Always

by Cheryl Holt

  But he couldn’t mention any of it aloud, and besides, why would she believe him? He swallowed down such a lump of comments that he felt as if he was choking on them.

  “I was wondering…” he started when he could speak again. Then he paused and waved away the remark. “Never mind. I’m certain you’re busy.”

  “No, no,” she hurried to say, “I’m not busy. What were you wondering?”

  “There’s a pretty meadow out past the lake, and it will be a beautiful afternoon. It’s perfect weather for a picnic. We could have the servants pack a basket for us.”

  “That would be splendid. Could I invite my friend, Nell?”

  He’d been eager to get her off alone so he could wheedle his way into her affections, but he forced a grin. “Of course. The more the merrier.”

  “Who knows? Perhaps Lord Selby would like to join us too. He’s the head of your family, and I’d like to meet him.”

  Trevor would cut off his right arm before he’d let her fraternize with Nathan. He’d never permit his cousin’s roving eye to land on her, and if she could be turned away from Percy, Trevor would instigate the turning.

  “He might join us—if I dared to ask him—but he’s an important fellow with lots of appointments on his schedule. I doubt he’d be interested—or that he’d have the time.”

  “You’re likely correct, but I’ll definitely find Nell and tell her about it.”

  “Let’s muster on the verandah at one o’clock.”

  “How shall I entertain myself until then? Have you any suggestions?”

  It was the exact sort of opening he’d been dying to hear. “Do you like to ride?”

  “I love to ride.”

  “Why don’t I give you a tour of the estate then? We’ll work up an appetite and come home famished and ready for our picnic.”

  “It sounds fabulous.”

  She smiled a smile he felt clear down to his toes, and he smiled back.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  “You have to speak to Susan for me.”

  “Certainly. On what topic?”

  Nell smiled at Florence, but she was nervously wondering why she’d been summoned. They were in Florence’s bedchamber, in the sitting room. Florence was seated at a table by the window and writing letters.

  “Close the door,” she said to Nell without glancing up.

  Nell complied, then walked over and sat down too. “What is it? If we need the door closed, it must be dire.”

  Florence leaned in and lowered her voice. “Lord Selby has returned from Africa.”

  The subject was completely unexpected, and suddenly, Nell was very wary. Was she about to be scolded for being out in the gazebo with him? Had she been observed? Was she in trouble?

  “Yes, I heard he’s back,” she carefully said. “If fact, I’ve met him.”

  Florence raised a brow. “You appear to be the only one then. According to rumor, he’s an unsocial boor who’s spent too many years around native tribes. He doesn’t know how to act in a civilized manner.”

  “That’s nonsense. He’s as British as you and me.”

  “He doesn’t come across as a heathen savage?”

  “No! He’s very charming, very…normal.”

  She couldn’t deduce why she’d used the word normal. It didn’t describe Nathan Blake in the least. In her opinion, he was the most fascinating, dashing, handsome man in the world, but she wouldn’t gush over him like a smitten ninny. If she did, Florence would be flabbergasted.

  “I think Susan should make a play for him,” Florence announced.

  Nell frowned. “What sort of…play? What are you talking about?”

  “She should try to wring a proposal out of him.”

  Nell’s mouth dropped in shock. “But…but…she’s engaged to Percy.”

  “Engagements can be broken. If we can garner the Earl’s interest, we’ll toss a bit of money at Percy as a consolation prize. He’ll step aside quickly enough.”

  Nell felt as if she’d waded into a bog. When Florence fixated on a problem, it was hard to push her onto a different road. She was like a dog at a bone. She didn’t like to be questioned though, didn’t like to have Nell or Susan disagree with her.

  “I’m not sure you’ve considered all the ramifications,” Nell cautiously said. “It would be a huge gamble to count on Lord Selby growing fond.”

  “Why would it be? Susan is lovely, and he’s thirty. He ought to wed. Why not to her?”

  “I doubt he’s ready to ponder matrimony. He seemed quite exhausted to me. Marriage has to be the last thing on his mind.”

  “Susan could put it front and center.”

  “What if it didn’t work? What if Susan attempted to tantalize the Earl, but she failed? She’d wreck her betrothal to Percy, and she’d be branded an inconstant flirt. Then where would she be?”

  “With our fortune? Any smart fellow would have her.”

  Nell knew that wasn’t true. Albert had toiled valiantly to arrange a grand match for Susan, and Percy Blake was as far as the social ladder extended. She wouldn’t climb any higher.

  “You have to convince her for me,” Florence insisted.

  “I’ll give it my best shot,” Nell lied, deeming the entire notion to be preposterous. “She and I are attending a picnic this afternoon. I’ll wrangle a private moment with her, so we can discuss it.”

  “Good.” Florence nodded vigorously. “Is this an event Percy planned? Or was it Edwina?”

  “Percy went to town, but he’ll be back later. We were invited by Trevor.”

  “Trevor!” Florence scoffed. “He’s an incompetent boy, and Susan shouldn’t waste any energy on him. You’ve become cordial with Lord Selby. Why don’t you ask him to accompany you? You could introduce him to Susan.”

  “That’s a marvelous idea,” Nell lied again. “I’ll track him down to see if I can persuade him to join us.”

  “Do you suppose any of us will ever meet him besides you? Is it his intent to be a hermit while we’re here?”

  “I’m positive that’s not it. He’s simply adjusting to being back in England.”

  Florence glared. “It sounds as if the two of you are chums.”

  “He’s nice. I like him.”

  “Where have you crossed paths? Why has no one else?”

  “I was…ah…walking in the garden, and I bumped into him.”

  “The garden…hm? Perhaps I should walk in the garden too. Lord Selby is the head of this family, and Susan is about to be its newest member. As her mother, I shouldn’t have to wait to be presented to him.”

  “I will get you presented,” Nell told her. “You needn’t wander in the garden.”

  Nell realized she now had an excuse to seek him out. Ever since the remarkable interval they’d shared in the gazebo, she’d been desperate to speak to him again, but she couldn’t figure out how to orchestrate an encounter. It wasn’t as if she could pull up a chair in the foyer and hope he sauntered by.

  “Find Susan for me,” Florence said. “Have your conversation with her. I’ll expect a report at supper, and don’t disappoint me, Nell. You’re aware of how much you owe me.”

  “Yes, I never forget it.”

  Florence waved her out, and Nell was relieved to depart. When they reached the spot where Florence began to wax on over how lucky Nell was to be living with the Middletons, it was time to make a hasty escape.

  She hurried out and down the hall, and as she was descending the stairs, Susan was coming up. Nell’s expression indicated an exasperating incident had occurred, and they stopped to whisper on the landing.

  “Is it Mother?” Susan inquired.

  “Yes. I’m to persuade you to cry off from your betrothal to Percy so you can wed Lord Selby instead.”

  “She suggested the very same to me a bit earlier. She’s deranged, Nell. Have I mentioned that she is?”

  “I believe you might have hinted at it on occasion.” Nell sighed. “I informed her it was an insane ploy.”
r />   Susan chuckled. “You did not.”

  “Well, I might have carefully implied it wasn’t the wisest plan.”

  “I just want to be happy,” Susan morosely said. “I want a home of my own and a husband who loves me. Is that too much to ask?”

  “No, it’s not.”

  They were the simple dreams of any bride, but Nell doubted Susan would achieve them by marrying Percy. First off, she wouldn’t have her own home. She’d reside at Selby with Edwina. As to Percy, he was snobbishly rude, and he constantly gave the impression that he viewed himself to be marrying down by agreeing to wed Susan.

  The fact that he had no title, was merely an earl’s cousin, and didn’t have a penny to his name, hadn’t occurred to him. He pictured himself as being very grand, much grander than Susan deserved.

  “Will you still attend Trevor’s picnic?” Susan asked. “You haven’t changed your mind, have you?”

  “No, and I’d like to invite Lord Selby. What would you think of that?”

  Susan looked aghast. “You’re not intending to further Mother’s scheme, are you?”

  “No.” Susan was dubious, and Nell added, “I’m not. I swear. I just like him, and he seems lonely to me. He’s having trouble acclimating to being back in England. It might be beneficial for him to spend some lazy hours out by the lake.”

  “You know all this about him…how?”

  Nell’s cheeks heated. “He and I have chatted a few times.”

  “It’s a few times now, is it? I thought you only talked to him once. How did you manage subsequent discussions?”

  “I’m sneaky that way.”

  Susan pondered Nell’s request, then nodded. “I guess you can invite him, but I’ve heard gossip that he’s awful company. I won’t have him grump and grouch and upset Trevor. I’d like to have a fabulous afternoon with him.”

  “With Trevor?”

  “Yes. He and I have become very good friends, and I won’t have his cousin spoil our outing.”

  There was a ton of innuendo hidden in Susan’s comment. She was good friends with Trevor? How had that happened? And where was her precious fiancé in all of this? Perhaps Percy ought to tarry at Selby before Susan noted that his younger brother was just as handsome, but nicer and politer too.

  “If I can find Lord Selby,” Nell said, “and that’s a big if, I can’t guarantee he’ll accept. He’ll likely tell me I’m mad to bother him, but if he joins us, I’ll make sure he behaves.”

  “It’s starting to sound as if you know him better than you should.”

  “I know him just enough.”

  Susan didn’t press, didn’t ask Nell to explain herself, which was a relief. She couldn’t have explained.

  She felt as if she and Lord Selby were intimately acquainted. They were so close that he’d steal a kiss in the moonlight. It was a thrilling turn of events, and if he wanted to kiss her again during the two weeks she’d be in residence at Selby, she’d decided to let him.

  “I’ll see you out by the lake,” Susan said. “If you can’t locate Lord Selby, please come by yourself.”

  “I will. I won’t leave you to your own devices. It’s not exactly proper for you to be off by yourself with your fiancé’s brother.”

  “No one will notice—or mind,” Susan bizarrely stated, then she kept on up the stairs.

  Nell was rattled. Was Susan having a…a…flirtation? With Percy’s brother? With her wedding so soon?

  The notion didn’t bear contemplating, and Nell would definitely attend the picnic—and every other gathering where Susan and Trevor might be together.

  This was no time for mischief.

  * * * *

  Nathan sat in a chair in an isolated rear parlor, and he stared across the park. It was a quiet part of the house, and when he held himself very still, he could hear his heart beating.

  The silence was wonderful, but unnerving too. He was used to noise and chaos and mayhem, men shouting, rowing, cutting a path through the jungle, their heavy axes slashing at the thick brush.

  At his thinking about Africa, the wound in his chest—the worst one of the three—throbbed unbearably, forcing him to recall that he was lucky to be alive.

  How long would he tarry at Selby? And once he decided to depart, where would he go? His days of exploring with Sir Sidney and Sebastian Sinclair were over, and he’d never previously gazed out to a future that didn’t include them. He was lost and adrift.

  Footsteps echoed behind him, and suddenly, Trevor rushed in.

  “Cousin Nathan!” he gushed. “There you are! Mother said you were unwell, and we weren’t to pester you. I thought you were up in your room.”

  “I’m fine, Trevor. Tired and weary, but fine.”

  “It’s so good to have you back. You always breathe fresh air into this decrepit mausoleum.”

  “It’s always needed it.”

  Trevor was grinning, anxiously shifting from foot to foot, not sure of what to say, what not to say. He studied Nathan, then settled on, “You look hale. A little thin, but I suppose that’s to be expected after such a lengthy expedition.”

  “Your mother will fatten me up without too much trouble.”

  “Don’t let her. I like you just the way you are.”

  Nathan was thirty, and Trevor was twenty-four, so they were only six years apart in age, but Nathan felt as if he were a century older than Trevor. How were they even members of the same species?

  Trevor had grown up at Selby, tightly constrained by Edwina’s apron strings and browbeaten by their grandfather, Godwin. The diabolical pair had had him tutored at Selby, so he’d never had the benefit of boarding school. He’d escaped to attend university, but the instant he’d finished, he’d headed home and had stayed.

  He had no money of his own, and he never mentioned having goals or dreams. He seemed directionless and content to wallow at Selby forever.

  “Could I ask you a question?” Trevor said, and he grabbed a chair and pulled it over so they were toe to toe.

  “You can ask,” Nathan replied, “but I can’t guarantee I’ll answer.”

  “Please don’t refuse immediately. Think about it first—and don’t tell Mother I inquired. She already insisted I shouldn’t, and she’d have a fit if she learned of it.”

  “All right, I won’t tell her. What is it?”

  “Next time you travel to Africa with the Sinclairs, could I come too?”

  Nathan was astonished by the request, but he kept his face carefully blank. “I’m debating if I’ll ever journey there again myself.”

  “Don’t say so!” Trevor vehemently countered. “I’ve been waiting for years to seek permission to accompany you, and I’ll be so dejected if I never have the chance.”

  “It’s not like you imagine. It’s dangerous and difficult and scary.”

  “I realize that, but if I don’t figure out how to flee Selby, I’ll go mad. Will you help me? Will you allow me to join you on an adventure?”

  He appeared so trusting and innocent, so hopeful and full of vigor. His youth and energy made Nathan feel like an elderly, feeble codger. Nathan couldn’t bear to disappoint him. Not when he was so eager.

  “I’ll consider it,” he claimed, not meaning it. Africa would eat the stupid boy alive. He’d never survive the experience. “But as I said, I’m not certain when or if I’ll return.”

  “Of course you’ll return to Africa,” Trevor confidently stated. “You’re the intrepid explorer, Nathan Blake! Nothing can stop you from doing whatever you want.”

  “Well, nothing has yet.”

  “Here I am prattling on about nonsense, and there’s something I’ve been dying to show you. Have you seen the London newspaper today?”

  “No, why?”

  “It contains the most hilarious story about you! You won’t believe it.” Trevor leapt up and ran out of the room. A minute later, he was back, and he shoved the paper at Nathan. “Read that!”

  Nathan scanned the headline of the article: CALA
MITY IN AFRICA! Lord Selby Perishes! Sir Sidney Feared Dead!

  He slowed his breathing as he perused the rest of it. He wondered who from the expedition had lurched to England besides himself. Who had tattled to the papers? Not Sebastian, he didn’t suppose. He wouldn’t permit the truth to be exposed about the hideous debacle.

  He would never let his father’s reputation be besmirched. He’d spin a false tale that would make it sound as if Sir Sidney had been killed in a heroic battle instead of with his trousers down around his ankles and his cock stuck precisely where it shouldn’t have been.

  “As I am here and hale and conversing with you,” he blandly said, “we must accept that the rumors of my demise have been greatly exaggerated.”

  “They’re saying you died!”

  He smirked. “Obviously, they’re wrong.”

  Trevor sobered, his expression growing kind. “What happened, Cousin? You can tell me. Is Sir Sidney deceased? And what about you? It’s clear you’re in a deteriorated condition. Was it a catastrophe for all concerned?”

  Nathan stared him down, the interval very strange, as if Time had halted temporarily. He could once again hear the chaos of arrows flying, spears crashing through the foliage, feet stamping, natives shouting war cries in a foreign tongue he didn’t comprehend.

  He was transfixed, transported to that awful place, that blood-soaked scene. Then he shook it off.

  “There was some trouble,” he blithely said. “I’d rather not talk about it.”

  “I understand,” Trevor quietly said, “but if you’d ever like to discuss it, I’m happy to listen.”

  “Thank you.”

  He’d had so little compassion showered on him in his life that Trevor’s words were extremely affecting. A thousand frightening words were begging to spill out.

  He was desperate to confide all of it, how he’d been mortally wounded, then left for dead by his companions, how he’d dragged himself away from the melee and had survived against all odds, how he’d staggered home to Selby—the one location he’d never wanted to be, but the only spot he could think to go.