When She Loved Me (REGENCY ROGUES: REDEMPTION #1) by Rebecca Ruger EPUB & PDF – eBook Details Online
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- Authors: Rebecca Ruger
- Language: English
- Genre: Historical Romance
- Format: PDF / EPUB
- Size: 2 MB
- Price: Free
September 1816
“WHAT DO YOU MEAN, WE are bankrupt?”
Trevor Wentworth, currently the seventh Earl of Leven, stared with
angry eyes at his mother. He’d been home less than a fortnight from Spain,
having sold his commission the moment he’d learned of the death of his
father. His mother had appeared at his townhouse only moments ago, the
first he’d seen of her in more than three years. Upon the death of her
husband and the return of her son two weeks ago, she’d chosen to retire to
the country instead of remaining in London, which somehow did not
surprise Trevor at all. After a brief greeting which included no query
regarding his health, his time with Wellington, or his grief over the loss of
his father, she’d dropped this into his lap.
“Actually,” his mother clarified, “you are bankrupt.” Elinor Wentworth
took no pains to pretend a sympathy for her son’s new predicament. She sat
tall and regal upon a fine leather wing chair in Trevor’s study, her black
widow’s weeds as stiff as she, her hair the only lightness about her, the soft
brown of her youth having given way years ago to dull gray.
“Yes, you have said as much. I’m asking how,” Trevor said, pouring
himself a healthy snifter of brandy. Making it through a decent visit with his
mother usually required the casual consumption of spirits. This occasion,
here and now, apparently was going to necessitate reinforcements.
“With your sainted father’s indiscretions,” she sneered. There was
something still striking about the woman, despite the contortion of her
features. Raising a carefully drawn brow to her son, she added, “Your father
was a terrible husband—as evidenced by his penchant for lightskirts and
cheap brothels—but even worse, he had no head for business.”
With his glass of brandy nearly empty already, Trevor sat down upon
hearing this news. His father, Harold Wentworth, had been an honorable
man. They’d shared much. Trevor had liked to think they’d had no secrets.
Yes, Trevor had known about his sire’s indiscretions, but could never find
any suitable abhorrence in the habit, and, in all honesty, couldn’t blame
him; Elinor Wentworth was not the sort of woman to inspire either affection
or fidelity. But Trevor hadn’t a clue that his father, and the estate, had
struggled financially. “It cannot be true,” he murmured.
“And yet, here I am, telling you that it is,” his mother retorted. Nowhere
in her tone was there evidence of the discomfiture and shame that should
accompany this news. She stood, nearly as tall as any man, and saw to her
own drink as her son seemed disinclined to offer her one, pouring out two
fingers of sherry into a small-stemmed glass. “I’d warned you your hero
worship of that man was a wasted endeavor.”
Shaking his head, to rid himself of both the sudden haziness and his
mother’s acidity, Trevor requested tersely, “Explain in detail, if you please.”
“Your pointless idolism of your father?” Elinor asked with a saccharin
smile. “Oh, you mean the dwindling of the estate down to less than
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