Page 22 of When She Loved Me
“I’ve met your cousin—Simon, I believe it is,” she said when she’d sipped several times from the dainty cup, using a different tactic, having come prepared with plenty. “Charming young man.” Simon Wentworth was about as far from charming as Evelyn was from youthful. A more dough-faced, incompetent and flawed person, she’d thought she’d never encountered. “He’ll make a fine earl one day when you fail to produce the obligatory offspring.”
“Ma’am, I would have to care greatly about the Leven title for this to in any way prove an impetus of any sort.”
“Ah, but you do, my good man. You must,” Evelyn insisted, “Or you’d not have pranced about on Sabrina’s string for so long before being forced to wed Nicki. There isn’t a person alive who might encounter both Sabrina and Nicole and then choose the former over the latter, unless it was absolutely and only about the money.”
The earl acknowledged the truth of this only with a slight inclination of his head, though he managed to appear—purposefully, Evelyn knew, damn him— utterly dispassionate about the subject matter just now.
“I would spare you further attempts, ma’am, at whatever it is you hope to accomplish here,” he said then, having clearly exhausted his good will and respect. “My marriage to Nicole, such as it is, is not any of your business. I bid you good day.” He stood, dismissing her and strode to the door.
Evelyn might have fumed—how dare he dismiss her!—but she wasn’t done yet. She’d just realized what this was about. Oh, not the specifics, she might never be privy to them, but just now under the cool façade of tolerance, she spied what lay at the crux of the matter. Though he let his dark eyes give a certain illusion, playing the callous rake to perfection, Evelyn suddenly understood that Wentworth was not merely angry or insensible or coldblooded.
This man was heartbroken.
“What was it?” She asked. He turned at the door, his hand on the knob. “Of what crime do you accuse her that gives merit to your dishonorable handling of her?”
“Of course, you must know that I am not about to condemn your granddaughter to your face.” He raised a brow, daring her to defy this.
Evelyn only shrugged, flexing the hands upon her cane. “You couldn’t. She’s an innocent and whatever it is you think she’s done, you are wrong. You know it, of course—it wasn’t duplicity or any other nefarious trait that drew you to her. It was her complete disregard for artifice.” The countess sighed, feigning a weariness. “I’m ashamed to say I had thought she at least was possessed of greater intellect. Obviously, I was mistaken—no intelligent person would take up with someone so incapable of seeing the truth before his own eyes.”
His dark gaze had grown hard, but his tone indicated still that detachment. “You’ve given me much to think upon—”
“I did no such thing! You will not think! You will act!” She was shouting as she never had. Not once, in all her years, had she ever reduced herself to such a vile inclination. “Do not make me use powers greater than yours! Do not make me—” she stopped herself abruptly, pinching her lips painfully, hardly believing she’d just threatened her granddaughter’s husband in so obscene a fashion. She closed her eyes momentarily, gathering herself. She had one more approach ready, though debated using it, hoping it wouldn’t actually cause more harm than good. But, as she’d reasoned with herself in the carriage ride here, their marriage, as it stood now, couldn’t possibly sink any lower into dreadfulness than it already had.
She smiled pleasantly at the earl, who’d remained in the doorway, though he needn’t have. “I thank you for the time you’ve allowed this old woman, Leven. You must understand she is my dearest love, and I only look to make things right for her. I see now that will be impossible and I will trouble you no more.”
The earl accepted this, nodding at her with some sense of pity, she thought.
Evelyn continued, putting on a show of trying to convince herself and not him, that, “It’s not so bad for her, you know. She’s actually quite happy out there in Sussex, ‘twas likely I’m the only one who thought something should be done to correct what apparently is a fine arrangement for all parties.” She managed to keep her tone conversational still, as she said, “That’s a nice young man you’ve hired out there as your bailiff. He and Nicki seem to do very well together, with her taking such a sudden interest in the affairs of the estate and the two of them learning so many new things together.”
True, it was transparent, but she reasoned she was too old to be subtle.
And she didn’t even blink, the serene smile upon her face never wavered, not one bit, as the earls’ jaw and fists seemed to clench in synchrony before he finally left the room.
SHE STOOD ATOP THEhill, overlooking the tiny sleeping village below. The brisk spring wind whipped up her skirts, raising them above her ankles, pushing them off to her left, silhouetting her legs. The kerchief tied around her head flagged its bright green edges, threatening to release the long hair it bound. She held a basket of newly blossomed and freshly picked daffodils in one hand. Occasionally, a gust would take hold of the basket and wave it at her side, the motion giving a slight sway to her body.
She stood there for quite some time, appreciating the quietness of everything around her and the striking views offered to her. She stared appreciatively at the sun just rising over the farridge, beyond the village, realizing that this life suited her just fine. While it was not the life she’d imagined might be hers when she said vows with Trevor, she quite enjoyed the little family she’d accumulated over the past year at Lesser House, as she’d come to call the abbey. True, she hadn’t a husband and clearly would never have a child, but she did have people who loved her, and who depended on her, she liked to think.
She’d tried to make her grandmother understand this, when she’d visited at Christmas. The countess had demanded answers to the true state of her marriage and Nicole had informed her sadly that there really was no marriage, but had given her only spare details, intimating that it was her fault that she’d been disposed of. The countess had railed against this, insisting that Nicole pursue an annulment. Occasionally, she did count all the months Trevor had thus far allowed her to remain at the abbey all alone, without even so much as a letter to inquire of her condition, but she saw no need of an annulment, or any end to their sham of a marriage. She was afraid that if she did pursue this, she’d be forced out of Lesser House, and then what would become of her? It hadn’t only been Trevor that had abandoned her—her own father had yet to answer any of her letters to him, despite Nicole having been relegated to begging in the most recently sent. And Sabrina? She’d married Marcus Trent after all, and had, according to her grandmother, “given birth with such vulgar haste the earl should be expressing gratitude to you, seeing him saved from raising another man’s child as his own heir!” Nicole had not been invited to the wedding. Or, maybe she had, mayhap the invitation had been sent to the earl’s townhome in the city. She knew nothing of it and was bothered by it not at all.
She turned back toward Lesser House, always admiring the picture it presented at her morning walk, the beige stone set against the line of trees beyond, the dozens of windows reflecting the rising sun, prisms of light and colors visible even at this distance.
As she walked, she heard—before she saw—the rickety old cart that her steward favored. It was coming from somewhere behind her. Nicole turned and waved Mr. Wendall to her as he came up the hill from the village. He sped up the cart to reach her, the lone horse pulling the wagon exerting great energy, as the mare was quite old by now.
“Good morning, miss,” Ian Wendell called. Everyone at Lesser House called her ‘miss’. Franklin had started that on the very day Trevor had dumped her here, she recalled. Being that she was, in effect, still a miss, she’d never corrected anyone.
“Been to the village to pilfer more daffodils from the baker’s gardens?” he asked, with an unassuming grin about his pleasant face.
When he stopped the old cart next to her, she handed him her basket and climbed up into the rig, sitting next to him. “Mr. Fielding hasn’t any use for these pretty babies,” she told him with an impish smile. “And besides, all that heat from his constant ovens would kill them, and who would enjoy them then? They are put to much better use and appreciation at Lesser House, upon the foyer’s table, I should think.”
Ian only shook his head, but he was smiling still. While he was perhaps only in his mid-twenties, she thought it odd that he’d not taken a wife yet, Nicole being very familiar with several young women in town who’d like nothing more than for Ian Wendall to glance their way. He was handsome, she’doften thought, with broad, workman’s shoulders and continuously mussed dark hair, often covered as now with a wide brimmed hat. His eyes were a light blue, whose shape Nicole had often thought reminded her of Trevor’s, though Ian’s had never so much as looked at her with anything other than kindness and respect.
Nicole liked that he was always of an even temper, and that he desired to learn his job so earnestly, and to perform to the best of his abilities. He was learning still how to go about the stewardship of Lesser House, as was Nicole. As he’d been the only applicant for the job she’d posted in the area papers, she’d naturally hired him. They were learning together, and not doing too badly for their inexperienced efforts.
“It’s wash day,” Ian said now, “so after breakfast I’ll bring out the tub to the side yard.”
“Thank you, Ian.” Nicole had managed to employ only one chambermaid, a young girl named Lorelei, but she had enough to do keeping the huge house in order, so Nicole had taken on the wash chore herself. Abby liked to help, though this was a limited endeavor. Nicole hadn’t the heart to tell the old woman that she truly only slowed down the work, as she supposed that Abby liked the private company of Nicole for those few hours. She would talk endlessly of her family, of her previous life, when she was young and living in the village herself, when her children were home, when her husband lived still. She had become, Nicole was not above admitting, a true friend, whom Nicole loved dearly. “And don’t forget,” she thought to remind Ian now, “that Mr. Adams is due from Langley house to give us some ideas for the upgrades of the tenant homes.”
“I remember,” Ian said, “though I have to say—again—that I think your money can be put to better use.”
