Page 42 of When She Loved Me
It was not a question.
He knew it would serve him well to keep his own tone level, unthreatening. He knew he might only benefit from showing her how far he was willing to bend to repair what damage he’d done, but for the life of him, he still found himself rather grounding out his reply. “Was the love you swore on our wedding day, at this very house, not a real and true thing, then?”
She did not hesitate, did not demur. “It was absolute truth.” She looked him straight in the eye. “At that time.”
“And no more?” He knew the answer she’d give, and pressed on, “Or never to be resurrected?”
She shook her head. “I won’t allow it.” And here was an emotion, still not anger—which he so rightly deserved—but resolve.
He nodded, considering her words, and his next, staring at her while he steepled his fingers, his elbows on the arms of the chair. He wondered, “If you had somewhere to go—a place to hide, to flee—would you have left by now?”
“Lesser House is my place to hide,” she surprised him by saying. “But then you came, and now—yes, if I could, I would run from you.”
“Why? Why run? Why not give it a chance?”
She shook her head again, slowly this time. He thought her teeth might be clenched, until she said, “I owe you—and this marriage—nothing. And frankly, I’d not put myself through it again.”
So few words with that response, but oh, so much information. He felt incredibly small and hateful just then, for what he’d done to her. “You still plan to seek an annulment?” He would never allow it.
“I feel I have no choice, if you will not leave. As I’d said on the day you appeared here, I don’t want to be married to you, but I’m willing to stay so, if I can be left alone here.”
He could tell her he loved her, likely had been in love with her since before they married, but would she believe him? He thought not. In her shoes, he would certainly question any similar statement from her. He needed to show her, needed her to know it before he revealed it as truth.
“So if I wish to stay married to you, I must do so from a distance.”
With her gaze fixed steadily on him, with some fearlessness that he’d truly not have thought her possessed of, she said, “Very similar to the choice you gave me, is it not?”
Trevor let an entire minute pass while he contemplated his next move.
“Will you allow me to stay until after the harvest ball, at least?”
He’d caught her off guard, he could see. Perhaps the disinterested, wounded mien she conveyed today was meant only to befuddle him, but here, just now, she showed something else. Her perfectly arched brows dropped, settling over her green eyes that showed for the barest of seconds, a wariness.
“I suppose that should be all right.” Thin veins stood out in the creamy skin of her neck, suggesting once again that her jaw was tightened.
Somewhere inside, he smiled with gratification. Six weeks then. That was more than enough time to show her that he loved her, to show how damnably sorry he was for what he’d done to her, to theirus.
But then she’d had enough, he supposed, watching her remove herself from the window seat, standing, and then surprising him by stepping over the lower part of his legs, not waiting with any harsh glare directed at him to move his feet.
She said nothing else, did not turn at the doorway, just walked away.
Trevor sat for a few minutes, replaying the conversation in his head. It was indeed sorrow, he decided, that he’d detected in her voice. He stood and glanced around the room, his hands on his hips, trying to discern still what had brought her here, to this room.
He turned and considered the window seat again. He walked over to it, and sat where she had, taking in the view. As he’d suspected, it showed not much more than the lawns, in need of greater attention, and only a few squat trees directly beneath, close to the house itself. In the distance, the sky showed blue but that was the going and not the coming weather. It would certainly rain, he decided, and soon. Trevor stood, having noanswer to what might have drawn her to this spot, even if only occasionally. But then his gaze was snatched by something on the side wall, within the depressed area of the window seat. Leaning close, Trevor read some scraggly scratched words, carved into the paint,Trevor Wentworth was here, 1796.
He smiled, though still had no recollection of this room, nor even this event, that had seen him defacing the wall.
“What a little beast,” he called the very small child of himself, considering the damage done to the wall.
His smile stilled then.
Was this what brought her to this room? To this spot?
WITH SOME NEW AWARENESS, and with a clock rather ticking in the back of his mind, Trevor approached dinner with a renewed energy to win over his own wife. Oh, but she did not make it easy, being as taciturn and unreachable as she had been in the afternoon. This, then, had him shifting his plan altogether. It was too effortless at their dinner, with only the two of them, for her to practice her guardedness, even as he knew that was not her actual character.
After the delicious but very quiet meal, he saw her only to the bottom of the stairs, and even withstood her foregoing wishing him a good night, knowing tomorrow was indeed, another day, with more potential. Going forward, he would make grand use of all the times she was in mixed company, where she displayed more evenly her true self, and would be hard pressed not to be polite to him—or, he hoped, more engaging.
So it was at breakfast the next morning, when Trevor had been at Hyndman Abbey now a week, he invited Nicole to drive out to the mine with him and Ian, as they had plans to inspect what remained. As she’d taken such an interest in the affairs of the estate, he was sure this would be to her liking.
