Page 7 of When She Loved Me
A little frown now marred Nicole’s forehead. She glanced down at her soup, now only determined to find some topic on which the lady might wish to converse.
“Are you enjoying the London season?” She tried again and was rather swiftly favored with an icy glare from the matron, letting Nicole know that she cared not if conversation lagged, or indeed was non-existent, and that her efforts were and would remain, futile.
“Areyouenjoying the London season, Miss Kent?”
Nicole turned her eyes to Trevor, offering him a thankful smile for his inquiry.
“I am,” she told him eagerly. “Well, I am hoping to,” she qualified, “It is rather only just begun, isn’t it? I look forward to several events specifically and papa has promised a night at Covent Garden, about which I am particularly thrilled as I’ve never attended the theatre.”
“Kitty Stephens is to be Hermia inMidsummer Night’s Dream,” he said. “That might be one to see—some critics say she has no peer.”
“I should like that. Have you seen many plays, my lord?”
The table was just now cleared of the entire first course.
Trevor shrugged. “Not in several years, but prior to that, yes. I quite enjoyed the theatre —plays that is, and less so the operas.”
“Miss Ballard—she was our governess—once said that she would have preferred to have thrown herself upon a funeral pyre rather than sit through one more minute of opera.”
Trevor laughed beautifully at this and so Nicole was then able to ignore his mother’s brow lifting in what she imagined must be condemnation, but whether for the talk of aversion to the opera or Nicole’s graphic reference, she did not know.
The second course was delivered then, filling the center of the table with roasted duckling in a thick cream sauce, a plate of peas and asparagus, another of meringues a la crème, and one of butter and cheese.
“Papa has sadly forbidden me to see the Vauxhall Gardens,” Nicole said, while Sabrina and the baron and the countess remained quiet, the countess staring about at no one in particular as if she only dined alone. “He says it ‘teems with undesirables’ and so I must needs only read about it. But I have read that there are garden walks illuminated by thousands of oil lamps and that one might see—all in the same evening! —tightrope walkers and hot air balloons and concerts and fireworks.”
“There is that and more. But your father is right, it can be quite raucous,” Trevor allowed, “Though I’m sure, in the proper company, your father would allow for such an outing.”
The baron, though mentioned, only worked at his dinner, spearing a long asparagus onto his fork and then into his mouth, chewing rather thoughtfully, his eyes on his plate, seeming to only consider his next bite.
The countess spoke then. “Child, are you acquainted with Miss Hermione Selby?”
Nicole leaned forward, pleased that the woman finally showed some interest. “I am not. Is she about my age?”
“I wouldn’t know. I only thought you might know her, she prattles incessantly.”
Nonplussed at this, at the very fact that the woman bothered not at all to conceal her animosity, her very displeasure it seemed, Nicole asked, “Are you, my lady, acquainted with Countess Melvin?”
“I am not.”
“Oh. I thought you might be, she is a countess.” And a mean one, at that.
Nicole heard Trevor catch some sort of chuckle before it became anything, really. She was afraid her not-so-subtle rejoinder might be ill-received but needn’t have feared. The countess seemed intent not at all upon any words from Nicole’s mouth.
Nicole then thought to involve Sabrina in the conversation and asked if she should like to see the pleasure gardens also.
“And be pressed upon by thousands of people? Surrounded by pickpockets and circus performers and prostitutes? Thank you, no.”
Both the baron and the countess lifted their heads at the use of the word ‘prostitutes’ at the dinner table. The baron’s brow was furrowed and the countess’ raised, but neither said a word.
The remainder of the dinner proceeded as it had begun, with Trevor and Nicole proffering the bulk of the conversation. Though the food was elegant and delicious, no one made mention of this. The weather was quite fair, with so little rain of late, but this was not examined at all. Though Nicole tried to engageeveryone at some point, no one save Trevor seemed inclined toward any discussions. She’d given up by the time the desserts and ice cream were served and though she enjoyed and appreciated the earl’s participation, by the time the door had closed after him and his mother, Nicole was exhausted.
Chapter Three
TREVOR WENTWORTH STEPPEDinto the grand ballroom of Kenefick House, the opulent London home of Lord and Lady Clarendon, having made his greetings to his hosts in the receiving line. He stood taller than most and then was easily able to scan the crush of overheated bodies for a glimpse of his betrothed. He’d sent word ‘round to the Kent residence this afternoon that he would happily attend the sisters at the Clarendon ball. The response, a polite thank you, had been penned not by Sabrina, but Nicole, who’d included a line about her excitement over her first major event of the season.
Growing accustomed to Sabrina’s dismissal of all things regarding her own betrothed, Trevor only tightened his jaw as he pondered her lack of communication. Had he a choice in the matter, he’d have told her exactly what he thought of her juvenile attempts to rile him with her indifference. As it was, having no option but to marry the chit for her money, he’d decided that he would exhaust all efforts to at least make some semblance of a decent bond between them that their union might not prove as miserable as her present behavior suggested it would.
He was aware of many pairs of eyes upon him, this being his first true return to the folds of the elite of London society. He of course had no interest in any nuisance such as a ball, but knew he was expected, as a betrothed man, to display some interest in both his fiancé and her pursuits. And he much preferred an event such as this over a repeat of the rather disastrous dinner affair of the other night. He still wasn’t quite decided upon whom had proved the most inimical, his wretched mother or the stony fairSabrina. Thank God for Nicole’s presence—how much more awful might that evening have been if not for Nicole’s dedication that it not be so! She had been very clever indeed, he’d thought then and now, to have demonstrated so perfectly, if only to him, that sincerity and good intentions would always trump unpleasantness—though she’d proven even more clever, he’d thought at the end of that evening, to have survived the ordeal that was dinner herself.
