Chapter Ten

NICOLE ROSE EARLY THE next morning, as she often did, and pulled on a dressing gown over her night rail. It was still dark in the house, the sun not yet risen. She slid her feet into her soft slippers and went downstairs. In the kitchen, she started the fires at both the large and smaller fireplaces, as she'd been taught to do. She filled a basin with water from the barrel tucked into one corner of the kitchen. There was a second barrel in the scullery and Ian was very good at keeping these filled for the household's use from the well outside the kitchens. She set a huge kettle to boil over the larger fireplace, knowing this would take some time.

Carefully, she returned to her room with her filled basin, at the opposite end of the hall than the master suites and closed the door by kicking it with her foot once she was through. She stripped herself of her robe and night rail and spent some time on her toilet, washing her face and arms and hands and cleaning her teeth. She dressed quickly in one of her muslin gowns, still wearing pastels as that was all she'd owned prior to her marriage. The silks she'd packed for what she thought was to be her wedding trip hung unused and useless in the wardrobe since her coming. She tied a kerchief around her head, knowing she hadn't any planned outings or visitors today, and added her more serviceable walk-about slippers, as they were better suited to the daily chores of the household.

With that, she left her room and skipped down to the first floor, where she found the kitchen still empty—Abby and Lorelei and Franklin wouldn't rise for another hour or so—and grabbed up a bucket and rags from the scullery. The water from the kettle was only just warm now and she dumped half of this into the bucket, leaving the rest for breakfast needs and morning tea.

She found the small wooden cart that Ian had made for her, with the pole handle and the four wheels and placed the bucket on this, using the handle to steer it out of the kitchen and down the corridor, across the entire length of the house to the library at the opposite end.

This room was by far her favorite, but it was also the room most in need of attention. It was easily twice the size of what she had once imagined was a grand library at the Kent house in Mayfair. It sat on the northwest corner of the house and two entire walls were made up entirely of windows, from floor to impossibly high ceiling. The remaining two walls housed the manor's complete library, in shelves that stretched from floor to ceiling—twenty-four shelves in each column and twenty-four columns upon those two walls. She'd started cleaning this room in January and had spent several hours, several days a week about this chore. She'd managed to clean the entire center of the room—the ornate and now gleaming wooden desk, the smaller free-standing book shelves, the fabulous Aubusson carpets, the many chaises, chairs, and settees, the beautiful and well-preserved hardwood floors all gleamed now as if they'd been regularly attended over the last decade. Now, she had only the built-in bookcases to address. She'd finished only two as of yet and Franklin had teased her that by the time she'd gotten through cleaning each and every book and shelf in this room, she would likely have to start over just to keep it up.

She moved the library's ladder to where she'd left off, sliding it along the rail near the top of the shelves, and climbed up with the bucket and rags in one hand, the other hand on each rung of the ladder as she ascended. At the top, she moved several books out of the way and set the bucket onto the shelf. She was by now, quite comfortable with this height, and working upon and around the ladder but still managed just now to accidentally drop a dusty tome to the ground.

"There goes Voltaire," she said to herself just now as it crashed with a loud thud on the floor directly below her.

She began the tedious but rather mindless job of cleaning the cover of each book and scrubbing each shelf as she went. Previously, this monotony had allowed her to focus her mind on what other chores or business she had set for the day, but today she found that her mind could think of little else but Trevor. She had yet to think of him as her husband. While they'd been married almost a year, they had spent so few hours together, she might count them on one hand.

But why had he come? And why, when he'd been received so poorly by every person under this roof, had he stayed? Abby had accosted her late yesterday wondering, "What's to be done with ‘im, miss? He wants to stay the night!" Nicole had worried her bottom lip, hoping it was only for one night, and had instructed Abby to put him in the master's chamber. She tried not to be bothered by this and knew her friends all understood when she chose instead to take her supper in her room, fearful of the earl finding his way once again to the kitchens and forcing himself upon their private meal. But that had been poorly done, she'd decided much later last night. She would henceforth not allow Trevor's presence to upset any of her routine. He hadn't that right. If he wanted to sit in on their daily luncheons or dinner, so be it. He'd find no great welcome, she knew, and thought it might actually assist in speeding along his departure.

She hadn't allowed him much explanation yesterday, being as she was so shocked by his presence, and then so rattled, but she hoped he was only here to be curious, as she'd suggested to Ian, and that he would leave soon and let them get back to their lives here at the abbey. What little he had shown her yesterday had been a great reminder of how unyielding and implacable he could be, trying to control her still.

Obviously, she was still unsettled, she thought, as another book slipped from her hands.

"Apologies to Mr. Pope," she said, grabbing up the next volume.

"You have no liking for Eloisa to Abelard?"

Nicole started, having to grab at the ladder to keep herself from falling off it. She clutched her arm fully around the side rail and glanced down the twenty or so feet to where stood Trevor at the bottom, holding both fallen tomes in his hands, staring down at them as if he might discover the reasons for her tossing them about. He was dressed simply in fawn colored breeches and a white lawn shirt, his hair and eyes gleaming as he lifted his gaze to her.

"It slipped," she said softly and faced the shelves before her again, closing her eyes, praying for an equilibrium she certainly did not feel. When he said nothing else, she looked down again to where he stood but found him gone from the foot of the ladder and now settled behind the desk in the middle of the room. He'd placed upon the desk a newspaper—either brought with him or procured from the village sometime yesterday, as the abbey received no daily paper— and began to peruse it leisurely, much to Nicole's annoyance.

She might have insisted that he leave this room, make use of any of the other thirty-six rooms in this house, but held her tongue. She'd be damned if she would allow him to know how much his presence alone affected her. With an outward air of calmness, she continued with her chore, being now more careful to not let any more books tumble to the floor. She knew that he watched, or at the very least, stole glances at her. She could just feel his blue eyes upon her, tickling the hair at her neck.

After several minutes, in which time she was able to resume her work with some degree of composure, his voice reached her again.

"Are you familiar with a Louisa Cornell?"

Nicole held onto the ladder, only slightly turning her head toward him. "Yes. We shared the same dance instructor and sometimes lessons as well."

"Hmm," he said, peering at the paper before him. "Seems she ran off to Gretna Green last week and eloped with one John Rothwell."

Several things struck Nicole just then. First, that her friend, whom she'd liked quite well and had thought most sensible, had taken up with such a glorified dandy as Rothwell to the extent of actually running off with him, and secondly, but just as significant, Trevor's casual attempt to...what? Simply make small talk with her? Offer a prelude to more serious conversation? Fill the quiet air with sound?

"Is that so?" She asked, for lack of a better response. She attended once again the cleaning of the library shelves, deciding whatever his purpose, she'd not let it or him disturb her.

After another minute or so, she heard, "This might interest you as well—‘On Thursday morning an engagement took place at Hyde Park between a Mr. F— of the city, and Lieutenant P— of the Navy, attended by their seconds; the first fire wasted; then they closed to six paces, and fired a second time. The ball of Lieutenant P—passed through the right thigh of Mr. F—. A surgeon was present, and by his care, we are happy to state that no danger is to be apprehended from the wound. The squabble between the parties arose on Monday last'."

When she made no comment, he added, "I am to understand the stated Mr. F— is none other than your good friend, Mr. Fellows. Might've seen that coming."

Refusing to be lured by his attempts to rile her either into conversation with him, or to throw in her face again that sad scene more than a year ago when he'd caught her with Guy Fellows in the gardens, Nicole only offered, "Interesting."

"Do you need any help up there?" He asked then.

Nicole stared straight ahead still, at the books, made motionless by this question. Please go away, she begged inside her head. "No but thank you."

After a few more minutes had passed, he spoke again. "Says here that a tradesman in Ireland, one Geoffrey Sedwards, has established the Skibbereen Abstinence Society, apparently an organization devoted to teetotalism. God's blood—teetotalism?"

"Very good." She scrubbed now harder at the poor books.

"I should say not" he said with a short chuckle. "Abstinence from alcohol? Not sure what the point of that might be."

"Hmm."

"Apparently, there was also some sort of riot at—"

"Is it then your plan to make conversation all morning?" She asked when she could take no more.

"I suppose so."

"But could you possibly do it in another room?" She despised the near frantic tone that had delivered these words.

Now his chuckle was deeper, longer. "My understanding is that conversation requires two or more people."

"You might find a willing participant in the kitchens."

"I want to talk with my wife." This came softly from directly below her now and she froze once again, her hand arrested upon the shelf.

"You don't actually have a wife. You have a girl that you married and discarded and nothing more."

"That's a start, a girl that I married. Would you please come down from there now, or must I read the entire blessed paper to you to get you off the ladder?"

Realizing that she was likely to get little done in the library now, whether he stayed or not, she splashed the rags into the bucket and grabbed the handle, lifting it off the shelf and starting down the ladder. It was only partially an accident—she would blame it on the nerves he stirred in her—that she was careless or jittery in her descent, sloshing water over the rim, which fell straight down as had the books earlier. She knew it landed on him by his soft curse. She found herself debating accidentally dropping the entire pail on his head. But he'd grabbed the bucket from her hand before she'd made a decision about that tantalizing prank and found herself in the next instant standing upon solid ground, and staring up at him, while the wet and matted hair on the left side of his head dripped dirtied water onto his face.

Nicole sucked in her lips to keep from laughing and watched as he pulled a linen square out of his pocket and wiped it across his face. His eyes stayed on her and she thought him still the most beautiful man, though she wished mightily that she did not.

And when he might have said something now, she told him, "That will need to be returned to the kitchen," and she pointed to the bucket and walked out of the library. She could feel again his eyes upon her, but she was fairly confident that he stared more with surprised amusement at her leaving him again, as she felt no heat or censure upon her back.

She made it all the way back to her chambers, pressing her back against the door as she closed it and laying her hand upon her belly to banish the tensions he'd wrought before she breathed again.

And then it was more than an hour later until she dared to venture out of her room again. She hadn't sat idle, of course, but had used the time to organize her wardrobe, deciding finally that she really hadn't any need of those silks and thought to take them into the village. She gathered up seven of them—leaving herself only two, of which she still imagined she'd have no use—and took them down to the foyer, laying them across the large table in the middle of the hall. Then she found the kitchen again, hoping Abby had some tea or chocolate available, maybe a biscuit or two.

She was happy to find only Abby in the kitchen, and she did indeed have chocolate warmed for her.

She bid the housekeeper good morning and asked in a whisper, "Where is the earl?"

Abby looked up from the two fresh but dead chickens, raising her brows nearly into the frill of her mop cap, indicating she hadn't heard. The whisper had then been pointless, and Nicole had to repeat the question several times, and was forced to shout it finally so that Abby could hear—and still pointless, then, as the housekeeper only shrugged her small shoulders, so much thinner than her ample hips, to let Nicole know she hadn't a clue.

The younger footman, Charlie, then came into the kitchen, his livery—such as it was—having seen better days, and likely many other wearers. He fetched a biscuit for himself, said good morning to the ladies and plopped down at the table.

"How long is ‘e gonna stay?" He asked. Charlie was probably a few years younger than Nicole, with lanky arms and legs and a long face to match. His hair always seemed as if it had met with a harsh wind, usually waving across his forehead and to one side.

"I'm not quite sure," was all Nicole could offer.

"Why'd you wed with him? Don't seem you like ‘im very much."

Nicole wasn't quite sure how to answer. "I don't dislike him...very much."

"My da's a bounder, too," Charlie then imparted, "and my ma says it's better that ‘e's gone now, but at least she got us kids from ‘im."

"Your mother is lucky indeed to have you," Nicole said, thinking it unfortunate that she likely wouldn't even have this benefit from Trevor. Mayhap another reason for an annulment, she considered, as having children was something she had always desired. So often she thought that she remained here at the Abbey only out of fear—fear of approaching Trevor about an annulment, fear of braving the gossips in London society, fear of being ill-received by either her father or her sister. While she was truly happy here, it was, she admitted, also just easier. But then the result of her choosing this effortless option for her life forced her to acknowledge that she was now exactly as her mother had been—weak and biddable and unfulfilled.

An hour later, Nicole was driving the buggy and the old nag into the village, the silk gowns next to her on the seat. She'd changed out of her workday dress and had donned a simple muslin of light green, having discarded also the kerchief in favor the familiar twisted braid secured at the back of her head.

The little village of Hornfield, though not more than one square mile, was actually quite a bustling place as within a ten-mile radius, there might be several dozen estates. The fact that it boasted a fairly well-kept travelers' inn and a modiste and milliner and shoemaker, all of excellent quality, meant that it saw much traffic.

Nicole entered Mrs. Lemmon's dressmaker shop, the trill of the bell above the door bringing that woman out from a back room.

She smiled when she saw Nicole. "Ah, miss, we have not seen you in so long."

Nicole smiled warmly at the matronly woman, whose jet black hair always seemed so unnatural against her wrinkled though still freckled skin. "Hello, Mrs. Lemmon. I haven't had a need of anything of late, but I wondered if any of these gowns might interest you." She placed the frothy stack upon the counter and watched the shopkeeper's eyes light up. "But of course, my dear! These are exquisite—London made, I'm sure."

Nicole nodded. "And barely worn, as you can see." The bell tinkled again, and two women entered, smiling at Nicole and Mrs. Lemmon at the counter before browsing the tables of ready-made wares.

"I can turn around and sell these immediately and as is! What would you like for them?"

"I was hoping for just some simple day gowns in exchange. I haven't need of anything too fine or fancy. As many as you think these gowns might afford me, and at least one more chemise, if you please."

"This will get you many gowns, miss."

Nicole lowered her voice, discussing the business side, "Mrs. Lemmon, please make sure that there is plenty of profit in this exchange for you."

The bell tinkled again just as Mrs. Lemmon said, "You are too sweet, miss. This will be a good deal for both of us." She then glanced up at the other shoppers and said to Nicole, "Let me see to these clients."

"Shall I put these in the back room?"

"Yes, please."

Nicole grabbed up the pile and walked them around the counter and through a curtained doorway, finding a table upon which to deposit the gowns. She returned to the front of the shop just in time to hear Trevor's voice. She froze, just outside that curtained door and saw him in conversation with Mrs. Lemmon, who obviously recognized a quality gentleman when she saw one. The woman was wearing her ‘best customer' smile just as Trevor looked up at Nicole and said, "Ah, here is my wife now."

Mrs. Lemon appeared nonplussed, glancing back and forth between Trevor and Nicole.

"But I thought—" Mrs. Lemmon stumbled, and Nicole grimaced. She'd not ever actually dissuaded the woman from her initial assessment of Nicole simply being a young miss, and not Lady Leven.

"I am her husband," the earl said—quite possessively, Nicole thought.

"I see," her words trailed off, her cheeks pinkening while Trevor somehow managed to keep his tight but affable smile intact.

"I would have driven you in, my dear," he said to Nicole, who reminded herself she hadn't done anything wrong—she certainly could not be held responsible for other people's assumptions.

"It was a last minute decision," she only said, and then to Mrs. Lemmon, who now appeared quite uncomfortable, "No hurry, Mrs. Lemmon, I'll stop back in a few weeks. Good day."

"And to you, my lady," she returned, adding a curtsy for the first time.

Trevor held the door for her, his hand just hovering near the small of her back as she passed through it. She might have kept right on walking to the gig parked out front, but Trevor had grabbed up her wrist from behind.

"And here I'd thought my eyes deceived me," he said, his tone laced with reprimand, "when I spied my little wife driving her own buggy into town."

Nicole whirled on him. "Let me guess—I am not allowed to drive myself?" She tugged at her wrist, but it was held tight. Why did his eyes have to be so magnificently blue?

"No, Nicki, you most certainly are not," he said with a humorless grin, "You are the Countess Leven, and she does not drive herself—how in the hell did you even learn to handle that thing?"

Nicole favored him with a rather impatient glare, lifting her free hand to remove the hair that the growing wind had blown into her face. "It's not like driving a team of four, my lord," she informed him without actually answering that Ian had spent several weeks with her, teaching her first how to care for the horse, how to attach the rig and harnesses, and then how to drive the contraption.

"No more."

Only because she hadn't any intention of arguing further with him in the street in the middle of town did she acquiesce, giving him a brief nod, which brought about the release of her hand. And because it presently—albeit childishly—pleased her to confound him, she said, "As you wish, my lord," before she turned and walked away, leaving the buggy and nag there in front of the modiste as she headed back to Lesser House.

TREVOR WATCHED HIS wife walk on down Main Street in Hornfield, appreciating the way the wind now pushed the light muslin against her, caressing her hips as she strolled, but decided that he was sorely aggrieved by her rather infuriating habit of simply walking away from him when she didn't like what he was saying. Possibly, she didn't exactly intend it as a reflection of his having walked away from her on their wedding day. Yet, whether intentional or not, the parallel remained. He'd only just arrived yesterday and so he would allow her a bit of time to adjust to his presence and to avail herself to this juvenile behavior—but only for so long. Not that he hadn't considered how he might react if it had been she who'd discarded him a year ago and then returned, expecting to make their marriage real.

With that in mind, he resolved that he ought to make some statement to her, in regard to his coming now and his desire for a true and full marriage—but this would necessitate her actually standing still before him for much longer than she had as of yet.

He saw to a few more items of business in town and then, about thirty minutes later, retrieved his own horse and tied it to the back of the buggy, leaving the line with a bit of slack, and hopped up onto the gig and drove toward the abbey.

He did not encounter his wayward wife on the return drive, which had him thinking she must have run the distance between Hornfield and the abbey, though that seemed unlikely. He turned an eye to the darkening sky, where gray clouds swirled menacingly, acknowledging it might serve her well if she were caught in an early summer rain.

But when he entered the house and inquired of his wife, he was informed by Franklin that she had not yet arrived.

"Where might she have gone, from the village?" Trevor asked, his frown—seeming to become a permanent fixture—instant and admittedly, a bit worried.

"I wouldn't worry so much, my lord," Franklin said, appearing today no less crooked than yesterday, "she's good with the buggy and should get home before the rains come."

It was quite evident from the butler's irascible tone that he knew damn well that Trevor had just pulled up in the gig. "Send a footman out to stable the horses," he instructed, choosing to ignore Franklin's barb.

The rains did come, and hard. Within half an hour of Trevor's return, the skies rolled with shifting and frightening clouds, which opened up to send torrents of rain upon the earth. Winds, which not so long ago had seemed only a nuisance, now sent the rains down in a near horizontal path at times.

Trevor pulled open the front door and watched the drive and beyond for Nicole but detected no sign of her. Rain fell down in blowing and rippled waves upon the gravel and was blown into the abbey through the open door. Trevor cursed volubly and slammed the door after a few minutes. He would have to fetch her, he knew, not dreading having to go out into the storm, only enraged that she put him and herself in this position.

He donned a coat and hat and dashed out through the storm to the stables, cursing her stubbornness with every sodden step he took.

He was nearly back upon the main street of Hornfield when, as quick as it had sprung, the storm did now abate. It dripped only lazily now, as if it had exhausted itself with its earlier ferocity. Trevor swept the drenched hat from his head and swiped it several times across his thighs before plunking it back down upon his head. The streets of Hornfield were bare now, the storm having chased everyone inside.

He spent the next hour visiting all the shops along the main street and even the Bear's Den Inn, and then a building whose lettering above the door announced it as "Mr. Pitney's Curiosities", but to no avail. There were only three more storefronts, these separated from the bulk of the shops by an intersecting road and several residences. Trevor sighed and headed toward them though had little hope of finding her still within Hornfield at this point.

NICOLE SAT IN THE CORNER of Adler's Book Emporium, perched delicately upon an overstuffed chair of rather dubious character, the arms being so low and near to the seat as to be useless and the legs having wobbled a bit as she'd sat. She'd left Trevor hours ago but hadn't gotten very far before the situation forming above her head insisted she instead find shelter rather than trying to outwalk the imminent rains. She'd turned back to where she'd deserted him and saw him nowhere upon the main street and so had ducked into Adler's.

Mr. Adler, a kindly man of rather dainty manners, who was quite familiar with Nicole from her regular purchase of one book a week, had greeted her warmly when she'd stepped inside his bookstore, happy to allow her to idle about while he chatted with a young couple, the man holding several volumes under his arm.

Of course, she'd have preferred to have spent the last few hours in the window seat in the library at Lesser House, with her legs tucked up underneath her and a pot of tea at her side. Presently, she perused Jane Austen's Pride and Prejudice—she'd read it three times already and only now skimmed the good parts—waiting out the storm. True, the rains had stopped, but Nicole waited yet for the ominous clouds to leave as well. She hadn't any intention of being caught up in more rain if she headed out now.

She had just reached the part where Mr. Darcy proposed to Elizabeth for the first time—not a good part, but for Elizabeth's composed and eloquent refusal of the man—when she felt someone watching her. Nicole lifted her eyes from the book, the words, "you were the last man in the world whom I could ever be prevailed upon to marry" fresh in her mind when she saw Trevor standing before her, looking perhaps as Mr. Darcy had at that moment, ill-tempered and astonished, though Trevor surely more bedraggled. The jacket he sported hung soaked and heavy against the lawn of his shirt, his boots squished as he walked toward her, his hair dripped and clung to his head and face, and his scowl would easily have rendered Mr. Darcy the merrier of the two.

Nicole slowly closed the book and sat straighter, biting her bottom lip as she stared at him. She hoped it wasn't her fault he'd been so obviously caught in that wild storm.

"Come, wife."

It seemed as if some heroic effort were made to say only these two words, and still Nicole thought to argue, but then his darkening gaze advised her that it would be folly to provoke him further. "Not the hill I want to die on," her father had been fond of saying, whenever she had questioned him about his giving in to Sabrina's wheedling and cajoling for things her parent had initially refused. As it was, she didn't fancy having to walk back to Lesser House upon surely muddy and slick roads and paths.

With a cool nod, she stood and walked to the shelf from which she'd pulled the Austen book and replaced it carefully. She was saved having to bid a good day to Mr. Adler, and likely suffer an inquiring lifting of his thin brow, as that man was not at the front desk.

Outside, she stopped and looked around for the buggy but saw only Trevor's magnificent steed. Trevor walked past her, grabbing up her hand as he did, then tugging her along to his horse. Her eyes widened. "I will not—" was cut off as she was lifted off the ground and placed sidesaddle upon the huge beast. She clung to the pommel, upon which her thigh nearly sat atop while Trevor put one foot into the stirrup and gained the rest of the saddle behind her. He passed the reins to his right hand, around the front of her and used his left hand to draw her back against him. With a click of his tongue and tug on the reins, the stallion turned abruptly and clopped along the road and out of town.

While every part of him that touched her was near wet and dripping still, Nicole felt only heat at all the parts that were pressed together. Once they were completely out of sight of the little village and while she hung on for dear life—this saddle was not made for a side-sitting position—Trevor instructed, "Swing your leg around now before you fall off."

She did as he commanded, knowing it would be a less difficult ride for her, but it was more easily said than done. Nicole was forced to lean back very hard into Trevor to lift her right leg around the horse and pommel. She felt his hand tighten around her midsection and did manage this feat though he did not then, once she was settled more comfortably astride, loosen his hold.

"I should have let you walk back to the abbey."

She raised her chin. "I would have gotten around to it, well before dark, I imagine." But she turned her head to consider the thick mud and muck that his horse did now tread and the tall grass on either side of the lane that would surely swipe about her hips if she'd been forced to accede to the grass to avoid the road. "Or, maybe not," she allowed.

They rode in silence then for several minutes, until Nicole was sure his anger had abated, even if only minimally. Then she dared, "Trevor, why have you come to Lesser House? Why now?" She felt him draw in a deep breath, felt it rise up along her back.

"I've come to claim my wife. But why do you and the others refer to it as Lesser House? It's Hyndman Abbey, or simply the abbey."

She shrugged. "It is less valued than any other Leven property, less cared for, less administered to, lesser than nothing, fit for only tucking away the unwanted servants and wives." She felt his response to this as well, a stiffening of his posture. And she decided she didn't want the complete or clarified answer to her query. There had been a time when the very self-assured and resolute tone he'd used to say, I've come to claim my wife, might have exhilarated her. But she'd been young and foolish then and that girl lived no more. "You must know that the manor has been neglected—to the point that it did not even retain a steward after the last one died so that only Franklin was left to receive rents and send them along, so I—we—continued to do just that. I had sent along several messages to you, via your land agent, asking for instruction and on at least one occasion, permission to spend some monies on the abbey and the farms, but it was as if Lesser House were only completely forgotten about. The only response received merely directed that we continue sending all accounts to an address in London."

"I knew nothing of these messages. But that is all about to change."

"It has changed," she said, imbuing both pride and defense into her voice. "Ian and I have a system in place now. We collect the rents each quarter, we visit the tenants and the farms, we administer to the people. It needs no interference now—the only thing we lack is to know to whom we should be reporting. We've not ever been asked to send the books or records, and no one has ever come to review...anything, not for many years, according to Franklin."

"I will have to address this with Leven's land agent, Mr. Percival. He manages all these matters for all of Leven's properties."

"Do you not oversee your own interests?"

"I am decidedly more involved than my father ever was—there was one thing my mother did speak truth about, my father's abysmal business sense."

"Is that why you were... in such dire financial straits?" It was a delicate subject, and certainly not meant for a lady's ear, but Nicole thought she'd earned the right to ask.

"Possibly. Truth be told, the title encompasses so many holdings, so much land, and even more investments, I haven't learned the half of it yet. I spent six months pouring over a property in Scotland, only to find out it wasn't entailed by the title, had actually come to the estate via my grandmother, and was worth thirty times the amount of income it saw yearly, so I sold it."

"That sounds like a good thing."

"It was—it is. Just wish it hadn't taken me six months, half of that time traveling back and forth from London to there to discover what the agent could have or should have already known."

"Is he incompetent?"

Trevor slowed the horse from a trot to a walk as they gained the drive of the abbey. "I think he is more just resistant to change—he'd been used to my father giving him free rein, not questioning anything."

Trevor dismounted when the horse stopped completely and pulled Nicole to the ground as she was saying, "If it were my title and my lands, I'd want to know everything. You should request a full accounting." She remembered that her father had several times a year requested as much from his bailiff. They would meet for an entire week, her father closeted in his study with his bailiff and several of the men in his employ.

"Do they ever open the door?" Trevor wondered as they reached the entrance of the abbey and he pushed the door open and allowed Nicole to pass.

"No, my lord. Unless they know we are expecting visitors," she said, glancing over at the fine rosewood clock on the table under the mirror, "which, as you may have guessed, is rare."

"But where is everyone?" He asked, never having recalled entering any of his homes, at any time, and not being greeted by some staff.

"It is tea time," was all she said to that. "Excuse me, I will freshen up."

Nicole left her husband standing in the foyer, possibly still waiting for someone, anyone, to come along and collect his hat and coat. He would wait quite a while, she mused, picking up her skirts to take the stairs and find her room.

She changed out of her morning dress and chose a pretty soft cream gown that would do well for tea and then dinner. She tried not to dwell too much upon that ride home with Trevor, nor think too long upon his body being so close to hers, nor how their conversation had come so easily. It was, after all, only business that they'd discussed, as most of their discourses of a personal nature came with a more pronounced difficulty.

Nicole slipped her feet into her silk slippers and returned to the first floor and the library.

"Ah, there she be," called Franklin from the chair nearest the large fireplace. He made to rise, likely to fetch Nicole's tea, but she waved him off. Nicole liked when he sat, as he seemed so much straighter. Maybe the support of the back of the chair offered more ease or less pain, but his face now was almost straight and forward, his neck and back being so much less bent.

"Sit, Franklin. I am surely able to pour my own tea." And she did, from the tray set upon the round table where sat Lorelei. Nicole was quite sure this was the little maid's favorite time of day. Her posture was always perfect here, and Nicole thought even her speech seemed to improve, and she regularly put forth so many questions to Nicole about proper etiquette and fashions and gossip, which Nicole thought quite endearing.

"Were you caught in the rains, miss?" Lorelei asked, extending her pinkie as she sipped from her cup.

"Thankfully, I was not. I took refuge inside Adler's. Then the earl happened upon me and brought me home."

"Happened upon you, did he?" Franklin asked with a knowing grin.

Abby sat in the chair across from Franklin, near to the fireplace, holding her cup of tea in her lap. She probably didn't hear half of the conversations around her, but smiled nonetheless, content with the company and the ease.

Nicole stirred her tea, having added a bit of sugar, and took her cup and saucer to her usual spot in the window seat. She paused at the settee where sat Charlie and Henry, their faces buried in books. Playfully, she flicked her finger on each book as she passed. "What are we reading, gentlemen?" This asked with considerable pride, as she and Ian had spent the entire winter teaching the boys how to read and write. They worked still on the writing, but with much less regularity as the boys adored reading and the stories to be found within all these tomes within the library.

"Same as yesterday," said Charlie, without lifting his face, "Robinson Crusoe."

Henry lifted his serious brown eyes to Nicole. He was younger than Charlie by several years and his speech was so often plagued by a stutter—when he did speak at all. He only held up the book to show her, The Mysteries of Udolpho.

Nicole plopped upon the cushions of the window seat, feeling her first bit of relaxation today. And just then, Ian entered the library, his hands holding several ledgers and files.

"Oh, Miss, you're back now," he said, setting down the books on the table across from the settee. He strode then to the tea table, where Lorelei was pouring his tea. The maid handed it to him with a pleased smile. Ian returned and sat at the table and said to Nicole, "We need to make a decision upon the thatch."

"We should go with the wheat, I think. It's more cost effective."

"But the mix of wheat and rye makes a better thatch, Mr. Adams said," Ian countered.

"Yes, but he said the wheat was ‘nearly' as good, and if we included rye, we would have to purchase it, as we do not grow enough."

"Fair enough."

"Miss, have you given any more thought about the dance?"

She actually hadn't in the last few days since Lorelei had first brought it up. Presently, she blamed this on Trevor's coming to Lesser House. "I'm sorry, Lorelei, I haven't. But let's talk about it now. Franklin, when was the last time the Earl of Leven sponsored a dance for all the people of the estate?"

"Oh, miss, it's been a decade, I'm sure," the old butler answered, then pursed his lips, as if recalling. "Yes, the present earl's father and mother were in attendance, the earl himself must have been only a boy—perhaps longer than a decade, then."

"But where was the dance held?" Nicole asked.

"Right here, miss, in the ballroom."

Lorelei leaned forward. "My mam says she met my da' there. She says there were twinkling lights and sweet music, and everyone wore their very best—though there'd be no silks or such."

"But lovely all the same, I'd wager," Nicole guessed.

"Mam still says it was her most favorite night ever," Lorelei said dreamily.

"But why have they never had another?" asked Nicole.

"Like as not," answered Franklin, "the earl's mother put a stop to that. She had no liking to be mingling with the lower classes, kept her nose up, she did. The old earl, he danced with everyone and laughed and played into the wee hours."

"Oh, but, miss," Lorelei said, clasping her hands to her breast, "say that we can, won't you?"

"You don't even know how to dance, proper-like," Charlie commented, having closed his book on a dog-eared page.

"And you do?" Lorelei shot back. "The miss will teach us, won't you?"

The idea started to take hold in Nicole, the idea of gathering all the people of Hyndman Abbey, welcoming them to the lord's house, providing a venue for a festive night, with music and dancing. She looked to Ian. "Can we afford that?"

"Dancing lessons?"

Nicole gave Ian a funny look. "A dance for all of Lesser House folk."

Henry interrupted. "Miss, what is T-o-u-l-o-u-s-e?"

"Toulouse," said a voice at the door. All eyes within the library turned to find the earl standing there, not exactly looking too pleased to find his servants gathered so informally in his library.

"But wh-what is it?" Henry asked, being the only one who seemed unperturbed by the lord's coming, while others cast wary glances at him, trying to discern his reaction to their very un-servant-like present behavior.

"It is a city in France," Trevor said, walking fully into the library. "I was ringing the bell," he said by way of reprimand.

"Can't hear that from here," Franklin said matter-of-factly, which had Nicole biting her lip in consternation.

She watched Trevor, aware, as others might not have been, of his jaw clenching, rather tightly. He'd changed out of his damp clothes, obviously without assistance—if he'd wanted that, he should have traveled with his valet, she thought uncharitably—but was dressed similarly as he had been, only now wore dry breeches and shirt and a different pair of Hessians.

But he only said, with some forced calmness, "Might I have some time with my wife while you recall some chore you should be about?"

And now they understood, and as one, they rose and exited the library, Franklin having to wake Abby as she had, as she normally did during tea time, dozed off.

Nicole unfolded her legs, placing her feet on the floor. She'd just known he would take exception to their tea time gathering, and she said as much to him when the door closed behind Ian, the last to exit.