Evette woke in her own bed at the Donovan mansion.
Claire sat in a nearby chair and quickly filled her in on all that had happened. “We brought you here because most civilian hospitals are full of influenza cases. You should rest. I’m going to visit Warren. He’s in a military hospital.” Claire reached for Evette’s good hand. “I’ll check on you when I get back.”
Evette nodded, surprised Claire had waited the night with her when Warren was also injured. But perhaps the military hospital had restricted visiting hours.
Mr. Franke and the arthritic housekeeper came to check on her often. Evette didn’t feel like eating, but they convinced her to drink some juice, then to nibble on some rolls. By midafternoon, she felt well enough to walk into the garden. When she got there, she realized she should have rested longer. Going back now would take too much effort, so she wrapped the blanket she’d brought from her room around her shoulders and sat on the bench. Within minutes she was smiling as she recalled the last time she had been in the garden and the man she’d been with. She felt her temple where he’d kissed her. Julian’s lips were absolutely perfect, and according to Claire, he had risked his life to save her.
Yet soon the thoughts that had haunted her all morning returned. Mr. Donovan was a traitor. Claire had put on a brave face, but Evette could tell she was crushed. Major Flynn was seriously injured. And though the war was over, she wasn’t sure it would ever really leave her.
She took a deep breath, closed her eyes, and did her best to seal her mind to all the bad memories. It was the warmest part of the day, and despite the season, the sun shone clearly, pouring into the garden like a promise of something good to come.
“Evette?”
She recognized Julian’s voice and turned.
“May I sit with you?”
“Please.” She slid along the bench to make room for him.
“How are you?” He brought a hand up to touch her cheek. “You were so pale last night. Like you were about to slip into the grave.”
“I almost did. Thank you for saving me.”
“I’m glad I made it in time.”
Evette glanced at the bandage wrapped around her wrist and recalled the way she’d felt when she’d regained consciousness. It had been close.
“Evette?”
“Hmm?”
“You haven’t answered my question. How do you feel?”
“Better than I did this morning.”
“And how did you feel this morning? Remember, you promised you’d never lie to me.”
Evette felt a smile form on her lips. She wanted to be more open with Julian than she felt was proper, and he had just given her a reason. “This morning I felt horrible. Weak. Dizzy. Nauseated.” She paused, the joy of being with Julian smothered by her recollection of what had been the worst part of waking up. “And I feel awful about everything that’s happened. I would give anything for Lohr’s contact to have been someone other than Mr. Donovan. If I hadn’t seen it myself, I don’t know that I’d believe it. He was always so kind to me before.”
“That’s what Warren said. But he also said Mr. Donovan was using him as a source.”
“How is Major Flynn? I heard bits and pieces about what happened in the basement.”
Julian didn’t answer right away. “His shoulders are sore. When I saw him last night, it looked like every breath was an effort. I saw him again this morning in the hospital. Most movement makes him wince, but he could breathe without pain.”
“Will he be all right?”
“The doctor thinks he’ll have mostly normal function eventually. His shoulders may always be a little fragile, but there shouldn’t be any reason he can’t still fly once he’s feeling up to it.”
“I’m glad.”
“And you, will you be all right?”
Evette held up her wrist. “Just a little scar is all, here on my wrist. And I suppose a larger one on my heart.” Warm tears formed, and she tried to blink them away.
Julian rested his hand on her back. His simple touch radiated sympathy and support.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I don’t mean to cry. It’s just . . . I thought the war was bad enough, thought it had hurt me all it could when the Armistice came. I wasn’t prepared for this. It seems so small compared to everything else that’s happened, but it hurt me more. Not my wrist—it’s painful, but the skin will heal—but I was ready for good things, not betrayal and more tragedy.”
“We’ve all seen enough tragedy, haven’t we?”
Evette sniffed, and Julian held her hand in his.
“I feel like that sometimes,” he said. “Like the war has stolen everything from me. For a long time, I thought it would strip me of my future—my chance to work on the dairy, the hope of a family. When I was in Germany, I’d sometimes let myself think about what might have happened if the war hadn’t come. And I thought maybe I would have gone to visit Maximo, not just his widow. And maybe I would have met you because you both lived in the same village. And maybe I would have asked your name instead of rushing off to the train station, and come back the next day to ask if I could take you on a walk. I could have found an excuse to stay longer, and maybe I would have courted you, and maybe we would have fallen in love and gotten married. The war stole that from me. It stole a lot of other things from me too, took my friends and my health. But you . . . you were the missed opportunity I thought about the most.”
Julian turned her hand over and traced the lines of her palm. “Then I saw you at that party, and I thought maybe God was giving me another chance. The war had taken so much, but God was giving me something back, something worth living for.” He withdrew his hand slowly. “I had every intention of courting you, but then I found out McDougall too is pursuing you.”
“I’ve made no promise to Howard.”
“He saved my life, you know, over in Germany.” Julian leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees and staring into the garden. “Anyone else, and I wouldn’t care what his claims on you were . . . but with him it’s different.” Julian glanced back at her. “I thought long and hard about it, and ultimately it’s your decision, your happiness. You know where my heart lies because I laid it bare in that letter. I still feel every word I wrote. You’re ill today, and you may need time, but let me know when your heart decides.”
He stood, and she reached out a hand to him. “Please don’t go yet.”
“All right.” He stayed, but he did not sit.
“I think I’ve already made my decision.”
“Do you love McDougall?”
Evette inhaled and exhaled deeply. Why was it so hard to breathe? She’d promised Julian she would never lie to him, so she answered as honestly as she could. “I respect him, and I admire him. I know he’s fond of me. He would never hit me and would always see that my needs were met. Life with him would be secure, and yet I dream of more. He didn’t trust I’d seen Lohr again. It hurt, and that’s not the first time he’s shrugged off my opinion. I can understand why—I’ve received only a basic education, and I’m a woman. But as his wife, I would never be his equal.”
Evette pulled the blanket more tightly around her shoulders. “According to Claire, at least the old Claire, I should hold out for someone who’s wealthy, someone who will worship me, sweep me off my feet. But I don’t think I want to be worshiped, and in any case, I don’t think men like that are real.” She glanced at Julian. “I could be content with Howard. But somewhere between settling for someone safe and searching for someone who isn’t real, I think there’s another option. Happiness and joy and you, Julian.”
He turned toward her, a wistful look on his face. “I am poor, I will never fully recover my health, and the war has left me a little broken.”
Evette stood and stepped closer to him, stumbling as a wave of dizziness flowed from her feet up to her head. Julian was at her side in an instant, supporting her with one hand on her elbow and the other on the small of her back.
“You should be resting. Let me help you sit down again.”
“Only if you sit with me.”
He nodded. Evette purposely sat near the middle of the bench so he would be forced to sit right beside her.
“Julian, what I mean to say is that life doesn’t have to be perfect in order to be good. I think I could find real happiness with you, and that’s what I want—more than anything.”
Julian cupped her face in his hand. “You choose me?”
“Yes.” Evette leaned into his hand and closed her eyes as he brought his face toward hers. The kiss that followed began gently. One second, two seconds, maybe three passed. Time no longer mattered. His kiss was almost shy, but it somehow resonated all the way to her heart. Maybe this was what Claire had meant when she’d spoken of being swept off her feet. Evette didn’t want her time with Julian to ever end.
* * *
Julian stayed with Evette until she was ready to retire for the night. She slept in the next day, and when she woke, she did little other than rest and wait for news.
McDougall came to see her at noon. He held a bouquet of flowers in one hand and wore an uncertain smile when Mr. Franke showed him into the parlor.
“These are for you.”
She took the bouquet, inhaling the scent of lavender. The weather had turned cold, so he must have paid a premium for them at the flower shop. “Thank you. They’re beautiful.”
They chatted for a while about the weather, about the Armistice. Then the conversation turned to espionage. “I am sorry I didn’t do more to track down Lohr the night of the party.”
She nodded, accepting his apology but not knowing how to reply to it.
“Can you forgive me?”
He had been quick to forgive her when she’d stolen his files, so she returned the favor. “Of course.”
He hesitated, looking at the floor for a few moments before turning back to her. “I’ve been planning for the end of the war a long while now. And some time ago I decided that I wanted you to be a part of my life when everything was over. Will you marry me, Evette?”
She hated how much she was going to hurt him but knew she couldn’t delay any longer. “I’ve considered it. You’re a good man, Howard. You’re smarter and braver than Major Halliday or your father ever gave you credit for. But I’m not in love with you.”
“Not everyone marries for love. Pleasant marriages often grow passionate with time.”
“It’s not just that. I’m in love with Julian.”
McDougall’s eyes narrowed into angry slits, but he glared at a spot on the wall rather than at her. “Julian Olivier is poor, and his lungs are scarred. He can only give you a fraction of what I can give you.”
“I know, but I love him anyway. I’m sorry. I never wanted to hurt you.” She reached for his hand, but he pulled it away.
He inhaled deeply, then looked up at her. “Is there anything I can do to change your mind?”
She shook her head, not trusting her voice.
“I shall always regret the day I met Julian. But I shall never regret the day I met you. I shall just regret not asking you sooner.” He sat there for a few moments, his mouth tense as his hands gripped the upholstery. “I shall be on my way. But my offer stands if you’re ever willing to give me a chance instead.”
He walked out the door, his shoulders slumped and his eyes on the floor. Evette felt a mix of emotions. She didn’t doubt she’d made the right choice, but she wished her decision hadn’t created pain for anyone else.
Claire returned from the hospital a few hours later and sat next to Evette on the sofa.
“How is Major Flynn?” Evette asked.
“It will take time, and he’s still in a great deal of pain, but he’s improving.”
“And how are you?”
Claire was quiet for a while. “I’m so ashamed, Evette. How could my father do what he did? And how could I never suspect him? And how can I abhor someone and love them at the same time? I’ve told Warren I’m sorry, begged for his forgiveness. He says there’s nothing to forgive, but . . . how could I be so blind?”
“You aren’t the only one he fooled. I’m sorry, Claire.”
Claire reached out and grasped her hand. “I know it’s going to be awful for a while, but I also know it will get better. I have Warren, and I have you. Love and friendship. That will help.”
Claire’s wisdom struck a chord with Evette. Love and friendship. No matter how dark the world was, no matter how uncertain the peace was, those two things could make it better.