Always

by Cheryl Holt

  “Yes, we can drop it,” she said. “For now, but I intend that—eventually—you will explain what occurred.”

  “Trust me. You don’t want that.”

  She frowned. “Was it awful?”

  “Yes, it was awful. It was scary and chilling and very, very sad.”

  She noted it then, the melancholy in his eyes. He was grieving—she’d wondered if he was—and a terrible possibility presented itself.

  “In the newspaper Trevor showed me,” she said, “the article claimed Sir Sidney was dead, that you were dead too.”

  “Obviously, I’m not.”

  “But Sir Sidney is, isn’t he?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’m very sorry for your loss. I know you were close to him.”

  “Thank you.”

  “How did he pass away?”

  “He was murdered by natives,” he bluntly confided.

  She gasped. “Oh, no! I shouldn’t have pried.”

  “It’s why I don’t care to discuss it. The entire fiasco was hideously depressing. It’s too appalling to describe to a normal person, and it would only upset you. I’d rather keep it to myself.”

  “Of course you should,” she gently concurred. “And I should mind my own business.”

  “I don’t mind you being nosy. I actually like it, but if you cross any lines, I’ll inform you.”

  “Fair enough.” She nodded. “Sir Sidney was like a father to you. It’s the story that always circulated.”

  “Yes, he was the father I never had. Mine died when I was six. Sir Sidney took me under his wing and raised me.”

  “You didn’t grow up at Selby?”

  “Gad, no.” He shuddered at the very idea. “I was brought here after my own father passed away, and I was so incorrigible that, the following year, my grandfather sent me to boarding school. I rarely came home after that. I didn’t want to come home.”

  His comments stirred a thousand questions. She yearned to delve into each and every one of them, but she wasn’t keen to whip up any excess anxiety. The more she learned about him, the more she recognized that he’d had a dreadful upbringing, and she suspected he’d developed a tough shell to protect himself from life’s painful blows.

  “You were friends with his son too,” she said. “Sebastian Sinclair, isn’t it?”

  “Yes, I was friends with him.”

  “Why do you state it as if it were ancient history? Please tell me he’s not deceased as well.”

  “No. As far as I’m aware, he’s fit as a fiddle and back in England, but I haven’t talked to him. He and I had a falling out.”

  “He was like a brother to you.”

  “Yes. I don’t have any siblings of my own, and he filled a void when I needed it most.”

  “You quarreled with him? Was it because of what happened to his father?” He stared at her for an eternity, not clarifying, and she hurried to insist, “Don’t fret over it. If he’s a true friend, Time will mend your disagreement. I’m sure of it.”

  He stared again, and she could practically see the wheels spinning in his head. He was hurt and weary and angry—and eager to unleash a torrent of bitter words. Ultimately though, he smirked with derision and glanced over at the buffet.

  “I’m hungry,” he said. “Have you eaten?”

  “Yes.”

  “Was the food any good?”

  She chuckled. “Yes, the food was delicious.”

  “Edwina hires competent kitchen staff. It’s one of the very few tasks at which she’s ever been proficient.”

  “Honestly! Be more circumspect, would you? That sounds like some of your family’s dirty laundry, and you shouldn’t air it in front of me.”

  “If I don’t point it out, you’ll likely hear the servants gossiping.”

  “It doesn’t mean I’ll heed any rumors.” She gestured to the tables. “Would you like to dish up a plate for yourself? Or would you like me to do it?”

  He flashed a cocky grin. “I believe I’d like you to wait on me hand and foot.”

  “You would, would you? Well, if you weren’t such a pathetic character, I’d say absolutely not. But you look to me as if you’re wasting away, and I am very kind. I’d be happy to coddle you.”

  “I love a female who’s malleable and obedient.”

  “Don’t be obnoxious or I’ll dump a glass of wine on you.”

  She stood and walked over to the buffet. The servants leapt to attention, loading up three different plates and carrying them over for her. She peered at him over her shoulder and asked, “Would you like punch, wine, or brandy?”

  “If I request brandy in the middle of the day, will you think I’m a drunkard?”

  “Yes, but it’s a picnic. You’re allowed to indulge.”

  “Brandy then.”

  She came back and plopped down, giving him the silverware and a napkin. The servants tiptoed away, and she fussed with what they’d delivered. She buttered his bread and sliced his roasted beef. She dabbed white sauce over a piece of fish.

  “They always prepare enough to feed an army,” he said, “but it’s always just me who’s eating. It seems a tad obscene, doesn’t it?”

  “You’re a rich, important fellow. Don’t complain. Simply be grateful for all this bounty.”

  “Will you have something too? I hate to have you gaping at me while I’m gobbling down my meal like a glutton.”

  “I’ll have some punch. Will that satisfy you?”

  “No. Have the wine. We’re indulging, remember? You’re the one who declared it.”

  She called to a footman, and he poured her a glass and brought it over, then he went to his perch behind the tables. They were being carefully assessed though, and she was certain—when the group returned to the kitchen—they would recount every minute of the peculiar afternoon.

  She tried to ignore them and concentrate on the sole person who mattered, that being Lord Selby.

  “I have a secret to tell you,” she said, as he pushed his food around, but didn’t take any bites.

  “What is it?”

  “Florence Middleton is Susan’s mother. You’ll meet her before too much time has passed.”

  “I hope not. I saw her on the verandah the other night, and if I’m lucky, I won’t ever have to be introduced to her.”

  “Stop being a beast and listen for once.”

  “I’m listening, I’m listening, but you chatter so much I lose track of where you’re going.”

  “Florence is sort of an odd nut. She and her husband, Albert, rose from humble beginnings, and she believes their money should buy them a very high spot in the world.”

  “Maybe in a sane world it would. Not in England. It’s all about bloodlines here.”

  “I agree, but they worked hard to find an aristocrat for Susan.”

  “I’m told it’s a lean year for noble bachelors, so she had to settle for Percy.”

  “Yes, but now that you’re home, Florence has gotten a bee in her bonnet about you and Susan.”

  “Me and Susan? I’ve never even spoken to the girl. What bee is buzzing in Mrs. Middleton’s bonnet?”

  “She’d like Susan to entice you so you fall madly in love with her, then she’ll cry off from her betrothal to your cousin and marry you instead.”

  Nell was humored to note that she’d rendered him speechless. He glowered at her as if she were deranged, nearly choked on his brandy, then laughed.

  “Do desperate mothers really plot like that?” he said as his mirth waned. “Do they scheme and envision outrageous endings that could never come to fruition?”

  “They do.”

  “I’ve heard horror stories about the perils of the Marriage Market, but I guess I had no idea. What about Miss Susan? What is her opinion of her mother’s plan?”

  “She thinks it’s unhinged and unscrupulous, and she’s refused to participate.”

  “Good. Your comment is making me like her. And what is your opinion, Miss Drummond?”

 
“I think it’s unhinged and unscrupulous too.”

  “Why tell me about it?”

  “I wanted to warn you and to firmly state—if Florence irks or offends you—I hope you won’t blame me.”

  “I might blame you. It would amuse me to goad you into a temper. I’d like to see anger flash in those pretty green eyes of yours.”

  “You don’t have to deliberately goad me. You’re such a lazy, imperious lout that I’m sure I’ll have plenty of chances to be annoyed by you.”

  “I’m sure you will too.”

  “You don’t like your Aunt Edwina very much,” she said, deftly changing the subject. “Why is that?”

  “You’ve met her. You can’t claim you were charmed.”

  “I wasn’t, but that’s the extent of the criticism you’ll drag out of me. How about your cousins? Do you like them?”

  He shrugged. “Trevor is all right—a bit naïve and unfocused—but all right. Percy is an arrogant prig.”

  It was Nell’s view exactly, but she didn’t dare concur. Instead, she scolded him; he seemed to be in a mood to let her. “I need to remember that I don’t necessarily have to know what you think about various topics. You can be entirely too blunt.”

  “It’s my background and history that make me so direct. In light of my frequent exploring, I’ve never had time for polite conversation. I’ve always had to get to the point. Often, it meant life or death.”

  “I imagine so, but have you ever been informed that candor can be beneficial? Especially when discussing your kin?”

  “With all due respect, Miss Drummond, you did ask what I thought of Percy.”

  “Yes, I did, and clearly, I shouldn’t have.”

  He was still pushing his food around, nibbling, wrinkling his nose, and his fussiness irritated her. The kitchen staff had been apprised he might come to the picnic, and they’d gone to so much trouble because of it. Nell was convinced if she and Susan had been Trevor’s only guests, the setup wouldn’t have been half so extravagant.

  “You’re not eating,” she chided. “Aren’t you hungry after all? Don’t you like what I selected for you? What’s wrong?”

  “I’ve lost a lot of my appetite. I was ill for quite awhile.”

  “Ill from what?”

  “My wounds were infected, and I’m still worn down.” He gazed at the buffet. “Could I just have a slice of pie? I haven’t had it in years.”

  She gaped at him, then her expression softened. “Of course you can have some, you pitiful fool.”

  For some reason, his request had her on the verge of tears. She gathered up his plates, and as she stood to take them to the servants, they bustled over to assist her. She returned with his pie, and a footman refilled his brandy, then they were alone again.

  He sighed with pleasure. “I’m actually enjoying myself. I doubted I would, but I am.”

  She tarried quietly, watching him as he wolfed down the slice she’d delivered. It was apple, and he gobbled the whole thing. Once he was finished, he scrutinized their surroundings in a curious manner. It was a bucolic sight, like a painting of a perfect afternoon in the English countryside: the lake, the gazebo, the park, the beautiful manor off in the distance.

  “I’ve never sat out in the garden before,” he said.

  “Really? Why not? It’s so pretty.”

  “It was hard for me here. It was…was…” He narrowed his focus, as if searching for the appropriate word, but apparently, he couldn’t find it.

  “You came to Selby when you were six?” she asked. “After your father died?”

  “My mother too. Mary and Matthew. They were killed in an accident.”

  “You were so young. It must have been difficult to understand what was happening.”

  “And my grandfather, Godwin, was a monster. He’d never liked my mother, and he’d relentlessly tormented my father about it, so they were estranged from him. When they passed away, I wasn’t aware I had relatives. My parents had certainly never mentioned them.”

  “My goodness.”

  “Then one day, Aunt Edwina swooped in like a vulture, packed my bags, and dragged me to Selby.”

  “It must have been quite a shock.”

  “It was. I don’t even know where my childhood home was. Where I lived with my parents? I was happy there. I remember that much. Edwina would never tell me its location, and my grandfather demanded I not harp on it, that it was ancient history.”

  “What a terrible story! I’ve chastised you for being grand and important and not being grateful about it, but if you continue playing on my sympathies, I’ll start feeling sorry for you. Is that what you’re trying to do? Are you trying to stir my compassion?”

  “Could I?”

  “Maybe, but I won’t admit it. I need to keep you off balance, so you never have the upper hand with me.”

  “Ha! I always have the upper hand with everyone.”

  She looked over at him and asked the question that had been vexing her since Trevor had showed her the London newspaper.

  “Why would the newspaper report that you were dead?”

  He studied the horizon, then murmured, “I have no idea.”

  “Why aren’t you more disconcerted by it?”

  “There aren’t many people who would care if I’m deceased or not.”

  “That is the most dismal comment a human being has ever uttered.”

  “It’s not as if I have a gaggle of friends lined up at the door to inquire as to my condition. There were just the two Sinclairs and that connection is severed.”

  “Well, I can’t speak for the Sinclairs—especially Sir Sidney who is no longer with us—but I can definitely speak for myself. I am delighted that you are hale and healthy and home.”

  “You’ve just met me though. After we’ve been acquainted for a bit, you’ll probably be eager for me to leave again.”

  “Probably, but you haven’t annoyed me yet. I’m still at the early fascination stage.”

  He glanced at her and shot a look that rattled her to her toes. His gaze dipped to her mouth and stayed there.

  “I wish we were alone,” he said, “so I could kiss you again.”

  “Hush!” She frantically peered about to ensure none of the servants had overheard. “You and I are not ever discussing our misbehavior. I can’t have anyone discover that we’ve sneaked off.”

  “Will I be able to coax you into mischief in the future?”

  Her shoulders slumped. “Yes, I’m positive you will. I’ve been warning myself to buck up, to grow a spine, but I can’t figure out how to resist you.”

  He preened, an aggravating amount of male confidence practically oozing out of him.

  “Trevor calls you Nell.” His tone was petulant. “Why are you on such familiar terms with him?”

  “Susan and I are like sisters, so in a way, he and I are about to be related by marriage. We decided to be cordial from the moment we were introduced.”

  “If he gets to use Nell, I’m claiming the same privilege.”

  “You shouldn’t.”

  “So? I never listen to women, and you can be extremely absurd. Why would I pay attention to you?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “In return, you may call me Nathan.”

  “I will not call you Nathan.” She sounded prim and fussy.

  “Why not?”

  “Mrs. Middleton would have a fit over the impropriety, and your Aunt Edwina would too. It would have both of them—and others—wondering if we aren’t closer than we should be.”

  “We are very close, aren’t we? Why do you suppose that is?”

  “I can’t imagine.” She shrugged. “I just like you. I can’t help myself.”

  “What will happen to us?”

  “Absolutely nothing will happen,” she sternly insisted.

  “Why would you think that?”

  “Because I am Nell Drummond and you are Nathan Blake.”

  “I’ve never believed that being Nathan Blake was
much of an accomplishment.”

  “It is, and stop being so grouchy about it.”

  “To me, my being Nathan Blake and Lord Selby means I can have whatever I want. Can I have you?”

  The question was loaded with so much innuendo that she couldn’t reply. She didn’t have the salacious vocabulary to offer a snappy retort, so all she said was, “No, you can’t have me. Don’t be ridiculous—and don’t be impertinent.”

  “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

  “Are you aware that people feel you’ve been away from England for so long that you’ve become a native? That you’ve forgotten British habits and traditions?”

  He scoffed. “People are fools.”

  “The more time I spend with you, the more I realize you have some rough edges. Perhaps I’ll get to work at smoothing them out.”

  He raised a brow. “I would definitely like to have you smooth my edges.”

  Apparently, there was no limit to the innuendo a man could spew. It made her yearn to be a tad wanton so she’d have some notion of what he was insinuating.

  “Will you ever start socializing at the nuptial events?” she asked. “Everyone is dying to see you. How can I persuade you to come down to supper or to pop in at some of your aunt’s parties? Will you even show up for Percy’s wedding?”

  “Aunt Edwina has ordered me to show up.”

  “Will you?”

  “Maybe. Would you like to convince me I should?”

  He smiled such a delicious smile that she was glad she was sitting down. If she hadn’t been, it might have knocked her down.

  “I should busy myself with polishing your manners,” she said. “You shouldn’t tease a young lady, and you’re deliberately trying to make me blush.”

  “Am I succeeding?”

  “No.” She clapped her hands to her cheeks. They weren’t hot. “Do you feel any responsibility toward your family or the estate?”

  “Not really, but then my grandfather and Edwina drummed out any possible affection I might have possessed.”

  She sighed with regret. “I’m so sorry to hear it.”

  Her entire life, she’d wished her parents were still alive, had wished they’d had a dozen children, so she’d be surrounded by siblings and nieces and nephews, but she was alone in the world, with just the Middletons to claim her. It saddened her when she bumped into someone like Lord Selby who had plenty of kin but who didn’t like them or who constantly quarreled.