When She Loved Me (Regency Rogues: Redemption Book 1)

by Rebecca Ruger

  So close to her face that he felt the hot little rushes of her breath upon him, he ground out, “Nicki, if I thought there was any other way....”

  “For what, my lord?”

  God damn her! She remained aloof, held tight to her injured sensibilities.

  “For us, Nicki.”

  She smiled at him, neither sweetly nor hopefully, but rather with disdain. “There will never be an us, my lord. I cannot afford you.”

  “Don’t be this way, Nicki,” he begged, knowing he was pitiful. “I’m going to marry your sister, for God’s sake. Don’t hate me because I have no choice.” This was paramount presently. He would marry Sabrina. He would, damn it all to hell, but not if it caused Nicki to hate him. Anything but that.

  The derision seemed to evaporate from her visage as quickly as it had come. “I shall never hate you, Trevor,” she whispered brokenly. “I could never hate you. But I cannot stand by and watch you...” she faltered, unable to finish.

  “I know.” Trevor pulled her into his arms and held her, stroking her hair, soothing her while she cried. This was all he would ever have of her, he knew. In less than two months, he would forever belong to another.

  Never to her.

  Chapter Five

  Breakspear was the dower house on the great country estate, Audley End, at Saffron Walden, in Essex. Audley End belonged to the present Earl of Audley, that man being the uncle of Nicole herself, her mother’s brother. She was no stranger to Audley End and certainly not to Breakspear, spending weeks in the winter there with her grandmother, Evelyn Audley, traveling down the London Road, usually with great anticipation, for she loved her grandmother infinitely.

  But this coming was different. This was not so much a visit—though she’d insisted to her father that indeed it was, that she’d been missing the dowager countess more than usual, which had garnered his acceptance of her plans—but rather, more an escape. She’d sent word along that she would be coming and had received an evidently cheery reply that this was happy news for certain.

  Nicole watched idly out the coach window as Audley End came into view. Truly, it was likely one of the most superb houses in Essex, the façade of it, seen across the magnificent parkland that surrounded it, a grand castle with a delightful woodland grove and Palladian bridge designed by Robert Adam himself. The Kent coach skirted the long and narrow drive, taking the north path away from the house, and along Place Pond, which remained from the time monks inhabited Audley End hundreds of years ago. Nicole would likely see little of Audley End on this visit, as her uncle and aunt and cousins no doubt were ensconced in London for the season.

  She turned her attention ahead then, waiting for that glimpse of Breakspear, much preferring that comparatively small house to the grandeur of Audley End.

  When the dower house, which at one time hundreds of years ago had sheltered the Battery Sergeant Majors garrisoned at the castle, came into view, Nicole visibly relaxed. All would be well, she supposed, determined to enjoy her time with Grandmother, and determined, more so, to think of Trevor Wentworth not at all.

  Before the coach had even rested in front of the door, her wiry little grandmother was coming out of the house, her arms raised to receive her granddaughter, though she had yet to exit the vehicle.

  Happier now, Nicole threw open the door and ran to her grandmother, the warmth and welcome of her reception inspiring a fresh burst of tears.

  “Oh, dear,” cooed Evelyn Audley, wrapping up her grandchild in her thin embrace, “Whatever have we here?”

  Nicole sniffled and tried to regain her composure, though there was inside her a want to tell her grandmother everything, hoping she might make this pain disappear altogether. “Tis nothing, grandmother,” she assured her while the coachman saw to her portmanteau and baggage. She was led directly into the house, the door being held by her grandmother’s ancient man, Mr. Timmons, he being the only other domestic aside from her ladies’ maid and cook. In reality, and by her own choice—her son, the earl, was ever vexed by her choices—Evelyn Audley lived in nothing greater than genteel poverty.

  “Unless I miss my guess,” Evelyn Audley was saying as she steered Nicole to the very informal parlor, “these tears—and this unprecedented springtime visit—have something to do with a man.” She raised a graying brow at Nicole.

  Gracelessly, Nicole flopped onto an overstuffed settee, pulling out plump and tasseled pillows from behind her back. She stared at the older woman, measuring her grandmother’s frown of concern, while she debated how much to actually tell her. It was very apparent to any interested party that Evelyn Audley had been, in her day, a very striking woman. Her hair was now gray, parted down the center and twisted simply at the back of her neck, but there remained evidence of the once vibrant auburn that it had been, at her temples and again at her nape. Her eyes were merry, the same shade of green as Nicole’s, though shrunken and softened now with age, her nose beneath a little button of a piece above lips that were thinned now but had been at one time rounded and pleasing, and always and still smiling.

  “Come, dear,” Evelyn Audley coaxed, taking the place next to Nicole and patting her hand encouragingly. “Tell grandmother what has you so dreary. What is his name?”

  Nicole laughed at this assumption, correct though it be. Without further ado, she announced, “His name is Trevor Wentworth.” And there went all her grand plans to think of him not at all. Perhaps though, she hoped, she might confess all and purge him then from her mind.

  Her grandmother frowned, trying to put the name to something in her memory. “Wentworth? Dear Lord, child, would that be the man currently belonging to that sister of yours?”

  That sister of yours was ever how Evelyn Audley referred to Sabrina, never disguising her dislike of the girl who was not her granddaughter. Nicole disregarded this, as she knew from experience that she was unlikely to change her opinion of Sabrina after all these years. “Yes, grandmother,” she confessed miserably. “I—I think I might be in love with him.”

  “Dear heavens, I’d be crying then as well if that is the case,” she replied, causing Nicole to almost laugh. “Dare I ask, does this young man know of these feelings of yours?”

  Nicole shrugged, not sure how to respond to that. Did Trevor have any idea how much she yearned for him, or how deep her emotion went? “He started it,” she finally responded, though thought it childish once the words were out.

  Her grandmother considered this quite amusing and tittered away, covering her mouth with her hand to stave off a greater amusement. “He did, did he? How very unchivalrous, indeed? I must ask, how exactly—what—did he start?”

  Ignoring her grandmother’s ill-placed delight in her predicament, Nicole told her, “Well, he kissed me.” As an afterthought, she added, “More than once.”

  “Why, the bounder!” Evelyn exclaimed, her smiled eradicated completely by this news. “How dare he attempt to—“

  Before she further castigated his character—which Nicole believed honorable despite everything—Nicole clarified, “He never attempted anything greater than kissing, Grandmother. And to his credit, he seemed as shocked by the happenstance as I, and then I do believe he tried not to repeat the instance.”

  This quieted Evelyn Audley, that she sat next to Nicole with a thoughtful and contemplative expression on her face, her lips pursed a bit in her silent conjecture. “Perhaps I begin to see,” she murmured after a moment.

  “Do you?” Nicole asked hopefully.

  Evelyn Audley nodded slowly. “Well, naturally, engaged to one such as Sabrina, then having met you, he thought he’d made a bad bargain indeed. The poor boy! Already, I think him of a piercing and intelligent regard, having known right off that you are for certain the better sister.”

  “Grandmother!” Nicole chided, but without sufficient gravity.

  “When is the wedding, dear?”

  Sorrowfully, Nicole told her, “In seven weeks.”

  Evelyn Audley patted her granddaughter’s k
nee affectionately. “Then we have six weeks to get you over him. I presume your father is adamant that Sabrina marry this fellow? I’d heard something from up at Audley End that your man needed to marry money and marry money fast.”

  Nicole knew not the particulars of this, but the gist, she supposed was true. She nodded miserably, knowing her own dowry to be much less significant than that of Sabrina’s. And apparently not enough for Trevor to even consider.

  Early summer in Essex, specifically at Breakspear afforded not much opportunity for entertainment or things to take one’s mind off their troubles, Nicole learned over the next few weeks. With Audley End being unoccupied, and no small town or village within a close proximity, she was left to only her grandmother’s company. This displeased her not at all, save that there was much quiet time, which left Nicole brooding still over Trevor.

  She was then quite happy to learn that her cousin, George Audley, was returned to Audley End after the second week, preparing to host a country weekend at the manor house. Upon learning of her presence, George immediately sent down an invitation for Nicole and the countess to join him for dinner, which they happily accepted.

  George was several years older than Nicole, but her favorite among her Audley cousins, as his brothers were even older than he and married now with families of their own, that Nicole saw them rarely and recalled them hardly at all. George’s sisters, Sarah and Grace, were perhaps Sabrina’s age and above, still unmarried though they’d been presented years before, but likely to remain available as they’d not much to recommend them in either appearance or personality. Evelyn, of course, blamed this entirely upon her son’s wife, whom she claimed had the personality of a rock, and had unfortunately bestowed this upon her daughters.

  George had sent ‘round his own carriage to receive the ladies from the dower house and greeted them warmly at the door. He fussed solicitously over his grandmother, playfully nuzzling her cheek, causing that woman to smack half-heartedly at his hands and chide him with not a trace of severity.

  “And darling Nicki,” he said, turning towards her, appearing much as he always did, she thought as she stepped into his embrace. George Audley was possessed of the family’s trademark red hair, which mingled to great effect with his dark green eyes. He stood not much taller than Nicole herself, but was of a solid and not displeasing figure, and it was well known that he was sought after for his very amiable company.

  He was not alone, Nicole saw, having disengaged herself from her cousin’s warm embrace. A man had appeared from the drawing room, and now stood within sight, hovering, as it were, near the ornate table in the middle of the three story foyer.

  George saw Nicole staring at him. “Oh, I brought along ol’ Cheseldon,” he said, waving his friend forward. “He claims to have had quite enough of the London scene, even so early in the year. Meet my grandmother, Cheseldon—Lady Audley. And this imp here is my cousin, Nicole, Miss Kent. Nicki, say a pretty hello to the viscount.”

  “How do you do?” She asked when he had greeted properly her grandmother and turned his nearly black eyes upon her. Viscount Cheseldon was one of those people who seemed perhaps too pretty to be real. He was not so very tall but dressed so fashionably in pantaloons that it seemed to add length to him. His hair was darker than Nicole’s very brown, but exceedingly thick and straight. His eyes, very black indeed, seemed to dance with merry lights, his jaw being square and strong.

  He took her hand and effectively bent over it—as he had not Lady Evelyn—his firm and full lips touching lightly her skin. Straightening, he said, “What a happy circumstance to find such lovely company as you two ladies, apparently waiting here for our arrival,” he said nimbly, including Lady Evelyn in his gaze, though it returned quickly enough to Nicole. She saw that now, there was just a hint of a flush about his cheeks and wondered at its cause.

  George then herded the foursome into the dining room, as a waiting servant silently informed him that all was ready. They sat in the smaller of the two dining rooms, this one seating comfortably twelve, and then not too large to allow for polite conversation. George Audley, ever one to eschew convention for the sake of comfort, had made the table to be set so that four places were readied in the exact center of the table. He directed his grandmother to sit beside him, while she tittered over this very informal arrangement, and then indicated that Nicole and Cheseldon should be seated across from them.

  “Much cozier, I should say,” George observed as all four took their seats.

  Indeed, it was cozy, Nicole had to agree, never before having dined quite in this fashion. And while her cousin was put through the nosy wringer of his grandmother, Nicole was then left to be entertained by the viscount, who proved a worthy and agreeable dinner companion. They found they had several friends and acquaintances in common, and then Nicole was delighted when he inquired if she’d yet had the opportunity to view the picture gallery at Dulwich College.

  “Oh, but I have,” she told him with enthusiasm. “I found it to be as grand and brilliant as had been proclaimed.”

  “Tis too bad, though, for I should have liked to take you there,” said the viscount, his black eyes steady upon her.

  He seemed to her to be quite unaware of his decidedly handsome person, and shy, when it came right down to it. His conversation was genuine, she believed, and his interest—even her grandmother at one point raised a speculative brow at Nicole when he’d not been looking—was both certain and not offensive.

  With great purpose, as to put Trevor out of her mind completely—he’d not left her for even a bare hour, it seemed, since her coming a fortnight ago—Nicole said to the viscount, her eyes suddenly unable to meet his, “I shouldn’t mind visiting the gallery again.”

  She was immediately aware of his appreciative smile, boyish and pleased. “Then you will allow me to call on you when we are all returned to London?”

  She nodded, unable then to put her answer out vocally, as her insides stung and churned with the notion that she betrayed Trevor at this very moment.

  Apparently having overheard, or eavesdropped upon them, her grandmother chimed in, “You needn’t wait for your return to the city, dear boy. Nicki will be staying with me for quite some time, I think. Naturally, you are welcome to call upon her at Breakspear.”

  Nicole blanched at this. Making a promise for a future endeavor, one she might have reconsidered and backed out of, was entirely different than what her grandmother was offering. She cast a stormy gaze at Lady Evelyn, but to no avail, and then even George added his own machinations. “You should come up this weekend, Nicki. Audley End will be filled with people—a regular country gathering.”

  But her grandmother would have none of this. “Eh, eh, George. I’m well aware what goes on at these loose weekend fetes—a lot of shenanigans, unless I miss my guess. Nicki will stay with me. The viscount is welcome to visit when he is not engaged at your sordid party.”

  George pressed his hand to his heart, but his eyes twinkled with devilry. “Grandmother, you wound me. To even suggest that I should host a—”

  “I’ve spied in the windows before,” Lady Evelyn silenced him by saying. Feigning nonchalance then, she sipped delicately of her wine while the other three dissolved into fits of laughter.

  The following Monday, as her grandmother had predicted—“He’ll not wait around to see the last carriage driven out of Audley End, if I’m right” she’d said—Cheseldon did indeed come up the drive to the dower house, finding Nicole and her grandmother tending the gardens at the front of the house. He bade a polite hello to both Lady Evelyn and Nicole, outwardly nervous, despite the fact that he came by invitation.

  “Go ahead and clean up, Nicki,” her grandmother advised. “I’ll keep company with the viscount and then perhaps you might show him the Elysian garden,” the older woman suggested, her keen eye on the hapless viscount.

  Nicole made quick work of refreshing herself, washing her hands and face, and losing the apron and gloves that she’d employ
ed for the garden task. She reappeared within minutes, tying bonnet strings under her chin, finding that her grandmother remained still amongst her roses and peonies, only making casual conversation with the gentleman. The viscount, however, did seem happy for her return, as he’d been idly kicking about stones in the drive, hands in his pockets, while he’d waited.

  And thus began the courtship of Nicole Kent. The viscount was charming and, after a time, less reserved, that they seemed always to be laughing. Over the next few weeks—in which time, Cheseldon delayed his departure, and ultimately that of George, again and again—he and Nicole were near constant companions, with the thorough blessing of Lady Evelyn, that woman being appeased by the fact that her granddaughter seemed to cry into her pillow at nighttime less and less these days. This caused the older woman to find herself inviting the viscount to luncheon and to tea, and to expect of course, that he should join them for dinner, as well, when George chose to be otherwise occupied, or they dined not at Audley End.

  So when five weeks had passed since Nicole arrived at Breakspear, she was asked by the viscount if she would mind that he had hoped, upon their return to London, to speak to her father.

  Immediately, her thought was of Trevor, and she knew she had no business saying that she minded not at all, but she did say exactly those words, the viscount believing that her lowered eyes and pinkened cheeks to be the result of her joyful acceptance of this. Perhaps her tears, too, at that moment, were just as well a consequence of her reaction to his near proposal.

  In her bed that night, when her grandmother had left, having tucked her in with the opinion that Cheseldon was undeniably a terrific coup to have obtained, and the advice that this, likely, would put to rest those girlish feeling’s she’d believed the Earl of Leven had roused, Nicole knew she’d made a foolish and terrible mistake. Not that she had any intention of unburdening herself by way of rescinding her acceptance of Cheseldon’s plans, but she knew she had erred, nonetheless. Her heart, she knew, lay firmly in the nebulous grasp of Trevor Wentworth. If the comfortable and agreeable company of Gregoire Cheseldon had not usurped her feelings for Trevor, she suspected wretchedly that nothing would. She would permit Cheseldon to call upon her father, the sooner the better, she mused, and she would marry the man, simply because if she could not have Trevor, then it mattered not whom she did have. She would bind herself to the viscount and bear him children, and this undoubtedly would remove all vestiges of emotion for the earl from her life. She was sure this might work.