Page 59 of When She Loved Me
“I’m pleased to hear that.” She stamped her cane onto the floor and plopped her aged hands on its head. “I’ve a fair amount of money of my own, most of which would naturally belong to Nicole upon my death. Perhaps we should put it to use now, invest it in that mine of yours, get it up and running again.”
Trevor sat backed, drummed his fingers upon the table and stared at her. She met his gaze evenly, while a knowing grin hovered just under the surface. “Not an answer you should consider overlong, if you’re smart.”
He shook his head and did now smile at her, as pieces and answers—her source, actually—came together in his head. “It pleases me greatly that my wife shares so much with you in her letters, but it also begs the question, does she not speak of our relationship in those missives that you felt the need to sit in a carriage for three hours to come and be assured that she is, indeed, happy?”
Lady Audley surprised him by barking out a pretty laugh. “Do you know what I like about you, Leven? You’re as clever as I am. Indeed, she does share much with me. And yes, I knew about your ball here tonight—to which she did graciously invite me. But I demurred and told her I could not, until just this week when I deemed it a fine opportunity to glean for myself that what she’d written was truth. You don’t think I regularly travelwith such finery?” She asked, impishly indicating her very lovely golden gown and bejeweled hands and neck. “Did you?”
“All I know, my lady, is that I finally see from whence comes Nicki’s marvelous charm.”
LADY AUDLEY COULDN’Tcontain another grin at Leven’s own charm, of which he had plenty. Indeed, she’d arrived this evening intent on finding answers. She needed to know that her Nicki would be all right.
Truth be known, aside from Nicki and her dear George, she believed the rest of the lot of Audleys were all rotters. But these two, perhaps because they were so like her, she worried about and fretted over. But no more.
The lively reel, to which justice was indeed done by these hapless servants and locals, was done and here came Nicki now. As soon as she came into view, the entire façade of Leven changed. All that polite but possibly false charm he’d employed with her vanished as a completely new look overtook his features. Gone was the cool earl with certain expected airs, and in its place, simply a man in love. You couldn’t fake that, Evelyn knew. Besotted, he was, and all the better for it, in her opinion.
The table at which they sat was rather pinched between an overlarge potted tree and the doors to the balcony so that Nicole almost had to squeeze behind Trevor. Nicki set her hand onto her husband’s shoulder. Leven folded his elbow and placed his hand over hers. For the barest of seconds, he closed his eyes, just feeling her.
Evelyn nearly gasped—or, she did gasp, as Leven opened his eyes and met her gaze. He didn’t grin or smile at Evelyn, having been caught reveling in the touch of his wife. He gently squeezed Nicole’s fingers and met Evelyn’s stare, showing only a man in complete understanding that he had been remarkably blessed.
Epilogue
Spring, 1828
INSIDE THE WENTWORTHMayfair house, a shrill scream broke the relative silence.
Nicole tipped her head back and stared at the ceiling, as the ear-piercing noise had come from above. She waited. It wouldn’t be long.
Sure enough, not a minute later, the sound of many feet tramping down the stairs reached her. Many more screams accompanied the coming army. She braced herself, wishing her husband were here. He was so much better at this than she, could turn them around so easily, with only a few playful words or well-timed tickling.
The door to the parlor burst open, and four little persons rushed into the room. Setting aside the letter she’d been reading, Nicole looked up from her desk.
“Mother!” Cried the youngest, her little green-eyed hooligan, Julia. “Thomas cut my hair off!”
Alarmed, Nicole belatedly realized the length of auburn hair held in Julia’s little hand, and now thrust forward at her mother, and then the noticeably bare spot in the side of Julia’s head. Nicole gasped, shock her only reaction, unable to decide if anger or laughter would follow.
Mrs. Whitehead, their nurse, filed into the room, her age and bad knees having precluded a serious chase, no doubt. “Oh,my lady, I didn’t even know the scamp had found my sewing scissors.”
Nicole rolled her lips inward, trying to keep from smiling. She looked at her second oldest, Thomas, who for the life of him could never seem to make any face even remotely resembling contrition. Nicole shook her head.
He shrugged, so much like his father, “Truly, mother, she dared me. Said I wouldn’t do it.”
Nicole counted to ten, considering briefly the others, young Trevor, the oldest, and the grin he tried to hide, his green eyes flashing; Katie—Number Three, her father sometimes called her for fun—was staring at the space in Julia’s head where the hair was now missing, her pretty blue eyes huge and round.
To Thomas, she wondered, “What are we going to tell your father this time?”
“I’d like to know as well,” said a voice from the doorway to the left, where Trevor’s study joined the parlor.
Thomas’s eyes widened. All eyes turned toward their father.
But Trevor’s gaze was on Nicole. And before he’d even considered what circumstance had his children barging into the parlor as they had, he strode to where his wife sat and leaned over her, one hand on the back of her chair, one on her desk.
When his face was only inches from hers, when a blush had come, warming her cheeks, he said in a low voice, “I believe you were the one who wanted children.”
A smile crested, though she aimed for a somber face. “On the contrary, dear sir. I believe that was you.”
Trevor shook his head. “You might recall, I wanted only the making of them.”
The blush darkened. “Yes, just this morning, I was cleverly reminded that you do enjoy the making of them.”
