’t drag Susan out with you! She has duties that don’t include you.”

  Florence whirled away and headed in. Susan winked at Nell, then followed her mother. Nell watched them go, then blew out a heavy breath.

  Susan was so desperate to escape her childhood home, and Nell would be the first to agree that it would be beneficial for her to leave, but through a window, she could peer into the room where the men were playing cards. Percy Blake was there, and he was so inebriated he was staggering.

  Was he a serious drinker? Was it a usual habit? Or was he simply having jitters as was Susan—and calming them with a huge dose of alcohol?

  There was no way to find out, no way to probe for the truth from the servants or his relatives. Susan was Albert and Florence’s only child. When Edwina Blake and Florence had begun discussing the match, would Albert have investigated Percy? Or would he have concurred with Florence that Percy’s position as a Blake canceled out any character flaws?

  Nell had no idea. Florence and Albert were obsessed with topics that made no sense to Nell. Florence especially was determined to be welcomed into the upper echelons of society, but Britain’s grand families were a tight-knit bunch, and they never allowed interlopers to join their exalted ranks.

  They’d tried to marry Susan into the loftiest level, but Albert hadn’t been able to buy her a spot. Apparently, all the money in England couldn’t purchase it for her. They’d had to accept a candidate on the periphery of greatness: Percy Blake. Would they regret it in the end?

  The garden beckoned, and she left the verandah and dashed down the stairs.

  She hadn’t taken two steps, when a man spoke from right beside her. “Hello, Miss Drummond. Fancy meeting you here.”

  Lord Selby emerged from the shadows like a phantom, looming onto the path to block her way. She actually bumped into him with such force that she bounced off.

  He’d cleaned himself up from when she’d talked to him earlier in the afternoon. He’d shaved and trimmed his hair, though it still hung past his shoulders. His decrepit clothes were gone, and he was attired in tan trousers, a flowing white shirt, and knee-high black boots.

  He was more handsome than ever and looked like a ruffian or bandit.

  “Ah, you fiend!” she scolded. “You scared the life out of me.”

  “I see that.”

  She patted a hand over her heart, willing it to slow. “Why are you lurking in the dark like a maniac?”

  “I was spying on you.”

  “Which is no answer at all. Why spy? Why not simply climb up onto the verandah and greet me like a normal person?”

  “Where’s the fun in that?” he asked.

  “I’m thinking, my lord, that you are an odd and capricious knave.”

  “You’ve pegged me correctly.”

  “Well, I don’t like odd and capricious,” she said. “I like ordinary and sane.”

  “You do not. I fascinate you. Admit it.”

  “I’ll admit to being fascinated, but it’s only because you’re so strange. You didn’t attend supper, and now, you’re skulking in the bushes. What’s wrong with you?”

  “If I told you, you’d never believe it.”

  “I might. Rumor has it that aristocrats are peculiar fellows with annoying, bizarre quirks. You might not surprise me in the slightest.”

  He snorted, neither confirming nor denying her assessment.

  “Are you about to walk in the garden?” he asked. “May I accompany you?”

  “I suppose you can—if you promise to explain yourself.”

  “What part needs clarifying?”

  “I have so many questions. Where should I start? Where have you been all these years? What finally drove you home? Why didn’t you tell anybody you were about to arrive? Why are you hiding in the dark? Why not join everyone for supper? Why not sit at the head of the table and act all important and officious? Why not lead off the dancing? Why not toast your cousin, Percy, on his approaching nuptials? Pick any of those topics and feel free to expound.”

  He gaped at her as if he’d never heard anyone string so many words together.

  “You’re an interesting female, Miss Drummond. Are you typically so effusive?”

  “Yes, and in my own defense, you asked for a list of the things I’d like to have clarified.”

  “So I did
, but you’ve exhausted me. How can I convince you to be quiet?”

  “You can’t. It’s a failing I have. I’m too curious for my own good.”

  “I won’t argue the point.”

  He extended his arm, and she scowled at it, not sure she should traipse off with him. Their meeting seemed illicit, as if she’d be participating in prohibited behavior.

  Gossip had spread that he was back. From the moment the festivities had commenced, whenever someone had entered the room, eyes had swiveled and conversation had halted as people peered over, anxious for him to show himself.

  But he hadn’t appeared.

  They were all desperate to catch a glimpse of him, and here she was—alone with him in the garden.

  She grabbed hold, and they sauntered off. He was in no hurry and kept stopping to stare up at the stars. They didn’t speak, and it was a companionable silence that didn’t have to be filled with inane chatter.

  They continued on, the lights of the house fading behind them. She probably should have been unnerved. Though they enjoyed a feeling of lengthy acquaintance, she didn’t really know him.

  Wild stories had swept through the parlors, with guests whispering that he’d spent so many years in Africa that he’d practically turned into a native, that he’d forgotten British habits and culture.

  She constantly peeked at him, expecting him to exhibit a shocking trait, but she couldn’t see that any of the tall tales were true. He was definitely British, and if he was different from other Englishmen, it was because he was much more handsome and dashing.

  “Would you mind if we went to the lake and sat in the gazebo?” he asked.

  “I realized there was a lake, but I had no idea there was a gazebo! How fabulous. Yes, let’s sit in the gazebo.”

  They kept on to the water’s edge, and there it was: a pretty, perfect gazebo, the white paint gleaming in the moonlight. She darted away from him and skipped up into the small structure, and she climbed onto a bench on her knees and gazed out at the lake.

  He trudged in more slowly, and he came over and plopped down next to her. She glanced at him from her higher perch.