Page 20 of When She Loved Me
So she pushed food around on her plate, the very idea of sending it down to her already churning stomach nearly enough to send her running for the chamber pot. She cast forlorn glances at her husband but was presented with not much more than his profile or back on most occasions. And she thought with a certain and definite dread that she still had to endure several hours ensconced in the coach with only him as they traveled to his estate in Sussex.
God help me, she prayed.
TREVOR SAT INSIDE THEcomfortable traveling coach, directly across from his wife, with his legs stretched negligently before him, his arms crossed with seeming nonchalance over his chest. He pretended to sleep, his eyes being mostly closed, but in reality, he watched her through the carefully held slits of his lids.
Admittedly, she was lovelier today than he had ever seen her. Dressed in what he assumed had been intended to be Sabrina’s gown, likely it had been hurriedly fitted for Nicki. It was a frothy confection of silk and lace, being neither too heavily adorned nor lacking any sort of decoration. Her dark and beautiful hair had been left to hang loose down her back, coming to her waist, butcovered in a bridal veil of exquisite white lace stitched with small pearls. Her smile, as she’d come to him this morning, had been resplendent. Undoubtedly, not a person present questioned her want of this union, being written so clearly on her face. She’d been shy, he recalled, having not the nerve to look into his eyes straight away, but when she finally did, he let her see the complete disregard in which he held her. Instantly, then, her face had fallen. Why, she had literally been drained of all that lovely color. If he’d experienced a moment’s pang at her discomfiture at that very instant, it was quickly, ruthlessly, pushed away.
She’d manipulated this scheme. She was the one who set this unfortunate event into motion. Funny, he’d not have known of it, if not for Sabrina’s parting words as they’d left the salon that fateful evening. He knew that Sabrina had yearned for him to hear it, but he still didn’t believe that Nicki had wanted him to know that she’d set him up, that she had agreed to betray him, and cuckold him, all to save Sabrina from having to marry him. She’d allowed him to touch her, to love her—she had prostituted herself—to save her sister. How far might she have gone? Would Nicki have allowed him to make love to her? Would she have stripped bare right there in the salon just to keep a promise to her sister?
Any benevolent emotion he might have previously attached to Nicki had been wiped out at that moment. Gone, just like that. And to look at her now, as she fidgeted anxiously with her hands, now aware of his revulsion, he suffered with no bouts of sympathy for her. Let her squirm and stew and suppose whatever she wanted. She would pay and pay dearly for her crimes against him.
And the greatest, most tragic irony of all? In that parlor at the home of Lady Cavendish, he’d known he couldn’t marry Sabrina, that he must call it off. He wasn’t sure then, still hadn’t determined, if this revelation had come when first he saw Nicole that night after all those weeks apart. His heart had thundered in his chest, to some degree of painfulness as he’d realized that all the weeks she’d been gone dissolved instantly with only one glance. The affirmation might have come later, when he’d spied her dancing with Cheseldon and felt only the need to rip her away from the man’s arms and shout to any who might hear that she was his. But he knew for certain that by the time he’d started kissing her that evening, that he could deny it no more— he couldn’tnotknow Nicole, couldn’t not be with her, couldn’t possibly wed Sabrina, not even to save Leven.
And when he’d started kissing her, as soon as his lips had touched her, and he’d felt the most unnatural urge to weep from such enormous emotions at having her again in his arms, he’d known that he loved her.
But that was before she had committed her sin. Now, his thoughts of her teemed only with rage and he readily expressed inwardly disgust at himself for not having seen her true colors, for having imagined that she was as innocent as she’d appeared, that her heart and soul were pure, untainted by wrongdoings or malice.
When finally they arrived at his grand, but admittedly neglected estate in East Sussex, called simply the Abbey—but officially known as Hyndman Abbey, after some long forgotten ancestor—he sensed that Nicki was at the end of her emotional rope. He’d made no conversation with her whatsoever, indeed he had discouraged the very idea with his purposeful andpersistent brooding glares and pretense of sleep, that she seemed all but ready to cry again. Trevor was moved not at all by the occurrence or expectation of her tears.
He jumped nimbly from the coach no sooner had it stopped, allowing the coachman to see to his wife. He’d not bothered to send word ahead that they were indeed coming, as his plans were unformed, and he knew, produced solely by emotion and certainly not by necessity. What he was forming inhishead would surely turn his dear little wife’s.
The enormous door to the abbey slowly creaked open as he mounted the steps, his heart racing at what he was about to do, what he been setting up in his head while they’d driven here. Behind the door, there appeared a little round woman of indeterminate years, her beady eyes skinnied as he stopped before her.
“We ain’t no hostel, guv,” she informed him warily, closing the door as slowly as she’d opened it.
Trevor stuck his hand between the door and the jamb, pushing it open while the woman skittered backwards and shrieked. “Cease, woman,” he called imperatively. “I am Leven.” He glanced further into the home he was yet barred from, spying another servant creeping forward. This one, a manservant, shuffled his feet along to the door, but had yet to lift his eyes, as his shoulders were slumped to such a degree that it was impossible to hold his head up. When he was close enough, he turned just slightly sideways, that he might better view their visitor out of the corner of his eye. Trevor rolled his own eyes impatiently at this, believing that the recent lack of funds in the dried-up Wentworth well might have something to do with the despicable state of domestics here at the abbey.
“Tis Leven, ye are?” Asked the stooped man. “I’d be Franklin, my lord. And this here is yer housekeeper, Mrs. Abercorn, but we jus’ call her Abby,” said the man in a surprisingly strong voice. “We were not made aware of your coming, lord, or we’d have had the abbey readied for you...and your guest.” His one eye searched behind Trevor.
Trevor sensed Nicki’s presence behind him. “Yes, well, here we are,” he said dismissively, wanting only to get on with this unpleasantness. “I bring my wife, Lady Leven, to you.”
“Tis Lord and Lady Leven,” the man then yelled in a horrifically loud voice, of which even Trevor was forced to take notice. “Did ye hear me, Abby?”
“I heard ye,” said the old woman. “I’ll ready the rooms.” And she began a plodding and painstaking climbing of the stairs, which caused Trevor pain to watch.
“You only need to make accommodations for one room, Mrs. Abercorn,” he called out after the woman. Of Franklin, he inquired, “Are there other servants housed here?”
Franklin pursed his lips, mentally considering for a moment. “Only Abby and I, lord, and two footmen. We haven’t need for more—house hasn’t been used in a dozen years.”
Yes, that sounded about right to Trevor. He knew he, himself, hadn’t been to the abbey since he was a child. “Perhaps a lady’s maid can be procured from the village?” He asked hopefully.
“Perhaps,” Franklin said with a shrug.
With that, Trevor turned to Nicki, emptying his pockets of what notes he did possess. He pressed them into her hand, their first contact since that cold and chaste kiss at the altar. She jumped at the suddenness of this action, or at the very touch of him, he did not know. Finally, he met her eyes. Her green orbs,once thought to be so beautiful, so beguiling, were filled with confusion, and a scant measure of terror at this untidy circumstance.
“I’ll set up an account for you to manage the household and take on more staff, but this should see you through a couple of days, at least.”
And finally, she understood, her eyes fixated upon him with her sudden and sure knowledge of what he intended. “You’re leaving me here,” she said, not as a question, but rather as a pained realization. She bit her bottom lip in consternation, apparently willing herself not to cry again.
“You’ve made your bed, so to speak, now you may rest in it,” was all he said, and he turned and left the house.
He had not expected her to follow, being as she proven so meek and distressed today. He’d hoped to leave without a scene, but she raced after him, catching up with him on the stone steps outside the house, just as the sun began to set before him.
She grabbed at his sleeve and held, despite his efforts to shake her off. “Trevor, you must listen to me,” she begged through her tears. “I love you. I have for so long. I can make you happy.”
He did finally stop, which made her release his arm. With hard eyes, he told her, “That will not be an option.”
“Oh, Trevor, don’t do this to us—"
