Chapter Three
To have feelings after such a long time was a nuisance. Gibb pondered over his massive change of heart as he dressed for his visit to the House of Lords later that day. His decision that he would like her as a friend had come almost as a surprise, but he experienced a rush of relief that he had made the resolution and acted on it. Someone to talk to and spend undemanding time with would be more than welcome. Gibb knew that although his acquaintances numbered many, his true friends could be counted on one hand.
He had escorted Evangeline back to the stables, where, to his relief, a young footman waited for her return, then made arrangements to meet her at the same place and time the following day. That would allow them to decide how their friendship should proceed. Meanwhile he would carry on as normal.
Satisfied he looked neat and tidy—he was long past emulating the pink of the ton set who put themselves forward as arbiters of fashion—Gibb left his home and made his way to the Palace of Westminster. The law he wanted to make his speech about, the Poor Law, was one that needed a lot of work. Gibb himself ran his estates in an exemplary manner. His workers were housed in dwellings that were sturdy, did not leak and were not overrun with vermin. They earned enough to keep their families adequately fed and clothed and their children at school. It was a well-known fact amongst the people who lived and worked the duke’s estates that he believed in education for all. That way, he said, everyone benefited.
Although shirkers and the work-shy were given short shrift, those too old or infirm to pay their way weren’t forgotten or left to fend for themselves. Gibb’s almshouses were a credit to him. He wished everyone realized what was needed to maintain and grow the country’s wealth and prosperity. It was a sad fact that many didn’t or were not prepared to expend energy or money to achieve what was needed. It grieved Gibb to see so many of his peers oblivious—or deliberately blind—to the suffering of so many of their fellow countrymen. However, he was honest enough to accept he couldn’t change everything, just do what he could.
Several hours later, and with, he hoped, his speech as well received as he could have expected, he joined the mass exodus from the Houses of Parliament with no fixed destination in mind.
* * * *
“A good night, last evening, what?” George Doncaster asked him as they chatted in the courtyard. Now official business was over most of the peers who had attended were on their way to business of a less official nature.
“As you say,” Gibb agreed as he nodded to several people who passed by and was clapped on the shoulder by one.
“Excellent speech, Alford. You have the gift of the gab.”
Gibb smiled his thanks. If his speech helped the correct laws to be passed that was all that mattered.
“He’s right, Gibb. You were just what some of these old dodders needed. Waking up. Just like last night.”
“Something
different,” Gibb replied in a level voice as he wondered where the conversation was going.
Doncaster nodded sagely. “True enough, and also just what was needed. Ah, apart from that idiot Crowe afterward. I hear you gave him what for. Silly man. He has a pea for a brain.”
Gibb inclined his head in agreement as they made their way without haste through a bunch of peers gathered in the hallway. “The lady needed little help from me.”
“Caught him unawares, did she? He never pays attention to things.” Doncaster pronounced his observations sagely. “It’ll be his comeuppance one day. You know, at Watier’s the other night he never even noticed he’d discarded two jacks.” He shook his head. “The stupidity of some people.”
“As you say, but best not to dwell on them or Crowe and his shortcomings too loudly, eh?” It might not be a good idea to let it be known Crowe had been worsted with ease by a female. He would be mortified enough without adding to his humiliation, and Gibb wanted no comeback to befall Evangeline.
“Good point. The man’s a sore loser. So, I wondered, no Beck, eh?” Doncaster changed the subject and rattled on. He appeared oblivious to the way Gibb paid attention with half his mind. “Still up north?”
“Veronique is due to be confined within weeks,” Gibb said, glad to talk about something else. “He didn’t want to travel and leave her and she didn’t want to endure the travel. Hence, as you say, no Beck.”
They reached the door and Gibb made his farewells to his colleague, laughed off the man’s entreaties to join him and a close band of cronies for supper and cards at a select gambling house that admitted only a chosen few and made his way toward a hackney stance. To hail a carriage and driver was easier than asking his coachman to hang around until he was ready to be driven to wherever he chose to go. As the House didn’t sit until four p.m., evening sessions could go on and on if no successful outcome could be achieved.
It would have been easy to join his friends and acquaintances. He knew his attendance would not be queried, and indeed he would be welcomed in the gambling house with open arms. Nevertheless it held no interest for him. He and the lady owner, one Miss Elizabeth Burn, had once upon a time been more than good friends. They had parted amicably, but it felt wrong to just walk in without giving her prior notice. Not that he thought she would mind, especially if he ended up the loser, but even so, he didn’t feel it was something he wished to do.
As he walked down the street, Gibb realized the nearest hackney stance would be busy with peers who wanted to be taken on to their next port of call, plus people who had enjoyed the river and were now ready to make their way home. Hailing a cab would be nigh on impossible, so Shanks’ pony seemed the most likely conveyance. It was lucky he enjoyed walking, although he would prefer it to be over a grouse moor, not across the capital.
Gibb had his swordstick, the area of town was well-lit and he had no worries for his safety. He turned away from the water and headed toward Whitehall. He hadn’t walked for more than ten minutes when the rumble of wheels from behind him assailed his ears. He stopped, turned and watched as a hackney drew to a halt, the horse placid and incurious. The coachman jerked his finger at the vehicle.
“Told me ter stop, guv.”
A newly familiar head poked through the window aperture. Evangeline looked at him and smiled. “May I suggest we share this hackney carriage, my lord? Judging by the throngs back there, all vying to gain admittance to the next one to come along empty, you will have a long walk before you find someone able to take you up. I have spare capacity as you can see, and unless you are going in a different direction to me I see no reason why not to share.”
Gibb inclined his head and swung open the door. “Nor I. Bruton Street?”
“Why yes, unless you wish to be dropped off somewhere on the way?”
“Bruton Street still,” he told the jarvey as he stepped inside and closed the door behind him. Gibb sat on the squab opposite Evangeline and tapped on the roof with his swordstick. The vehicle lurched over the cobbles before it regained a steady rhythm and he was able to get a clear look at his companion. “You have been working?”
“At a ladies’ soiree,” Evangeline said as she settled back in her seat. “Very select. The hostess was bemoaning the fact that all the eligible men seemed to be busy this week so she arranged a little entertainment for those poor debs who could not go on the hunt. My words, not hers. I do believe your name was mentioned, amongst some others.”
Gibb groaned. “I wish the harpies would get it out of their mind that I am on the lookout for a bride. I have had one and I do not intend to have another.” He stretched his legs out in front of him and did his best to ignore the swift but admiring glance Evangeline gave him. He was neat and tidy but no Adonis. “I like my life as it is.”
“They don’t see it that way,” Evangeline continued with a grin that was evident in her voice as well as in the dim lantern light. “I overheard one lady telling a young girl, who I believe was her daughter, that it was her duty to bring the Duke of Menteith back into the fold.”
Argh. Gibb sat upright and leaned forward before he swore under his breath. “Never, no and if, if,” he stressed, “I ever did have to remarry it would not be to a simpering miss who was twenty-plus years younger than me and with no sensible thoughts between her ears. Good lord, I didn’t want that at twenty, why on earth would I at forty?” Madness. Pure unadulterated madness. “Who was it?” he demanded. “Then I can make sure I steer clear.”
Evangeline patted his hand. “I don’t know. The girl was what I believe is known as an incomparable. Blonde ringlets, blue eyes, exceptional figure and a simper that defies description.”
Gibb scanned his mind. “Thick ankles, no dress sense and a laugh that would strip the bark from a tree?”
She inclined her head. “That’s the one. She was in dark sludge green with enough flounces to decorate every window in a good-sized house.”
“Good lord, Felicity Lumley.” Gibb shook his head. “Grief, I’m almost a contemporary of her father. She’s just eighteen, silly as they come, and this is her first season. What are they thinking of?”
“Your money?” Evangeline said in a dry manner. “Waiting to be spent.”
He laughed bitterly. “More than likely. Thank you for the warning. I did wonder at the sudden flurry of invitations from certain ladies, but as I am friends with their husbands or sons, I was somewhat slow on the uptake. It is rare that I’m in London, and when I am I concentrate on Parliamentary business. This is taking longer than usual, hence, I suppose, the unwanted and unwarranted interest. No wonder several men have warned me off any event where the invitation is over gilded. The sooner I get away from the madness the better.”
“You intend to return north soon?” Evangeline asked in what seemed a careful and cultivated tone. One designed not to convey her emotions on the subject.
Gibb hesitated. “I had, but now I’m not so sure. I think it will be in both our best interests if I linger a while, and not hurry away. My estates are in good hands for a few weeks more, and I’m being adept at dodging the doting and eager mamas and their offspring. Harpies show their hands too easily for me not to be able to avoid them.”
She bit her lip. “Please,” she said earnestly, “don’t stay on my account.”
He tapped her nose with his index finger and she wrinkled it. “That tickles.”
“Good. And remember, it is on my account that I choose to stop in the capital. I too desire a friend.”
How could she forget? And how to answer without sounding needy, she had no idea. If there was one thing Evangeline was certain about, it was that dependence on him by her was the last thing Gibb wanted. She contemplated the toes of her half-boots as they peeped out from under her deep-blue velvet skirts, then looked at his carefully expressionless face.
“Then, friend, are you coming in for a glass of wine, or carrying on with your journey?” The hackney had reached the corner of Bruton Street and the driver waited patiently to know what to do next.
Gibb looked at her with a pensive expression. “What would you prefer?”
She shrugged. “It is all of a one to me. We talk now and ride unencumbered with questions tomorrow, or we talk tomorrow and miss out on some of the freedom of our ride. The choice is yours.”
He nodded and opened the door to assist her out. “Coachman, this will do.” He fished for a coin from his pocket and handed it over before Evangeline took his hand and let him help her down the steps.
The coachman nodded his thanks at the largess Gibb had given him and urged his horse on. Gibb waited until the equipage turned the corner of Berkeley Square and gave his attention once more to his companion. “How do we get in?”
“Down here.” Evangeline whisked him along a narrow alley where, she realized, he would be hard-pressed not to brush the dusty sides with his shoulders and the roof with his hat, and stopped in front of a green-painted door. It couldn’t be helped. “Through here. This way is easiest. Mind your head, I swear it was built for halflings.”
She shot him a swift glance over her shoulder and watched as Gibb did as she bade him.
“Why use it then?” he asked as he reached her side.
“During the day I can share the front door with Eloise, but at this time of night I prefer not to disturb the night watchman.”
He looked back along the dark passageway and tutted. “I think I’d prefer that you do, instead of coming down here in the early hours. Anyone could be waiting.”
“Where?” She looked at him quizzically. “There are no bends, a very low roof, nowhere to hide, not even some loose brickwork. It is as safe as can be.”
Gibb grimaced. “Behind the gate? I refuse to feel foolish because I am concerned about your welfare,” he declared firmly. “Crowe is not happy, and I will not want him to think you are easy prey. Anyone could be waiting here for you. Easy prey,” he said again. “Even you must be able to acknowledge that.”
He was like a dog with a favorite bone. Had she not been told he thought of no one except in the abstract? Therefore this undoubted worry for her was unnecessary, not at all welcome, but strange and comforting.
“I do not think it could happen,” she said, earnest as ever. “If anyone unknown comes down here by themselves the dogs will bark, I promise you. And if we are to be logical and think things through, I’m not easy prey, not anymore. It will soon be all over the ton that you are consorting with me, however hard we try to hide it. And that, given your reputation, will make me untouchable. So perhaps you’d better decide if it is what you want, my lord.”
“Gibb,” he said. It was obvious he had no intention of being swayed by her protestations. “It is my name and I would be pleased to hear you use it.”
“Gibb.” How easily it rolled off her tongue. “I do not want to turn your life upside down for no reason,” she said.
“It will not be without reason,” he said. “I can promise you that.”
Evangeline sighed. So, he intended to be as intransigent as he could? “Then come inside and we will have a glass of wine and discuss our situation.”
* * * *
“And to my surprise, we did,” she told Eloise and stood with as much patience as she could muster as her friend pinned a new costume onto her. As usual when they were together they spoke in their mother tongue. It was one way, they had concurred, of keeping it alive to them. “He drank one glass of wine, we decided as by this time it was past three in the morning to forgo our ride a few hours later and meet at Richmond this evening instead, when most people are getting ready for dinner. His lordship offered to pick me up. I declined, and as tonight I have a rare night off, with nothing specific to do, I will take a hackney to the designated place and enjoy his company. Once that was decided, he bowed and left.” To her disquiet, he hadn’t even attempted to kiss her hand. He’d just looked up at her from under impossibly long lashes and smiled. ‘I will show you I keep my promises, Evangeline. Until later.’
“He is a deep man,” she said now. “Worried, with demons and a very finely developed sense of honor. I wish he wasn’t so…so closed up.”
“It is said he blames himself for his wife’s death, you know,” Eloise said, her words muffled by a mouthful of pins. “That is considered to be why he is unwilling to remarry.”
“He blames himself?” That didn’t square with the man she was beginning to know. “Why on earth would he do that?”
Eloise put the end of a tape measure between her lips, measured a few inches off with her fingers and nodded. “Snowf sed.”
“I think I understood that. But why?”
Eloise spat the tape out and fixed three pins carefully into her pincushion. “As to that I am not sure. She was, I believe, excessively demanding, and he would not kowtow to her. Over what, when, how and why no one will say. All I know is she drowned when his yacht capsized off the coast of Devon, and he wasn’t with her.”
No wonder he wanted no responsibilities for anyone else. That he had reiterated more than once they were to be friends, no more. Evangeline stayed silent until she was again dressed in her own clothes and took her leave of Eloise. She must not forget her own agenda while worrying about Gibb Alford. The facts—and gossip—Eloise had imparted told her both a lot and not very much. However, there was other information she needed and had to hunt out. This afternoon a visit to an elderly French woman who had resided in London since before the Terror was on the cards. What Lady Lisette Tonge née Marin didn’t know about those who’d fled to Britain during those dark days was not worth knowing.
Evangeline dressed with care. Lady Tonge might have agreed to see her all those months ago, but she was still a lady and Evangeline was what? Apart from the daughter of a miller’s wife. That was the one thing that she could say with certainty. Everything else was conjecture. Nevertheless, Evangeline would give no one among the ton any cause for saying she was not dressed as a lady, for any reason whatsoever.
* * * *
Lady Tonge lived a quiet, life—or so she insisted—a five-minute hackney away from Bruton Street. Her English husband had died years earlier—‘No stamina,’ she’d said with a twinkle in her eye. “Now a Frenchman would still be thriving. If he’d escaped the Terror, like many did.”
Alas, also many had not. Evangeline often wondered if her papa been one of those. Had she passed him in the street, unknown and unnoticed? Or was he a commoner, one who had stood and cheered as heads rolled? Did she really want to find out?
Evangeline had asked herself that question on more than one occasion, and always arrived at the same answer. Yes, she did.
Lisette Tonge welcomed her in French and bade her sit down and drink a glass of cognac. It was of the finest quality and all Lady Tonge ever said was she welcomed the friends who looked after her.
“You know, child, you have the look of someone I used to know. For the life of me I do not remember who, or even if it was here or at home.” She sipped her drink and regarded Evangeline over the top of her goblet. “No matter, it will come to me one day. The penalties of old age. I remember hearing about the Terror and how we all felt, but can’t remember what happened last week. Except my fool of a daughter decided to tell her even more of a fool daughter to set her cap at Gibb Alford. Stupid, both of them.”
Evangeline nodded. “So I believe,” she said.
“If he were interested,” Lady Tonge continued, “which I know for a fact he isn’t, he’d make mincemeat of both of them. Now where was I? Ah yes, just who do you remind me of. That tilt of the head, your hair and those eyes. I am definite that you have the look of someone I know.”
Evangeline’s heart missed a beat. “Black hair and blue eyes are commonplace, I expect.”
Lady Tonge looked at her with shrewd, faded blue eyes and a wicked twinkle. “Not so much here. I will have to think about it. Now, perhaps you could read some of Béranger’s poetry to me? I miss the lyrical way our language flows in such things.”
“Of course, I miss it.” Evangeline nodded and smiled. Her words were not true, for she had never been an aficionado, but for Lady Tonge she would suffer. If it established her as one of Lady Tonge’s protégées, who was she to argue? Even if the poetry was not to her taste. She cleared her throat and began. “Les…”
* * * *
She escaped just in time to rush home, drink a large glass of water and wonder what on earth Lady Tonge and her elderly companion Mademoiselle Pannier saw in Béranger’s work, wash, change and hail a hackney. Her hair she had tied back in a knot and she’d used a copious amount of pins to secure it. Even if they were to do no more than walk and perhaps have a light repast in the inn nearby, she didn’t want to let Gibb down by looking less than her best.
However, she daren’t spend any longer or she would be late, and the last thing she wanted to appear was unpunctual.
With a secret smile Evangeline pinched her cheeks and pursed her lips several times to bring color into them—she eschewed rouge when she wasn’t working, it made such a mess of her skin. She did her best to make do with what Mother Nature had bestowed upon her and her own sense of style. Her light-blue gown and navy pelisse suited her and were smart without appearing too dressy, and she had to hope Gibb thought her attire suitable for the occasion. If not? It would be a pity, but she’d dressed as she thought appropriate for a stroll and perhaps a meal, and could do no more.
The roads were busy, and the hackney made slow progress until the outskirts of the city were reached. More than once she glanced at a church clock and groaned at the time. However, as traffic decreased, the vehicle’s pace increased and she began to think she might indeed arrive within minutes of the allotted time. Relieved beyond measure, Evangeline sat back in her seat and relaxed.
The outskirts of Richmond were not far ahead when the hackney slowed and pulled to one side to let a curricle drawn by two perfectly matched chestnuts overtake them with the distance between the vehicles judged to perfection. Whoever drove the curricle was a whip indeed. How nice to be able to arrive somewhere in such style.
You had the chance. Evangeline picked at a loose thread on her reticule until she realized what she was doing and dropped it like a hot potato onto the seat beside her. Nerves. Why? This was what she wanted.
Wasn’t it?
The carriage juddered to a halt before she answered her own question and she picked up the much-maligned reticule and shook her skirts, ready to descend. The door opened and Gibb looked in.
“Perfect timing, my dear. I’ve paid the coachman so we can walk and talk to our hearts’ content. He will wait for you if you require it, or…” He left the rest of his question hanging in the air.
There was no doubt the decision was up to her.
Evangeline counted to three and took a deep breath. “Then let him go and we have no specific time when we have to return,” she said, outwardly composed and inwardly quaking. “If that is suitable to you?”
Had she just done something rather stupid?
Gibb listened to her words with a light heart and a sense of amazement. He had hinted, but, he admitted, hedged around asking her outright to move things forward. Therefore, if he were to be honest, he was not expecting a positive outcome. Indeed, he still wondered if he had heard aright. “Are you sure? Oh, I am,” he added in haste, as she looked alarmed. “I do not do or say things I don’t mean.”
She grinned, a gamine, easy smile. “Nor I.”
The relief was disproportionate to what she had agreed to. Yet again a phenomenon unknown to him. It seemed his life was changing, and Gibb wasn’t sure if it was for better or not.
“Then that is fine.” He hoped. “I’ve paid the coachman anyway so he will not miss out on a fare. One moment, my dear, if you will.” He walked to the box, spoke briefly to the jarvey and returned to take Evangeline’s hand and tuck it into the crook of his arm.
With a flourish of the whip, the hackney moved away, the noise of the horse’s hooves and the vehicle’s wheels fading as it disappeared over the brow of a hill.
“Now we can walk,” Gibb said with satisfaction. He looked at Evangeline from tip to toe and liked what he saw. As long as one didn’t look at her eyes, he decided, a perfect lady stood in front of him. They gave away the fact she was no meek and mild miss. They sparkled and teased. It was oh so easy to grin at her with a carefree attitude that he had not experienced for many a long month. “Is your footwear up to it?”
“Oh yes.” Evangeline chuckled and waggled a half-boot-clad foot at him. “I chose to dress for a stroll and hoped whatever else happened my attire would suffice.”
He looked her up and down, amused to see faint color wash over her face as she realized the doubler meaning of her statement. To save her blushes he chose not to expand on it. “Perfect. Not only you, my dear, but it is a perfect evening, and I have bespoke a light supper at the inn before we return to town. Is that to your liking, or am I being forward?”
He didn’t want to sound sure of her response. It was one thing to hope she would agree, but another to assume it.
“Perfect,” she said huskily and cleared her throat. “Such an overused word but what else fits? Absolutely perfect. Lead on.”
It was, Gibb decided, a moment out of time. When the universe decided everything should be aligned and work in their favor. Not something he ever thought he would relish, but relish it he did.
The paths they strolled along were clean, dry and deserted and the birds in full song. They talked of inconsequential matters—Lady Frederick’s toque, Miss Winton’s propensity for wearing puce—along with more knotty problems like the Prince Regent, Napoleon and who was about to become betrothed and not too happy about it. Gibb had a dry wit and he was pleased to see Evangeline appreciated it. She had a good ear for mimicry and made him laugh out loud on more than one occasion.
“You even lose your accent when you do that,” he said when she had told him in Lady Jersey’s voice that he ‘Should come to Almack’s more, my dear Gibb, it is not good for you to avoid it.’
“Ha, the other way more like,” he replied to her sally. “The place gives me shivers. So, how do you mimic in such a way?”
“Because I am at that moment not me, you understand,” Evangeline said seriously. “I,” she said in a perfect imitation of his gravel-rich tones, “am someone else.”
He rolled his eyes. “Good god, I’ll need to be careful. Or I could put you behind a screen to put the fear of God into matchmaking mamas when they start plotting.”
“Oh, I like that. Along the lines of, Lady D, do not think of it. I am watching and waiting. Your plotting will be your downfall.” She spoke in sepulchral tones. “I am the one who knows.”
Gibb laughed. “You have it right. What else do you know?”
Her stomach rumbled and she put her hand over her midriff. “That I seem to be hungry. How embarrassing.”
“Not at all. Come, we’ll head back to eat.” Gibb turned around and pointed up a slope. “That path is best.”
* * * *
The food, when they returned to the inn less than an hour later, was just what was needed, delicious and varied, and the wine the best quality. If every time they met could be like this there would be nothing to complain about, and life would be perfect. Of course, he knew it wouldn’t be. Life always had a way of giving itself the last laugh and kicking you in the ribs. For now, though, Gibb decided he’d take what he had been given and enjoy it.
With that thought uppermost in his mind, in perfect harmony, they started the drive back to town.
“Brr.” Evangeline tucked the rug he had given her around her knees. “After such a beautiful day it’s a shock to need this.”
The sun had begun to drop and a chill breeze had set up and tossed the grasses and branches around in the air. He was glad he’d had the forethought to include the rug when he had set out. As he had never taken a female up with him before, a rug was not something he tended to carry.
Evangeline stroked the rug. “This is Scottish, no?”
Gibb gave his attention to his horses as he navigated a somewhat tight corner. “Woven on one of my estates. I spend most of my time on one or another of them.”
“You never did say where they were or if you get to them often.”
He didn’t like the tightness in his throat. Was this the beginning of the need for attention? No, she is being polite. Making conversation.
“I didn’t mention where they are situated, did I?” he said and strove for an indifferent tone. “Is it important?”
She glanced at him in the half-light and shook her head. “Not at all. I had thought perhaps it is the sort of thing a friend would know, but it is immaterial. I do not need to know,” she said in such a polite and prosaic tone, Gibb was ashamed of himself. Before he could try to explain, Evangeline spoke again. “Me? I was born in France, my parents are dead, and I chose to come to England for a better single,” she emphasized the word, “life. I live above a friend, so I am very lucky. Plus with you, I now have another friend.” Albeit one who divulges nothing, her tone intimated. “Two friends are not to be sneezed at.”
Gibb struggled to decide how to respond. “Lord, I’m not very good at opening up, am I?”
“Why should you be?” she said. “We are all who we are and no two people are the same. Think how boring life would be if it were so.”
“Perhaps. It’s hard for me to be me. So many people are watching and waiting for me to…” He shrugged, embarrassed to show how much he hated all the attention. “To do, I know not. But it is a strange and unpleasant experience not to feel I have any privacy.” He hesitated as he understood how much he was about to admit. “You are my friend, and I have treated you shamefully. No, don’t argue, it is true.”
Evangeline shut her mouth in haste and he smiled.
“I am being as honest as I can. I have several—estates, not friends. Those true friends I can count on the fingers of one hand, and before you ask yes, it suits me.” He didn’t look at her in case he were to see pity in her expression. He was not to be pitied. His life was as he wanted. Wasn’t it? So why did he suddenly feel lacking? “As for homes? My principal one is in Scotland where in general I spend most of my time.” His voice gave nothing away. “I have a smaller one in Devon bequeathed to me by my godfather, where…” He cleared his throat, still undecided if it needed to be said. He realized it did. It was speak or alienate someone who accepted him as he was. “Where my late wife preferred to live when not in town. She found Scotland too bleak, too far away from the hub of the ton. Not that Devon is close, but the climate is, she said, preferable.” He didn’t mention the rest of Hester’s demands. “To me, Scotland is heaven on earth.”
“Ah, as to that, I’ve never been, so I couldn’t say,” Evangeline said in a voice that was devoid of pity—thank goodness. “Nor to Devon, as it happens, although I have heard it is very pretty.”
Pity he could not and would not take. Her matter-of-fact tone reassured him. Evangeline would never have that attitude toward him. He began to relax.
“Although,” she went on in that same tone, “the pictures I have seen of Scotland are very picturesque and romantic.”
Gibb nodded. “So they say, but it is also stark and awe-inspiring. The mountains tower over one, but also…” He hesitated, worried he would sound ridiculous.
“Also?” she prompted.
“Embrace you,” he said at last. “Hold you, and guard you and yours.”
“It sounds wonderful,” Evangeline said. She sounded oh so wistful. “Like Les Alpes.”
“Just so.” He encouraged the horses on. Dusk was setting in and he wanted to be within the suburbs before it got any darker. There was no need to court trouble and part of the route had been in the not-so-distant past notorious for footpads. It still seemed to attract wrongdoers.
The thought of Scotland reminded him of how during the summer dusk and dawn were a few hours apart, with long, light evenings the norm, and in winter the exact opposite. One more thing Hester had hated. “Beautiful, certainly, wild and rugged and desolate at times,” he added. “My estate in Scotland.”
“Where isn’t?” Evangeline asked prosaic as ever and with no hint of homesickness or wistfulness apparent anymore. “You should see parts of France.”
Gibb smiled. “I have, and not always in the best of circumstances either.” He had no intention of enlightening her about his foray onto the continent. Some things were best not spoken about, even if they could not be forgotten.