No Other Love (30 page)

“Yes, miss.”

‘Now, I would appreciate it if you would leave. I am afraid that I come here every afternoon for the much more mundane purpose of drying herbs and making infusions and such, and I have work to do. Goodbye.”

She strode back into the cottage, then watched from the window while Stone mounted his horse and rode off. Nicola presumed he would try to find the tracks where they came out on the other side of the rock, but she was confident that Jack would be far away and would have covered his tracks well enough that Stone would have no success.

Her first thought was to go home and give Richard a piece of her mind for having her followed. She was furious—primarily at herself for not having thought about the fact that Richard would wonder about her frequent absences from Tidings—and it would be a great relief to take that anger out on someone she despised as much as Richard.

However, she soon rejected that notion. In her anger, she just might let something slip that would let Richard know that the highwayman was really Gil. That would only make matters much worse. If he had looked for Jack with intensity before, it would be nothing compared to how he would search for him now. To find out that the highwayman who had made a fool of him and stolen his money was the very same man who had, to his way of thinking, stolen Nicola from him would be the ultimate insult. Nicola had no illusions that Richard had ever really loved her; she did not believe the man was capable of actual love. But he had desired her and had wanted to make her his wife, and she knew that it must have eaten at him all this time that she had preferred a common stable boy to him. Why else would he have gone to such lengths to get rid of Gil?

Besides, it would probably only confirm his suspicions about her and the highwayman if she reacted with such emotion. It would be better, she reasoned, if she reacted mildly, perhaps even treating it as a joke. Richard hated to be laughed at, and if he thought that she was amused by his actions, he might just stop them. At the least, it ought to give him pause and make him wonder if his suspicions were correct.

So she packed her things without haste and rode back to Tidings. There, she bathed and changed and avoided Richard until dinner.

Then, when the three of them were seated, their soup in front of them, she said lightly, “Really, Richard, don’t you think it was a bit…shall we say, deéclassé to have your man follow me this afternoon?”

“Follow you?” Deborah looked at her. “What are you talking about?”

“Mr. Stone—you know, that Bow Street Runner—followed me on my afternoon ride.”

“But why—is that true?” Deborah turned toward her husband, a puzzled expression on her face.

“Not exactly as Nicola put it,” Richard replied easily. “I have been a trifle concerned about your sister’s safety, since she insists on riding out every afternoon without a groom when there are bandits lurking about. So I did ask Stone to keep an eye on her, make sure no harm came to her.”

“No doubt that is why he was looking in cupboards and behind doors.”

“In cupboards?” Deborah repeated. “In cupboards where? What are you talking about?”

“At Granny Rose’s cottage,” Nicola explained, watching Richard for any sign of reaction at the mention of Gil’s grandmother.

There was a moment of silence. Richard’s expression did not change, though Nicola thought she saw something flicker in his eyes.

“Granny Rose!” Deborah exclaimed. “But—but she’s dead, isn’t she? Has been for years.”

“Yes, she is. Her cottage stands vacant. It was in terrible shape. One day when I was out riding I went there, and when I saw how overgrown it was, I could not bear for it to look like that, so I went back and worked in the yard. That is where I have been the past few days, restoring her herb garden. She has a wonderful little space inside for working with remedies, too, and I have been using that. Making salves, drying herbs, things like that.” She sighed. “I suppose that is ruined now. I shall always be looking over my shoulder, expecting one of Richard’s men to pop in on me.”

“They won’t harm you. I only want to make sure you’re safe.”

“Mmm.” Nicola put just a tinge of disbelief in her tone. She turned toward her sister. “I think the truth is, Deborah, that Richard believes I am clandestinely meeting the highwayman. Mr. Stone was terribly disappointed not to find him, I’m afraid.”

Deborah looked at her blankly. “Why would you be meeting the highwayman?”

“I am sure I don’t know,” Nicola replied. “I believe it is Richard who thinks that.”

“I don’t think that,” Richard said, watching her intently. “It is you who brought up the subject.”

“I don’t understand,” Deborah put in plaintively. “We seem to be talking in circles.”

“Yes. Rather tiring, isn’t it?” Nicola said carelessly. “Why don’t we speak of something else? How is that lovely blanket you’re knitting coming along?”

Deborah’s face brightened at the mention of her latest project with Nurse, and she began to chatter animatedly. Nicola responded enough to keep the conversation going and wondered if she had made any headway in deflecting Richard’s suspicions.

N
ICOLA KNEW SHE COULD NOT SEE
Jack again for a while, not with Stone following her wherever she went. It was, she realized the next morning, a depressing prospect.

She spent the next day with Deborah and Nurse, working on baby clothes. As she worked and listened to them talk, she remembered exactly why it was that she had decided not to help them but to go clean up Granny’s cottage instead.

The next afternoon she went back to Granny’s cottage. She knew that Stone would follow her, and she wanted him to see her spend her afternoon working at the cottage alone. If she stayed away from the cottage now, it would rouse Richard’s suspicions even more. She was certain that Jack would not be there. He was far too smart to return after yesterday.

Somehow, working at the cottage by herself was even worse than staying at Tidings. Here she missed Jack all the time, and everything she saw or did reminded her of him. Pulling up stray weeds that were defiantly poking through the soil again, she remembered him working there, cutting and pulling and chopping the weeds with a hoe. When she brewed tea in the kitchen, she pictured him sitting at the kitchen table, talking and smiling. If she sat on the sofa she thought of them sitting there or lying in front of it, warming themselves by the fire. When she left the cottage a few hours later, shutting the door behind her, she decided that she would not come back for a few days.

She spent the next morning idling about the house, sitting with Nurse and Deborah for a while, then looking through the library for something to read. Finally she took three books back to her room and settled down. But she found it difficult to concentrate. She kept thinking about Jack and wondering how and when she was going to be able to see him again.

The knock on the door startled her from a daydream about Jack, and she jumped, the book sliding from her lap onto the floor. A parlormaid entered with a note on a silver tray, and Nicola took it eagerly.
Perhaps her aunt needed her for some reason.

With even greater delight, she recognized the handwriting as that of her friend Penelope. Eagerly, she tore open the note and began to read.

Nicola smiled, knowing exactly how harrowing it would have been to have been stuck in a carriage for two days with Penelope’s mother, the vocal, opinionated and domineering Lady Ursula.

It came as no surprise to Nicola that her friends had sent a note rather than coming to call on her and her sister. The Countess had not stepped foot in Tidings since the day she had moved out more than twenty-two years ago, unable to bear seeing it in the hands of Richard instead of her dead son. Now that they had found out the details of Richard’s treachery all those years ago, the Countess and her family despised him. None of them would think of coming to call on anyone at his house.

Eagerly Nicola bounced to her feet and hurried to the wardrobe to pull out her riding habit. It seemed like ages since she had seen her friends, and she was bursting with news to tell them. It took her only a few minutes to dress and tell her sister about the Countess’s arrival. Then she flew down the stairs and out to the stables, and soon was on her way to the Dower House to see her friends.

T
HE
D
OWER
H
OUSE LAY AT SOME DISTANCE
from Tidings, on a separate piece of property from the rest of the Exmoor estate, north of the village and rather closer to both it and Buckminster Hall than to Tidings.

However, Nicola did not mind the long ride. She was eager to see her friends again. She had not realized until she received Penelope’s note how much she wanted to talk to someone about Jack. She could not say anything to her sister about it. After all, Deborah was married to the Earl, and she could not risk her repeating something to Richard. But Penelope and Marianne were people to whom Nicola felt she could say almost anything.

She arrived a trifle flushed from the ride, her hair somewhat disarrayed, but she knew that Penelope and Marianne would not mind. Lady Ursula, of course, was another matter, but Nicola had learned long ago to put that overbearing woman’s remarks out of her mind as soon as she heard them.

She handed over the reins of her horse to one of the grooms and started toward the front door. As she rounded the corner of the garden, a small redheaded form burst out of the bushes, shouting, “Boo!”

Nicola gasped, her hand going to her heart, then smiled as the young girl before her burst into a fit of giggles.

“Did I scare you?” Rosalind asked, her dark blue eyes gleaming. Rosalind was Marianne’s nine-year-old daughter, and she had her mother’s coloring and tall, graceful body. Nicola had no doubt that one day Rosalind would be one of the great beauties of the Ton. Right now, however, she was an engaging hoyden.

“Rather,” Nicola said emphatically, knowing that Rosalind would be delighted to hear it. “Didn’t you know that you are supposed to treat us older people with respect?”

Rosalind giggled again. “You aren’t old. Grandmama is old. But she is very beautiful, don’t you think?”

Nicola nodded. Rosalind’s grandmother, the Countess of Exmoor, was in her seventies, and her tall frame was becoming a trifle bent with age, but there was no mistaking the beauty in her face. “Yes, I do. Is your mother at home?”

“Yes. They sent me outside with my governess.”

“Your governess?” Nicola made a great show of looking about and seeing no one. “Where is this personage? Is she invisible? What a remarkable woman!”

“No. She’s down at the other end of the garden.”

“Looking for you?” Nicola tried to look severe, but it was spoiled by a smile.

Rosalind nodded. “Mama says I should be kinder to Miss Northcutt. I try, I really do, but she is such a gabster! And she never talks about anything interesting. Just boring old kings and things. Did you know that she said the mark of a great lady is the way she sits! Do you think that’s true?”

“Not really,” Nicola admitted. “I would think it is her character.”

“
I
thought it was a silly thing to say, myself. Although—” Rosalind considered the matter “—Grandmama does sit awfully straight.”

Nicola smiled. “That is true. But I think there are probably a good number of other women who sit equally straight but haven’t half the Countess’s character. You really like your new grandmother, don’t you?”

“Oh, yes. She’s ever so interesting. She lets me look through her jewels sometimes, and she tells me stories about them, how they came into the family and everything. Of course, she’s not like Gran,” Rosalind said, referring to the eldest woman of Marianne’s former and quite unusual “family.” “Grandmama doesn’t know how to mark an ace, and I can beat her at whist lots and lots of the time. Still, I have fun with her.”

“It’s nice that your grandmothers are different,” Nicola replied, seeing the child’s vague expression of guilt. “It wouldn’t be much fun if they were just alike. You and Gran can do some things together, and you and your Grandmama can do others.”

“That’s true.” Rosalind skipped ahead of her and darted up the front steps to grab the door knocker and send it crashing into the door three times in quick succession. She grinned at Nicola. “I always go in the kitchen door, but you must come in the front because you are company. I’m glad. I haven’t been able to use that knocker since I got here.”

A footman opened the door to them almost immediately. “Miss Falcourt. Miss Rosalind.” He delighted the child by bowing to her as gravely as he did to Nicola. “If you will sit down, I will tell Miss Castlereigh that you are here.”

He ushered them into a pleasant drawing room, decorated in dark mahogany furniture and accented with blue in the drapes and chair cushions. Rosalind, plopping down on one of the brocade-cushioned chairs, offered to stay to keep Nicola company.

“That is very kind of you.”

Rosalind nodded, bouncing on the cushion. “Mama will make me leave,” she said without rancor. “She says I am unkind to poor Miss Northcutt. But don’t you think Miss Northcutt could make a bit of push to be more fun?”

“Mmm. Perhaps. But you must remember that sometimes people are nervous when they first know one. She may be afraid that you and your mother will be disappointed in her. Maybe she wants to make sure you realize that she knows a lot of things.”

“Afraid?”

“Why, yes. If she lost this job, it would probably be very difficult for her.”

Rosalind considered this. “Oh.” After a moment, she slid off the chair. “Perhaps I had better go down to the end of the garden and find Miss Northcutt. I truly didn’t mean to worry her.”

“Of course not. That would be nice of you.”

Rosalind flounced out of the room, intent on her new good deed.

Almost immediately afterward, Rosalind’s mother swept into the room, followed by her cousin Penelope, both of them beaming and reaching out to Nicola. The contrast between the two women was striking. Marianne was tall and voluptuous, with flaming red hair and dark, midnight-blue eyes. She was, Nicola thought, the most beautiful woman she had ever met—except for her sister Alexandra, whose vibrant dark looks were equally arresting. Penelope, on the other hand, was small, slender and pale, the sort of woman who generally receded into the background wherever she was. Penelope had, however, blossomed the past few months. There was now a glow to her cheeks and a gleam in her eyes, brought about largely, Nicola knew, by her newfound love.

Even though Nicola had known Marianne for only a few months, in some ways she felt closer to her than to any of the aristocrats with whom Nicola had lived for years. Because Marianne had spent her youth in an orphanage and had even gone into service when she left that institution, completely unaware of her noble family, she did not have the snobbery and class consciousness of many of Nicola’s peers. She found Nicola’s work among the poor women of London admirable, without expressing even a tinge of distaste. She had entered into Nicola’s endeavors, donating some of her newfound wealth and, perhaps more important, several days of her time to assisting at Nicola’s charitable house.

Marianne had a ready, warm sense of humor and was fiercely loyal to those whom she loved. She enjoyed a good shopping spree with Nicola, but she was equally happy discussing books with Penelope. There were times when Nicola felt as if she had known her for years instead of only a few months, and she was one of the few people on whom Nicola felt she could rely.

“Nicola!” both women cried joyfully, and Nicola stepped forward to hug each of them.

“It seems as if it’s been months, not weeks, since you left London,” Penelope told her. “We persuaded Grandmama to come down here early.” Lowering her voice, she added, “Mama, too.”

Nicola could not imagine Penelope’s mother letting even the smallest of wedding details go on without her. She suspected from the rather harried look in Penelope’s eyes that Ursula was causing a good bit of disruption.

“Disagreements over wedding plans?” she asked lightly.

Marianne rolled her eyes expressively. “There have been moments when I thought that Grandmama and Aunt Ursula might come to fisticuffs.”

Penelope giggled. “Grandmama did start banging her cane on the floor one day. I don’t think I have ever seen her do that before.”

Nicola felt sure that if anyone could drive the dignified Countess into slamming her cane, it would be her opinionated daughter.

“It is fortunate that it is a double wedding, actually,” Marianne said. “When Aunt Ursula is causing too much of a disruption in the plans, Lambeth will turn very future duke-ish and say that that is the way it is done in his family.” Even as she arranged her face in a turned-up, snobbish pose, there was a light that warmed her eyes at the thought of her fiancé.

“That’s true,” Penelope agreed. “Mama has always been a trifle in awe of Lambeth.”

The three of them sat down in a cozy cluster on a small sofa and a matching chair at right angles to it and proceeded to catch up on the most recent gossip. After a few snippets of what new lover Lady Armbruster had taken and what lord’s son had fallen in with cardsharps and who had lost a fortune at White’s on a bet over a race between bugs, Marianne paused, looking at Nicola thoughtfully.

“I don’t think you are terribly interested in this, are you?” she asked, her eyes narrowing.

“No, of course I am,” Nicola protested without much conviction.

Penelope laughed at her tone. “Marianne’s right. I am surprised I didn’t see it.” She leaned forward, looking into her old friend’s eyes. “There’s something going on with you. What is it?”

Nicola smiled. “Well…yes, there is. I—I don’t know where to begin.”

“You are in love!” Marianne exclaimed.

“No! Nicola, is that true?”

“How did you know?” Nicola asked, startled.

“Then it
is
true!” Penelope cried in delight. “Marianne, you’re so clever. How did you guess?”

The lovely redhead shrugged. “Just something about her face.” She turned to Nicola. “You are always beautiful, but I don’t recall ever seeing such a glow on your face.” She paused, smiling, then added, “It is the way I feel inside.”

Nicola chuckled. “You are right. I am in love. But I don’t know whether he loves me, and it—oh, it’s all such a tangled mess. I don’t know what to do.”

“That sounds like love,” Marianne said wryly. “Tell us all about it.” The two women edged closer to her.

“I shall try. Do you remember when I told you that Richard had killed the man I loved years ago?”

“Yes, of course,” Marianne replied. “You said you thought it was an accident at the time, but you were no longer so sure.”

Nicola nodded. “I have found out since that it definitely was not an accident.”

“That man is wicked!” Penelope cried out, clenching her small fists. “If only there were some way to expose him! What did he do?”

Nicola told them about her love for the Tidings stable boy and how Richard had found out and struggled with him atop Lady Falls, finally sending Gil over the edge. Penelope, who had heard most of the story over the years, nodded, while Marianne listened in rapt silence.

“Then, about two weeks ago, I found out that he didn’t murder him. Gil didn’t die. He came back.”

Both her friends listened, slack-jawed, as she told them what Gil had revealed to her about Richard and how he had had Gil impressed into the navy.

“But that is almost as good as a death sentence!” Marianne exclaimed.

“It’s typical of Richard,” Penelope added bitterly. “Look at what he did to you. He doesn’t usually have the courage to kill, but he ruins people’s lives without compunction. He has no heart.”

“I think you’re right,” Nicola agreed. “I despise him. I wish to God my sister were not married to him! But what about Gil? How could he have loved me and still believe what Richard said about me?”

Penelope frowned. “I don’t know. How did he explain it?”

“I don’t know that he did, really. I don’t think even yet that he is sure I didn’t turn him over to Richard. We don’t know how Richard got hold of his letter to me. Gil’s grandmother would not have given it to him, but I never received it.”

“I imagine he is afraid to believe you,” Penelope said shrewdly. “If he admits that you did not get the letter, he has to face the fact that he threw away the last ten years for both of you because his faith in you wasn’t strong enough.”

“I don’t know that it was his faith in Nicola,” Marianne put in. “No matter how much he loved you, he knew that there was this practically unbridgeable gap between the two of you. You probably don’t understand that part of how he felt, but I do. I grew up a servant, you know, and the ruling class was so far away from us. It was absurd to think that one of them might love you, marry you. The nobility may use us—may, on occasion, even love us—but they don’t
marry
us. It was your background, your status, that he distrusted, not you.”

“Maybe so, but how can we go on if he cannot trust me, even yet? Will he always be questioning me, distrusting me? Will every little mistake I make be seen as some betrayal of him?” Nicola sighed. “Yet when I am with him…we are so happy. We don’t talk about any of that, and everything is…blissful.”

Marianne smiled. “That is what I see in your face.”

“But you have not heard the worst of it,” Nicola continued.

“There’s more?” Marianne asked, startled. “There’s worse?”