One week later Evelyn found herself sharing tea with her newly met relations. Relatives were just like all of the other strangers she’d encountered through the years of travel with her father, she decided. Some were kindhearted and welcoming, some distinctly were not.
“You must do something about your hair, my dear,” the haughty Lady Barclay chided from over the rim of her teacup. “It really is not a terrible shade of blond, and if curled properly, could be almost stylish.”
“I tried already, Claire,” added Lady Fontaine. “She has her mind set.”
“You ought to reconsider Miss Myrtle’s services as Justin arranged for you. I am absolutely certain that she can do better than your foreign woman.” She patted her hand against her ash blond coiffure. “Cannot trust dark-skinned people to do anything properly.”
Evelyn bit her inner cheek to keep from lashing out at the arrogant woman. Upon meeting Lord Barclay’s mother, she could not help but take the self-aggrandizing, pinch-faced Claire Barclay into instant dislike. She did not know which offended her most, the lady’s overbearing air or her habit of inserting an insult into every commentary.
Evelyn sipped from her teacup, relishing the bittersmooth Bohea. She studied the dark brown liquid swirling in her china cup. “This tea is divine.”
Lady Barclay scowled and sent an exasperated, caustic glare at her cousin. “Cheeky,” she muttered under her breath so that everyone could hear. “Doesn’t know when to accept the advice of her betters.”
Lady Fontaine sent Evelyn an apologetic grimace. Evelyn liked the honey-brown shade of the older woman’s eyes, which were webbed by rays of fine lines. With her pleasant countenance, heavy breasts, and broad hips, she was the personification of ancient earth mother statues. Her four children seemed to adore her. The oldest, Madeline, who favored her mother, was coming out this Season in the hopes of landing a husband. Lord Barclay had a sister coming out as well. According to Lady Fontaine, Audrey was a sweet child with a pleasant demeanor like her brother’s.
Lady Fontaine was quite effusive where her nephew was concerned. She ascribed the attributes of charm, intelligence, keen wit, and consideration to the young marquis. Evelyn had managed to keep her business in Town foremost in her mind and likewise to categorize the young marquis as “cousin.” Thus, she’d avoided reacting like a ninny when the striking man came to call, as he frequently did. He’d been quite attentive since escorting her from the docks. Thoughtful, yet not intrusive. Since he seemed impervious to his own appeal, it made it all the easier to treat him as anything other than devastatingly handsome. She had no idea how he’d remained unattached for so long, but that was none of her business. None whatsoever. Perhaps it was the prospect of such a snake-tongued mother-in-law that frightened the marriageable young ladies away.
“You’d think she’d show more appreciation, living on the goodwill of others,” Lady Barclay said as she nodded at Evelyn. “I understand you have no one else in the world.”
Evelyn did not need Lady Barclay’s vile tongue to remind her of how precarious her situation was. “I am quite grateful to Lord and Lady Fontaine for their kindness. Indeed, in my travels, I have found that graciousness, like all the finer arts, is enhanced with application.” She locked eyes with the dragon lady. “And when one does not exercise such good graces, one runs the risk of becoming unbearably cantankerous.”
Lady Barclay’s eyes narrowed.
Evelyn smiled sweetly, ready to slay the dragon in her lair.
Lady Fontaine set down her cup with a loud rattle. “Claire! Ah, we have the most wonderful news. Ah, Evelyn has achieved the impossible for us, and we are quite indebted to her.”
Lady Barclay studied Evelyn over her teacup with her sharp green gaze, apparently deciding to pretend she had not been insulted. “Really, the impossible, you say?”
“She somehow managed to get Jane to stop biting her nails.”
“I never could understand how you allowed Jane to develop such a nasty habit, Leonore.” Apparently Lady Barclay had found a new target. “It bespeaks terrible failing as a mother.”
“But she does it no longer,” Lady Fontaine replied triumphantly. “I have no idea how Evelyn managed it, given we have tried everything under the sun to get her to stop, but Jane is cured.” She turned to Evelyn. “We are so very grateful, my dear.”
“It was Jane who chose to change her behavior, my lady,” she stated evenly. “No one can force another to break a lifelong habit.”
“Nonsense,” insisted the pinch-faced matron. “Such behavior would never have continued in my house. I can get my Justin or Audrey to do whatever I tell them. Leonore was just too soft on Jane. Instead of coddling the chit, she should have beaten the girl every time she touched her hand to her face. That would have nipped the matter in the bud.”
“I am sorry, Claire, but you cannot beat a child for something they cannot help but do,” Lady Fontaine chided gently.
Lady Barclay harrumphed.
Sighing, Lady Fontaine slipped a plum cake off the tray and took a delicate bite.
“Your cook makes the most decadent sweets, Leonore,” the snide matron droned. “No wonder you cannot keep your waistline slim.” She blinked her green, cat-shaped eyes. “I have the opposite trouble. I had to take my gown for tonight’s ball to Madame Vivian once again for alterations. The woman swears I am disappearing.”
Lady Fontaine’s cheeks colored pink, and she lowered the remainder of her cake from her mouth and dropped it on her plate. “So what will Audrey be wearing this evening?”
“It is the most divine muslin gown of lily white. Perfect for exemplifying her purity and virtue.”
“In early biblical times, blue, not white, represented purity,” Evelyn interjected innocently. “In fact, it was Anne of Brittany who made the white wedding dress popular. But it represented joy, not chastity.”
Lady Fontaine smiled brightly. “How wonderful. My Madeline is wearing blue tonight.”
Lady Barclay stuck up her left shoulder, a gesture Evelyn recognized she made whenever she was irritated with someone. She had raised it numerous times thus far in their limited acquaintance. “My, aren’t you a little fount of knowledge? What of your dowry? Did your father leave you anything to assist you in your hunt for a husband? Even with our connections, you are quite the ape leader and will need all of the help you can get.”
Lord Barclay swept into the room. “Mother, Aunt Leonore, Miss Amherst. May I take tea with you, or is this a chatter-broth for ladies only?”
Dear Lord, did he have to arrive just as his mother was harping on her spinsterly state? Evelyn ignored the pit of embarrassment in her belly and tried instead to focus on the pleasant view.
Today the handsome marquis wore somber navy blue, accentuating the smoky gray of his eyes. He strode across the room with infinite grace and leaned over to kiss his mother. The lady turned her cheek. He acted as if she had not moved and lightly brushed his lips on her ash blond hair.
He was so pleasantly appealing. How on earth the dragon lady had begot him had to be one of the great mysteries of the universe. His gaze alighted on Evelyn and she smiled, trying to pretend her cheeks weren’t burning to cinder.
“Justin, my dear. So glad you could call. We were just discussing tonight’s ball.” His aunt beamed up at him and extended her hand. He squeezed it gently. The apparent affection between them added several degrees of warmth to the chilly drawing room.
Sitting down on the blue chintz sofa beside his aunt, he commented lightly, “Ah, the finer points of what gowns your daughters will be wearing. You must forgive them, Miss Amherst. The chase is on and Madeline and Audrey simply must make some poor fellows come up to scratch, even if it means shamelessly flaunting their virtue.”
“By wearing white.” Lady Barclay pressed her thin lips together.
“Or blue,” chimed in Lady Fontaine.
“White is the color of purity,” insisted the dagger-toothed dragon lady.
Barclay shrugged as he accepted a cup of tea from his aunt. “Historically it was blue, but where’s the matter?”
Evelyn looked down into her teacup to hide her pleased smile.
Oblivious, Barclay reached over and selected a tart off the tray. “I wish our pastry-cook was half as talented as yours, aunt.”
“Cook really has a gift.” The matron pointedly ignored her sister-in-law and picked up her cake.
The dragon lady lifted her left shoulder and glared at the pastries, as if they had insulted her. Evelyn wondered if they would shrivel up and melt under the heat of her searing gaze. She reached for a berry tart.
“Justin, please convince Miss Amherst to join us this evening,” implored Lady Fontaine. “She insists that being in mourning disallows her from partaking in any balls.”
“We cannot have you rattling around all alone in this great house,” he stated. “Of course you will be joining us. In fact, I am here to offer my services as your escort.”
Lady Barclay inhaled a sharp breath.
Lady Fontaine set down her teacup so hard it chipped. “Oh, my.”
“You never escort anyone, anywhere,” his mother sputtered. “We have to practically drag you to fulfill your social obligations.”
He sipped his tea. “Miss Amherst’s companionship tempts me to be more sociable.”
“It will give the wrong impression.”
He shrugged, not meeting his mother’s eye.
The dragon lady stood, her hands fisting at her sides. “I forbid you to allow anyone to believe that you are courting her.”
“Why?”
“Well, she is in mourning.”
“Second mourning. It has been over four months since her father passed.”
“It does not matter, since I do not wish to be courted and am not entertaining offers,” Evelyn interjected. No matter how handsome the man was, she was in no position to be socializing. Nor did she want to be perceived as hunting for a husband. She might actually catch one, heaven forbid.
“Escorting Miss Amherst does not necessarily indicate Justin’s intentions,” added Lady Fontaine tentatively.
“Good. Because my son needs a bit more seasoning before making any rash decisions.”
Barclay tried to appear nonchalant, but Evelyn watched the small muscle jump in his jaw. “I thought you were agitated about my advancing years and my unfulfilled duty to the title, Mother.”
“Do not be impudent, Justin.” She resumed her seat, loudly rustling her green muslin skirts. “My George would never have conducted himself so objectionably.”
His hand on the teacup was steady, but the knuckles were blanched white. Evelyn’s dislike of the dragon lady flared into a seething anger. The poor man had been nothing but kind to her since her arrival, and she sympathized with anyone raised by such a vile, miserable woman. Evelyn set her tea down quietly and rose. Although she had no intention of being courted by the marquis, she could help him thorn his mother a bit.
“I am off for a stroll in the park.”
He jumped from his seat. “I will join you.”
“You have only just arrived,” charged the dragon lady. “A servant can attend her well enough.”
“Do not worry about appearances, Mother, Miss Myrtle will chaperone.”
Evelyn was not happy about sharing Miss Myrtle’s company, but she was looking forward to getting out of the stifling atmosphere. Moreover, it would allow Shah to continue her rest uninterrupted upstairs.
It seemed the young marquis was as enthusiastic as she about leaving. “I will wait for you in the front hall,” he said, already out the door.
The trees lining the lane were lush with the buds of spring and the rich promise of summer. Brown little puff-bellied birds flew overhead, chirping merrily in the golden afternoon sun.
“To have such a lovely haven in the midst of the city is quite splendid,” Evelyn commented appreciatively as they strolled alongside a quaint little pond. They stopped to observe the ducks squawking and lapping themselves in the dark green waters.
“London offers a sundry of activities for any adventurous enough to venture forth. I would gladly show you the amusements as you accustom yourself to Town.”
“Are you certain you are willing to withstand your mother’s wrath? She does not like me.”
“Nonsense, Mother is just…well…”
“A dragon?”
A small laugh burst forth from his throat, and he quickly coughed into his gloved hand. He peeked over his shoulder at Miss Myrtle, who was walking at least ten paces behind with a burly uniformed footman.
“She is my mother,” he chided halfheartedly.
“Are you going to call me out for my impertinence? Pistols at dawn and then off to the Continent?”
He missed a step but recovered quickly, accidentally brushing against her hip. She ignored the flutter in her middle, reminding herself once again that he was her “cousin.”
To ease the tension, she decided to make light. “Come, my lord, I cannot be the first to have stated it plainly.”
“As a matter of fact, you are.”
She grimaced. “Father always said I was a bit too free with my opinions.”
He furrowed his brow. “Do you miss him?”
She watched a robin perch in the uppermost limb of a tree. The fragile branch shifted and swayed under the weight, but the tiny bird did not fly off. “How did you feel when your father passed?” she asked instead.
“He was our patriarch. Everything revolved around him. When he was gone, everything shifted, changed.” He froze for a moment, staring off. Abruptly he turned to her and shrugged. “But it was not unexpected.”
They continued on. Evelyn liked the way he strolled, with an inherent grace that was smooth but unaffected. Allowing her to set the pace, he effortlessly matched her steps, despite his longer stride. He really was quite agreeable company.
Pine needles scraped under her shoes. She inhaled deeply; she had always loved the scent of pine.
“Was your father ill for long before he passed?” he asked quietly.
She blinked. Ill? The vibrant man had barely been gone an hour before returning battered and bloody, with his life seeping out through a hole in his side. She could almost hear his raspy breathing as he lay dying in her arms. Although she had pressed her hand against the bandage, the warm, dark blood had continued gushing forth, creating a puddle of death. The bitter metallic stench had filled her nostrils. He had shuddered and wheezed. His eyes had glazed over and then stared off into space. The memory made her shudder as if an icy wind had run through her.
“Are you unwell?”
“No.” She swallowed, trying hard to focus on the mother duck swimming along and the five tiny golden ducklings trailing behind.
He spoke more, but she could not hear his words past the memory of her father’s dying request. She blinked, tearing herself to the present. “Excuse me?”
“I asked, were you close?”
“Close?” She recalled his every last breath.
“To your father?” he asked patiently.
She blew out a long lungful of air, trying to remember the days before her father was murdered and she became an orphan in more ways than one. “He worked quite a lot. Traveled. He was really quite…busy. There were times when he was gone for weeks at a stretch. But he was my father. My only parent. Well, besides Sully.”
“Sully?”
Something eased in her chest, just thinking about the jovial, ruddy-faced man who had tried to be both mother and father to her. Her lips lifted, despite herself. “My father’s man-of-affairs.”
“And you were close to him?”
“Quite. He practically raised me.”
“Why was he so involved with your rearing?”
“My mother, well, she was not built for being the wife of a diplomat.”
“How so?”
“She hated change. Although it was never said, I knew that she abhorred living outside England. She had a fit every time we were reassigned. She could not abide by ‘foreign’ customs, people, even residences. She was English and wanted everyone else in the world to be.”
“Families have been known to stay back in England when a husband serves.”
“Not my family. My father could not bear to be separated from us.”
“Still, to be dragged from place to place. It is an unsettling life….”
“I did not mind. I met some wonderful people, was able to visit exotic places.”
“And where is this Sully fellow now?”
A cloud drifted overhead, blocking out the sunlight. She turned and scanned the crowd, noting that Miss Myrtle and the burly footman had stopped nearby. Easily within earshot. “Do you think a storm is coming?”
“Seems fine to me.” He toyed with the head of his ebony cane. “So when will I get to meet Sully?”
“I disagree. It looks like rain to me. We had best be returning. We would not want to give your mother twitching of the guts.”
“Too late,” he remarked offhandedly as he nodded greetings to two ladies strolling nearby.
She smiled. “Now it is you who are being wicked.”
As soon as they passed, the two ladies leaned together, whispering excitedly like hens plotting a conspiracy. Oh, to be so taken with the trivial.
He spoke tentatively. “I appreciate your desire for solitude. But I would ask that you grant me the favor of your company this evening, Miss Amherst. You see, I am in need of your assistance.”
“How can I help you?” she asked dubiously.
“You can shield me from the procession of marriageable young chits my mother will be parading before me. No matter what she said before, she is on campaign and I am in the trenches.”
“Well, I can sympathize with your situation, not wanting to marry myself. But I really cannot see how I can be of service to you.”
“Your public mourning combined with my duty as your escort will keep away most unwanted attention.”
She raised her brow. “And attract attention of an altogether different sort.”
“So what if the world thinks that I am interested in you? You and I know the truth of the matter.” He opened his hand. “It will keep the matrimony-minded mamas at bay. And my mother—”
“—ready to drum my bonnet.”
“Please?”
She stared into those pleading greenish-gray eyes. Well, the man had been quite considerate of her situation these last few days, and his mother was a dagger-toothed harpy….
“Very well.” It would not be too terrible to divert herself a bit with the inevitable distractions Polite Society offered.
“Thank you.”
They strolled along in companionable silence.
He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “You know, this is the first time I have ever flagrantly disobeyed my mother. I do believe that you are a negative influence on me, Miss Amherst.”
“Sometimes a little transgression is good for the soul. Strengthens the blood.”
“Or takes one to the devil.”
“You mean we’re not already there?”
They shared a little smile.
Thunder rumbled off in the distance.
“You were correct about the weather.” He looked up. Clouds were forming into gray clusters on the horizon.
She sniffed the air. “I have always had a fine sense of approaching storms.” Regrettably, she had not always shown a particular talent for coming in from them.