Page 6 of When She Loved Me
He barked again, cutting her off. “The ‘poor earl’ is likely more concerned with the great dowry accompanying his disagreeable bride, rather than her difficult temperament.”
“Did you love mother when you married her?” Nicole asked. She knew well how society—and marriage, in particular—was fashioned, but could never imagine reconciling herself to a loveless marriage. That might be why her father had been rather exasperated when he’d found her readingPride and Prejudiceseveral months ago, as everyone knew that to be a great love story—"and that is why it’s called fiction, my dear,” her father had given when she’d defended her reading choices. He’d then exclaimed, “There’s no such thing!” when Nicole had professed a want of love in her eventual marriage.
“It was not a love match, but you know well that I was very fond of your mother, as she was I.” He said, almost gruffly.
She actually did not know that. She remembered her mother as a rather meek and quiet thing, who appeared to stiffen upon hearing the brusque voice of her husband, even if he be in another room.
Sabrina entered the drawing room then, looking almost regal in a frothy blue silk with her hair swept up into an enviously perfect confection. Nicole smiled, about to ask if she were excited for tonight’s dinner, hoping to stir some enchantment in her sister. But her query was halted by the sudden and deep frown jarring Sabrina’s soft and classic features.
“Nicole, you cannot wear blue! I have had this planned for almost the entire week. Father, tell her she must change!”
The baron waved this off with an impatient frown. “Sabrina, stop behaving as if the entire universe must accede to your wishes. ‘Tis a dress, for Chrissakes.”
Nicole slumped, knowing this would set the tone for the evening. Even if she had been allowed or instructed to change her gown, Sabrina would keep this supposed transgression close all night.
Sabrina sat herself frostily on the other end of the settee, her chin tilted away from Nicole, who bothered to roll her eyes as she watched her sister refuse the madeira offered by Bennett, being fairly rude as to only wave her hand impatiently as the tray was presented to her. Nicole was quite sure that if there had been any chance at all that the evening might prove enjoyable—or, even a success! —that these hopes were now dashed with her sister’s sudden and sharp displeasure.
Nicole’s now reduced humors were worried yet more upon the announcement that their guests had arrived. She rose and turned toward the door, as did her father and Sabrina, the latterdoing so in such a slow and tedious way as to suggest disrespect, to which Nicole’s eyes did narrow with censure. But then the earl and his mother, the countess, entered the room, the hand of Bennett poised on the door handle as he admitted the pair, and Nicole’s eyes lit happily upon the earl. His eyes, likewise, seemed to find her first before he approached her father with an elegant and sure stride across the room.
The baron greeted Trevor and the countess, Nicole agreeing almost instantly with her father’s earlier assessment of the older woman. Sabrina would do well to emulate Countess Leven’s icy mien and regal posture, her raised chin alerting all in the room that she considered their worth far beneath her own and this occasion pitifully unfit to receive her company.
The baron, Nicole was pleased to see, firstly, took no offense to the woman’s chilly bearing, but secondly—Nicole was amusingly horrified to see—her father’s façade of clear welcome was dropped and he let slip a scowl indicating his true appraisal at the woman’s back as soon as she was turned by her son toward the baron’s waiting daughters.
Nicole and Sabrina curtsied prettily as the earl introduced them to the woman. Nicole assumed that the greater thinning of the woman’s lips was to be her polite smile and she pinched her own lips together to prevent a burst of laughter, recalling her father’s words of only moments ago— “a tight-lipped and mean-spirited woman”, indeed.
“Sisters, are you?” The countess said, arching a brow, as if she did not actually know this already. “I was acquainted with both of your mothers—one not so judiciously clever and the other timid—and I suppose there’s no hope that your father by somemeans managed to cleave these unpleasant traits from their respective offspring.”
While Sabrina, so usually deft at handling the rare slights put to her, stared almost gaped jawed at the woman, who stood many inches taller than either girl so that she quite easily was able to look down her nose upon them, Nicole answered promptly in a sweetly apologetic voice, “None at all, Lady Leven.”
Nicole could just feel Sabrina’s face jerk quickly toward her, aghast at her daring she was sure, while Nicole only continued to smile prettily at the countess.
“Yes, I see,” was all the woman said, dismissing the girls then with a great show of turning her head away first before her entire body followed and found a seat upon the second and matching settee across from where they’d sat.
Nicole exhaled, wondering at her own boldness and found Trevor’s eyes settled upon her as well as his betrothed. The blue depths of his eyes, indeed his entire face, seemed to demonstrate some admiring humor, his fine lips widened in a smile.
He bid good evening to Sabrina then, telling her she looked quite lovely, to which his betrothed appeared to force herself to smile politely.
Then Trevor stood before Nicole and she smiled up at him, relaxing a bit.
“I am very happy you are here,” she said to him, her voice soft, almost conspiratorial. “’Tis very cold in here.” She spoke not of the temperature, her eyes darting from Sabrina to his mother.
He grinned at this and his gaze returned to Sabrina momentarily, considering her stiff posture next to them. “Chilly indeed.” But he grinned at Nicole before commenting, “Your gown is quite charming.”
Conversation was stilted indeed, so much so that even the baron seemed to notice and put forth several topics hopefully worthy of discussion, as Sabrina was ostensibly disinclined to do so. The earl attempted to humor the baron by responding politely, but for the most part, the drawing room was filled with near painful silences. Nicole sat stiffly upon the settee, sensing the tension wrought by lack of dialogue, wondering that aside from her father, no one else seemed bothered by it, and was beyond thankful when Bennet finally announced dinner.
Nicole didn’t mind so much the further awkwardness of walking by herself, behind her father leading the countess and the earl leading Sabrina, down to dinner. She was too busy scanning her brain for items of interest to discuss at dinner, in hopeful avoidance of two or three more hours of this dreadful and unnatural atmosphere.
The baron sat the countess at his side and Sabrina sat opposite her father at the foot of the table, indicating to Trevor that he should sit at her right, leaving Nicole to take a seat in the middle.
The white soup came soon after, the veal based creamy chicken soup decorated prettily with pistachios and sliced almonds. With this came the mackerel Mrs. Abercrombie had promised and another dish of sweetbread au jus. And no one spoke, the baron apparently having exhausted either his supply of conversation starters or his desire to fill the silence. Nicole cast anxious eyes at Sabrina as truly, it was her business as she was, effectively, lady of the manor, to make sure ‘sensible discourse was as readily available as the fine silver upon the table’—as their governess had always supposed. But Sabrina only sipped from the side of herspoon as if she hadn’t a care for charming conversation or the dastardly quietness which prevailed in its absence.
“My lady, have you read Scott’sWaverley?” Nicole suddenly asked of the countess, her voice matching exactly her emotions, seeming to burst quite anxiously into the quiet.
“I do not readnovels,” was answered without so much as a glance.
“Quite so.” Nicole concentrated on her own soup for a moment until another idea struck. “Do you fancy poetry instead?”
“I do not.”
