Chapter Nine
Surely she should have felt uncomfortable? Awkward or out of her depth? She didn’t. Gibb led her to a large bedchamber where the bed, high-legged with an intricate headboard and footboard, took center stage. The wallpaper was light, pretty and not at all what she expected. The fireplace held a large display of rushes, and as Gibb lit the lamp Evangeline was able to admire the patchwork quilt on the bed.
“You do not sleep here,” she said as Gibb turned to her. It did not seem possible that this was the duke’s quarters. Was she not good enough to go in there with him?
“I do. The ducal chamber holds memories I don’t want to think of. This was my room as a young man, and I had it redecorated for me after”—he cleared his throat—“after Hester died. It is no secret what our life together was like toward the end. She would storm into my room to rant and rail. I hated it and that chamber. This is a happy room. I want to be happy in it with you.”
“Then you will be,” Evangeline said with certainty. The dynamics of the situation hit her. She had no nightrail, no gown and needed the facilities. “Ah…” She would wager her cheeks were as red as the velvet curtains that draped the windows.
Gibb looked puzzled then his eyes twinkled. “Oh yes. Through that door. Meanwhile, I will find you something to wear.”
She prayed that whatever he came up with, it wouldn’t be something that had belonged to his wife.
Evangeline rushed through her ablutions. It was unnerving to know Gibb was in the next room as she used the twig brush he had found for her to scrub her teeth with, with a smile at her astonishment.
“I admit it is a conceit of mine, to have an unused toothbrush at hand. I have them made for me a dozen at a time,” he’d said before he indicated towels. It was an intimacy she’d never thought she would know and one she didn’t know how to think about. Was this what it was like to share a house with a man? To share a room? If it was, didn’t it make one uncomfortable?
Deep in thought, Evangeline finger-combed her hair and twisted it into a loose plait Sadly, she had no ribbon to hold it in place and she had no intention of going to bed with a head full of hairpins. Gibb would have to run the risk of a mouthful of hair.
That brought up another thought. What were they going to do?
I will never find out skulking in here. En avant. She took a deep breath and jumped as there was a sharp knock on the door.
“Evangeline?”
It was Gibb. Who else would it be? she thought as she stifled a nervous giggle. The man in the moon?
“If I open the door an inch I can pass a shirt through for you to wear,” he said gruffly. “It will also swallow you up, but I thought it best in the circumstances.”
“Oh yes, thank you.” Her voice was as unnatural as his had been. It was ridiculous. They were friends for goodness’ sake. “I don’t want to shiver,” she said in a normal tone. “Or make you cold.” She stood to one side as the door opened and a garment was held out.
“I would squeal like a stuck pig if you put your cold feet on me,” Gibb said with a laugh. “And retaliate. So here you are. One shirt, to wear to save your blushes and me cold feet.”
It was indeed a shirt. Evangeline looked at it, realized how she was dressed and groaned.
Stays. The dratted torture item of clothing she despised. There was no way she could unlace them herself, and no way she was going to sleep in them. She gave an impatient huff and stared at the now-closed door. There was nothing for it. Evangeline took a deep breath, opened the door to the bedchamber and stepped into the room.
The empty-of-any-other-human-being room.
She let her breath out in an amused hiss. There she was, all churned up, emotions on high alert and embarrassment ready to take over as she asked Gibb for help, and he wasn’t there.
What now? She wandered around the room and took her first long, unencumbered glance around. When she’d entered with Gibb she’d had impressions, but nothing concrete. His presence and the sense that something out of her orbit was about to happen had seen to that. Those first impressions, though, to her relief, had been correct. This room was beautiful.
I could be happy here. Not that she would get the chance. This was something out of the ordinary. A chance to receive comfort and give it back. No strings, no ties, no emotional connection. It was getting ever harder.
“Evangeline?” Gibb had once more crept up on her unnoticed. For a tall man he was very quiet as he moved. She noticed that now he wore a banyan striped in shades of blue, and his feet were bare. She glanced at his face, not allowing herself to look elsewhere. “What’s wrong?”
“Stays,” she said, brief and to the point, and hoped her embarrassment didn’t show. “I need help.”
“Of course, I should have thought of it,” Gibb said gravely. Either he didn’t see her chagrin, or was gentleman enough to ignore it. “If you perhaps take your gown down to your waist and ah, cover your front with a towel?”
“Thank you.” She dashed into the next room to do as he asked and returned with a large sheet of linen held over her bosom.
“Turn around.”
She complied then, oh my, his hands stroked her skin as he began to fumble with the laces. Why did they always go into knots when you didn’t want them to?
His breath was warm on her neck as he bent his head and his fingers deftly began to undo the knots. He muttered something under his breath as he moved closer and Evangeline stopped breathing.
Something was hard up against her spine. Something virile and male. Gibb laughed.
“I can’t make it go away, but I promise I will not let it do what it wants to. Ah, almost done.” His matter-of-fact attitude helped Evangeline. She was mature enough to accept that sometimes close proximity could make people over-aware of each other. After all, her pulse was jumping and her muscles tight.
“There,” Gibb said in satisfaction. “You should be able to step out of them now. One of the knots is too tight for me to move but this should do.”
Her stays slid down and she stepped out of them. Now what? How to get into the shirt he gave her without baring her all. Maybe she should have said she would sleep in her shift? But then… Oh shut up. She moved from one foot to the other. “Er…”
Gibb snorted. “I promise to turn my back until you do whatever you have to do. I suggest you then get under the covers before you tell me it is all right to turn around.”
That she could do. But never, she thought, in the history of mankind, had anyone pulled off their undergarments, struggled into a man’s shirt and scrambled under the blankets as fast. She was panting when she told Gibb he could turn around. He did so slowly, looked at her and stood stock-still, like one of the statues in the park.
“You,” he said in the voice of a man at the end of his tether, “appear as if you belong there.”
Evangeline pushed an errant strand of hair behind her ear. Her plait hadn’t stood up to all her frantic undressing and redressing without unravelling. “And?”
He shook his head. “I don’t know.”
If he didn’t, she as sure as eggs were eggs didn’t either. “Get into bed?” she suggested. “And we can relax.”
“If you think that, you are very naïve, my dear,” Gibb said as he pulled back the covers on the empty side of the bed. “But I hope we can be comfortable.” He stretched out against the pillows and with a grin tugged his shirt down and pulled her into his side. “Now then.” He put his arm around her and pressed her head to his banyan-covered chest. “Is that not comfortable?
His heart beat unsteadily under her cheek, comforting, shouting in some indefinable way ‘security’. His arm circled her with warmth and slowly she relaxed.
“It is for me but…” She left her question unsaid. Was this a step too far? It felt intimate to her, but how did that affect Gibb? Was it going to mean he looked at her with annoyance, or told her he didn’t want to stay friends? Lord, life was complicated.
Gibb tightened his arm and pressed a soft kiss to her hair before he laughed ruefully. “I can cope. Now go to sleep.”
He turned the lamp to low and began to stroke her back in those rhythmic circles she had once used on him. Much to her surprise, she slid into sleep.
* * * *
In the dim light that filtered around the shutters Gibb moved his head, looked at the sleeping woman in his arms and willed his erection to subside. The lamp had long gone out and the room was lit by that glimpse of the eerie predawn sky. Someone, or both of them, had moved around enough during the night hours to bunch her borrowed nightwear around her waist and his own garment even higher. At some point he had inserted one long leg between her slender ones and now she was half over him, her soft contours molded to him, her long black tresses a cloak over his chest. Her breath disturbed the hairs on his neck and her arms were as tight around him as his were around her.
It was oh so beautiful. How difficult it was not to move and do what he craved. Especially when his staff was hard and his senses so aware of her. Would it be so bad? To fill her, take her, slake his thirst, his neediness, and make her his? His? Perhaps that was going too far. His for now maybe, but sadly, even that was not going to happen.
Still fast asleep, Evangeline scrunched up her nose and muttered something unintelligible. She shifted a little and took hold of some of his chest hair. A sweet, unbearable pain. Gibb began to move.
“No…n…” She muttered as her hold tightened and her other arm pressed even closer to him. Gibb watched and saw the exact moment Evangeline woke up, took in her surroundings and her present position and blushed. A blush he would love to trace and see where it covered.
“My apologies,” he said, and did his best to ignore his erratic pulse and the soft, half-awake expression on her face. “We both seemed to know what was needed and took it.” It was half true. He thought it better he didn’t add that he had refrained from taking everything he desired.
Evangeline blinked and looked up at him skeptically. “And that is it?”
He shrugged and dropped a kiss on her nose. “Found out. No, not really. If we had done that, for my part we would be naked and I would be deep inside you.”
If possible her blush deepened and she swallowed hard. “I would love that,” she said and dropped her head back to rest on his chest. Did she speak wistfully? “But…”
“But,” he agreed with a heavy heart and a dry mouth. “But maybe I can let you discover a little of what a man and woman can do? Without going too far. The choice, my dear, is yours.” Gibb held his breath, conscious that he had made the biggest step ever in his post-Hester life.
He counted to thirteen before she nodded, and didn’t reply. Would it be lucky or unlucky thirteen? Gibb opened his mouth to say not to worry, he understood that it was too much to ask. Evangeline put her fingers over his lips.
“Always you are impatient,” she said solemnly. “This is a big decision for me and not to be rushed.”
He nodded and stayed silent. Evangeline played with the hairs on his chest and wriggled as his erection did its best to be involved in her decision-making process. It was hell not to move his staff to a place where he might be able to tempt her to let him show her extra delights of the flesh, but Gibb held himself rigid. He would not seduce her into intimacy. More intimacy, he amended in his mind. After all, if semi-naked in each other’s arms was not intimate, what was?
That thought made his heart miss a beat. He did not want intimacy. That led to dependence and heartache. But… Evangeline lifted her head and stared at his eyes.
“I think,” she said, “I would like that.”
New aches in places she’d never even known existed, Evangeline mused as she made her careful way down the internal stairs to Eloise’s quarters the following evening. Gibb was attending Parliament for a debate and she and Eloise were about to have supper together. It was perhaps a good thing, she reflected, for Gibb and her to spend time apart. It would be all too easy to read more into their friendship than there perhaps was, and a little distance might clarify it for her. For Gibb, she had no idea and did not intend to press him for his thoughts on the subject.
She’d made a hearty cassoulet as her contribution to her and Eloise’s supper, and was sure Eloise would have some of their favorite cheese and wine. It was the sort of evening they both enjoyed and never seemed to get often enough. Evangeline was aware that she spent a lot of time with Gibb, and hoped it didn’t mean she had neglected Eloise. She vowed to ask her as soon as possible if it were the case.
She asked the question as soon as they were settled.
“Neglected me? Where on earth did you get that idea?” Eloise seemed surprised at the query as she began to pour them each a glass of deep red wine. She stopped when the glasses were only half full and held the decanter in the air. “I think, considering what busy lives we lead, we meet a lot. Now disabuse yourself of such stupidity and tell me how Vauxhall went. I’m agog to hear your version of events. My salon has been awash with twittering women and their versions, of which no two were the same. If I believed half of them you had a dancing bear, a naked man, three small people who threw knives at you and Denby Crowe being his usual obnoxious self.”
Evangeline stared and shook her head to clear it. She blew hair out of her eyes and blinked. “Vaux… Ah, yes, Vauxhall, I forgot we have not had a chance to converse in any great depth since then.” Had it been only four nights ago? It seemed like weeks, not days. “Take it from me the one grain of truth is Crowe, and apart from him it went as I hoped. It was, as you intimated, the place that Crowe, the imbecile, thought to interfere.” She shuddered as she told Eloise the story and remembered what could have happened if Gibb had not held his nerve. “It was to his grace’s fast thinking and disposition he didn’t manage to do so. Instead it was he—Crowe—who was seen to be in the wrong. His sister also tried to entrap Gibb, in the manner you said she would. Thanks to your advance notice she was also thwarted.”
“The besoms.” Eloise appeared outraged. “What is the ton coming to?”
Evangeline laughed at Eloise’s outraged expression and assumed the question was rhetorical. However, she chose to impart her thoughts on it. “As far as I know nothing is different from ages ago. All is fair in war and the ton. The upshot is that I believe Crowe and his sister are now out of the city and in shame. I wish I could say I am sorry, but it would be a lie.” She recounted all else that had happened at the gardens. “Now I hope I can move on with my quest.” She didn’t mention Gibb or their recent togetherness. It was all too new to share. Plus, Evangeline was uneasily aware Gibb hadn’t yet come to terms with how he considered this new stage. Perhaps she hadn’t either.
“Be careful,” Eloise warned her as she set the table. “Crowe will have friends who would back him up, and I swear the tabbies would do nothing to help you.”
Evangeline nodded—it was something she was very aware of. “Of course not, but they would aid Gibb I trust?”
“Only if it were in their interest,” Eloise said. “It’s the system they live by. Now let’s eat.”
“This English society is so rigid and strange,” Evangeline said as they sat down and she eyed their repast with hunger. “And stupid.”
“At least they don’t behead aristos without a good reason.” Eloise poured some more wine into their goblets. “A votre santé.”
“Et tu. Hmm. Madame Guillotine. That’s true.” Evangeline rolled her eyes, speared a piece of meat and ate it without tasting it. “But there are other ways of crucifying someone. I would not wish that on Gibb, he’s been through it once already. He’s a gentleman, and, although I dare not tell him, he matters to me.”
Eloise nodded. “Then take care, for the talk has started.”
Evangeline knew and it worried her. Gibb might say it didn’t matter but she understood differently. “I’m ready for this,” she said, changing the subject abruptly. “It was simmering all day, so the gravy is perfect.”
Eloise nodded. “And me. So now we eat, talk of something different and enjoy our wine. Where is your next engagement?”
* * * *
“I need it to swing all around in one sweep.” Evangeline stood in Flood’s—the wheelwright’s—workshop and looked at the contraption in front of her. “And continue to do so as I work. I need to be able to trust the momentum and know it will decrease speed at a rate I can work with.”
Gibb stood next to her and swung the overlarge wheel around in a lazy arc. “Won’t it?” he asked. He gave it one thrust and watched as it went round and round. “There.”
“That is all very well, but what about when I have someone on it? A man of oh…” Evangeline tilted her head and looked from him to the wheelwright and back again. “Around six foot tall and medium build.”
Flood, a short rotund man, put his hands in the air. “Not me, I’d get dizzy. Anyhows, I’m too short and enjoyed too many of my Martha’s dinners to be of any use. I reckons it’s got to be you, your grace.”
Gibb laughed. “Now why did I know you would say that? So, what do I need to do?” he asked Evangeline. He’d had an idea he would be inveigled into something like this when he’d collected Evangeline and accompanied her to see what Flood had come up with. To that end he had dressed in clothes that allowed for ease of movement. Comfortable knit pantaloons and a coat his valet would prefer to accidently-on-purpose lose. He discarded his jacket, tucked his cuffs up his sleeves and grinned as she chuckled.
“I’m well-trained, as you see,” he said to Flood who stood, arms folded, and leaned on a sawhorse, watching the interplay with interest. “I do as I am bidden.”
Evangeline rolled her eyes. “I’ll remember that. Right, if you put your feet in the block on the swinging arc, take hold of the handgrips and hold on. Do you want tying down as my real vict…helper will?”
Gibb shook his head as Flood guffawed. “This will do. Now what?”
“Pray you will not vomit.”
It was lucky he was never seasick, and held his own in a gale for the rocking motion—which rapidly changed to a whirl that blurred his surroundings—not unlike the movement of a ship at the mercy of the wind and waves. He closed his eyes and almost imagined he felt the wind and spray on him as he spun. Faintly he could hear Evangeline mutter as the wheel slowed and he rocked to a halt. Was she plotting how to throw her knives? No doubt that would come next, with him coerced into helping. The idea held no fears.
“Enough?” he asked as he rocked back and forth.
“Something needs to be altered,” she muttered. “I do not for one moment think it is enough overall.” He could tell by her expression she was trying to work something out.
“What? Oh, yes, sorry,” Evangeline said, and held the wheel steady as he opened his eyes and blew his hair out of his eyes. “For now indeed. That was very useful.”
Gibb got off and retrieved his jacket from Flood. “What next? Always have someone my size on it? Preferable, I think, someone who does not get nauseous.”
She laughed. “Something like that.” With an elegant movement that swished her skirts, she turned to Flood and shook his hand heartily. “Mr. Flood, you have done me proud. Thank you. It will work perfectly.”
Flood blushed. “Made a nice change, it did, and it’s good to have a customer who knows what they want.”
“Then send your bill as soon as you can and I will settle it,” Evangeline requested as she collected her reticule in preparation for leaving.
Flood looked at Gibb.
“What?” Evangeline asked, a suspicious expression on her face. “Oh, no,” she said emphatically. “My act, my prop, my bill. Is that understood?”
Gibb sighed. She was a wilful lady. “Can I not give you this?”
She shook her head. “Thank you, no. I pay my way.”
A flash of hurt hit him like one of her stilettos had struck him. Why was she so independent? It was a little thing he chose to do for her. What was the reason why she was so chary of any help? Look at the problems he had in getting her to accept the horse, for example. “It is nothing in the grand scheme of things, Evangeline.” He did his best to explain his reasons to her. “A small present, that is all. Why not accept in in the manner it is given? In friendship.”
“I need to know I can cope,” she said. “I don’t have the English words to explain,” she said. “I have a fear I become reliant on anyone.”
“You wouldn’t,” Gibb said emphatically as Flood looked on in interest. “I wanted to give you a present. I thought this more appropriate than rubies.”
“Why? Oh, not rubies, but a present?” she asked, wide-eyed.
Gibb lashed a swift glance at Flood, who stood up. “I’m off to sort out a carrier for you, your grace.”
Gibb waited until the other man was out of earshot. “For being my no-ties, no-dependency friend. You restored my faith in the female sex.”
* * * *
“Opera dancers a touch too pricey for you, your grace? Got to downsize to a mere knife-thrower, have you? Mind you, for a body like hers I’d compromise my standards. Tell me.” The bosky peer, a contemporary of Denby Crowe, swayed on his feet and leered at Gibb. His eyes were wild, his dress unkempt and his Hessians needed a good clean. Even here in the garden of one of the scions of the ton’s London home, where a little dirt from the soil paths could be overlooked, he stood out for all the wrong reasons.
“Does she threaten to cut your staff off if it doesn’t perform to her satisfaction?” Lord Allinson laughed and hiccoughed. “What’s it worth, eh? Not to be a laughing stock. After all, a knife-thrower and a frog. Does she do everything in French? Must add an edge to it all. Thrust and parry and…” Allinson obviously saw the expression on Gibb’s face, for his words faltered to a halt.
Gibb stared at him, uncaring of how the man broke out into a sweat and droplets slid down his shiny, ashen face. If the man saw menace and retribution when he looked at Gibb so be it. Ire, when icy, was a force to be reckoned with, and Gibb knew just how cold his anger was. No red-hot swift fury, but a rage that built slowly, inexorably stronger with each passing second. He counted to ten in his mind, relieved that no one else had been close enough to hear the exchange.
“Duelling may not be in fashion, but I would be happy to change that scenario for you,” he said in a voice devoid of any emotion. “If you choose not to rescind your words and your character assassination.” He could have expanded on his statement, but judged the menace greater if he did not.
The man in front of him sobered faster than Gibb thought possible and swallowed several times. Gibb watched Allinson’s Adam’s apple bob three times before he was able to speak.
“I, I, ah, apologize, your grace,” he said rapidly. “My words were out of order.”
“And?”
That one word made his lordship go even paler, if that was possible, and fiddle with his cuffs. His nails, Gibb saw to his disgust, were black with grime and badly bitten. Down on his luck and after a quick injection of cash perhaps?
“I take them back. They were spoken in a state of inebriation. It was not my intention to…to…” Allinson stuttered to a halt. “Ah, to suggest anything untoward.” He swayed again and shut his eyes. “Please excuse me.”
Gibb was not naturally a cruel man. He nodded. “I suggest you watch how much you imbibe in future.” He didn’t bother to add the warning he was sure would be expected with regards to himself and-or Evangeline. It was, he thought, a given. A sudden thought hit him as Allinson turned to leave. “Wait.”
The man stopped dead in his tracks and looked up at Gibb in misery. “Your grace?”
“Who put you up to this?” Gibb asked. Allinson’s expression became wary, a sure sign, Gibb thought, that it wasn’t drunken bravado that had made Allinson behave as he had. More likely he’d had to get drunk to speak as he had. Gibb searched his mind for any more information he had about the man and his circumstances. Pitiful little. He was a good ten or twelve years younger, the son of a man who, if Gibb remembered rightly, had lost their fortune on the cards before he’d left for the continent, leaving his son to cope with the resulting mess. “Allinson, I know you wouldn’t have done this without some reason. What is it?”
Allinson sighed and ran his hand through his hair. “Mama’s mantua maker’s bill and my sister’s come out. I was asked to, to…”
“Annoy me?” Gibb said evenly. “At the risk of your own health.”
Allinson nodded wearily. “To put it as mild as possible, that’s about it. Hell, I know it was stupid to agree, but I’m in dire straits. I can not get it into my mama’s head that we are unable to go on as we are. Cutbacks need to be made. If we retreated to the country I could perhaps salvage something from this mess, but she won’t listen. To her, to keep face is the most important thing in the world. To me it is to keep a roof over our heads and food on the table, make sure the younger ones will have a life ahead of them without scandal and penury. Not to pay for dresses to be worn once, hats that are ugly and a ball for people who will still mock us.” He shrugged. “That is it in a nutshell. The less-than-noble house of Allinson is broke. The coffers are empty.”
“And Denby Crowe knew this and used it to his advantage?”
Allinson inclined his head. “He said if I was able to needle you into showing yourself up, he would pay me three thousand pounds.”
Gibb whistled. “He is determined to ruin me, it seems. He will not succeed.” He thought fast. “Scotch as many rumors about me and-or La Belle Evangeline as you can. Tell your parent you leave, all of you, for Cumbria at the end of the season, and if any more money is spent on fripperies you will lose your home. Do this and I will engage to pay those bills for you.”
Allinson went red, white and red again and gulped. “Why?”
It was Gibb’s turn to shrug. “Altruism, perhaps? Plus, I have a great distaste for people who try to benefit by using others’ misery. I will undertake to purchase your townhouse from you, with the proviso you may use it during the season to enable your sister to make a good match. Does she have a dowry?”
Allinson nodded. “One that cannot be touched, I saw to that as soon as I could.”
“Then do we have a deal?” Gibb held out his hand. Allison stared at it as if he had never seen a hand before then slowly shook it. “Good.” Gibb smiled. “Come to see me in the morning and we will sort everything out. Not too early, I intend to watch the knife-throwing exhibition. Not as the assistant this time.”
“Your grace, I…” Allinson sighed. “Thank you. You do have a heart and compassion, never let it be said that you do not. I will go and sort my mama out.” He inclined his head and walked away.
Gibb stared at him as if he’d been struck. He did not want to have emotions.
This was wrong.
“I will not let my emotions become involved,” he said out loud to himself and the sky. “I am just acting the gentleman. I will not let myself get involved in that way, ever again. I neither need nor want it.” If he said it out loud it would be true?
* * * *
“I’m so pleased you were able to come and perform,” Lady Arthur said, excitement in her tone. “Anne was beside herself when I told her. So often we poor women get to see nothing of interest, or if we do it is a small part. The fact you agreed to perform all of your show is perfect. I almost made this a ladies-only event and then I thought, no.” She held her hand up in an arresting manner. “After all, it will do our so-called lords and masters good to see we are not shy, shrinking violets to be shielded from anything of…interest, shall I say. Oh yes, they are in for an unwelcome shock.” She must have seen Evangeline’s expression because she laughed. “I am a fervent follower of Mary Wollstonecraft. She has very good ideas on what women deserve and we do not get.”
Evangeline nodded—she also agreed with a lot of that lady’s ideas. “Then I better go and get ready to show the men what we women are capable of, eh?”
“And don’t forget I’m your victim,” Lady Arthur called after her. “I’m looking forward to it.”
A lovely woman, Evangeline mused as she trod down the steps of the terrace and onto the path, dimly lit by sconces. She would make a good victim. They had gone over what was needed and Lady Arthur professed she was ready, willing and able, and Evangeline had no reason to doubt her.
As she rounded the last bend before the manicured lawns and her stage, Evangeline heard voices and slowed to detour around whoever it was. The last thing she needed was to be drawn into yet more conversations laced with sly innuendo with regards to her and Gibb.
Ahead she could see two men who blocked her way. Evangeline swore under her breath and stood behind a clump of bushes. Then if the men moved, she could use the most direct way toward the stage.
One voice came back to her clearly. Gibb! She didn’t pretend not to eavesdrop, but stood where she was. Apart from him and a rustling in the undergrowth where she presumed a small creature was going about its nightly business, she could have been alone in the garden.
“I will not let my emotions become involved,” she heard him say. As no one replied, she assumed whoever else had been there had left and he was talking to himself. Her heart went out to him. Did he not realize he already had let himself do so?
“I will not let myself get involved in that way, ever again. I neither need, nor want it.”
Evangeline knew what it was like to be hurt, it had happened many times in her life. But never before had it hit her in such a visceral, gut-wrenching manner that she bent double with her arms wrapped round her waist. With a hastily bitten-back sob, she froze, unable to move or breathe. Oh lord, what have I done? What she now wanted to do was run and hide. To take her sorrow and wrap it around her like a cloak and sequester herself until that sharp, hell-like pain went away.
And she couldn’t. She had a show to put on.
How will I cope? What if he watches, how do I pretend? With infinite care she drew upright and forced herself to take deep, calming and regular breaths. Cope she would, and her pride would allow no one to know what pain she was in. Deliberately she pinched her cheeks in such a way that they would once more have color, and walked along the dusty track to her stage. If she was said to perform an act, then act she would. Even if her heart had shattered into tiny pieces. For whatever she had thought, hearing Gibb speak so emphatically had made her understand she had given her heart to him. Now, knowing how he felt, she had to cope as best she could then move on.
* * * *
It was a small miracle that the show was perhaps the best she had ever given. Julia Arthur was brilliant, Evangeline thought, as hand in hand they took bow after bow. That lady had done everything as she had been asked, never flinched, and even stood firm when Evangeline had rocked the arc.
“I could use you all the time, my lady,” she said as, after great applause and cheers, they left the stage and made their way behind the curtains. “You are a star and gave each and every member of our audience the perfect show.” After the success of the evening, there was no formality between them. Julia had decreed it would be so, and for once Evangeline was happy to agree. She needed something good in her life, even though said life would never be the same again. “You made my act, and I think gave several ladies palpitations when you appeared in those britches. Thank you.”
Lady Arthur giggled like a young girl as she looked down at her buckskin-clad legs. “My house, my rules, and to be honest I did tell Bertie what I was going to do. He laughed until I thought he was going into apoplexy and told me to go ahead and damn those who thought I should do otherwise. Therefore it is I who should be thanking you. This has been one of the best nights of my life,” Julia declared. “If Bertie loses all his money on the ‘Change I know where to come.” She took Evangeline’s chin in her hands. “At the risk of being told to mind my own business, why the bruised look and sad eyes?”
Evangeline bit back a sob, scowled and shook her head. She couldn’t share her despair or break confidences. “It’s nothing.”
“Nothing does not make you look as if you have lost everything you deem of value,” Julia said, as shrewd as ever. “Take that expression off your face, it would sour milk. For once I won’t nag, but I will tell you this. Two things. First, do not give up on Gibb Alford, he is the most human he has been since that awful Hester episode. And second, you remind me of someone, and when I bloody remember who it is I will tell you. And I’m always here if you need a friend or a shoulder to cry on.”
“That’s three things,” Evangeline said with a wobble in her voice. Someone else who thinks I remind them of someone? Her heart pounded. Perhaps she was getting to the end of her search.
“So? I never said I could count,” Julia said unrepentantly. “Now, let’s go and find some food and a large brandy. We both need it.”
That was truer than she knew.
* * * *
The letter was damning. Cresswell was in need of urgent and immediate attention. Pugh had warned him it wasn’t in the best condition, and when he and Evangeline had made their brief visit he’d had to agree. Even on that flying visit, he’d discovered the chimneys on one gable were crumbling, a new front door was a necessity and if he wanted a chef there a new range would need to be installed as a matter of urgency. Plus, he’d had to discover which staff would stay and who needed pensioning off.
Now there was nothing for it. He would have to go back again, and stay for a few days. Not just to see those he wished to do the jobs but to find staff to ensure those jobs were carried out successfully. And talk to the housekeeper and see if she could engage new servants for the house where necessary, and oversee them.
Why had he never realized how much needed doing? Because I have always had other people to do it for me. I’m spoiled.
However, he didn’t want to leave Evangeline, and to have her by his side would be preferable to worrying. Would she go with him? If he didn’t ask he’d never know. It matters not if she refuses, it is a mere thought she might like to get out of the capital for a few days, nothing else. Gibb went over his next few appointments in his mind. If she could work with him, they should be able to have four or five days at Cresswell. Long enough to discover what sort of state it was in. Long enough to become closer friends? He shut that line of thought off abruptly. Closer was not what he wanted, was it?
Disgruntled, uncharacteristically out of sorts, he found his hat and left the house. A few hours in Jackson’s salon might help him to get into a better frame of mind.
* * * *
It did. Several close friends were there, Henry being one of them, and Gibb enjoyed the banter, the boxing and the bruise Henry inflicted on him. Who was most surprised was a close-run thing. By the time several of them made their way to White’s—he never favored one club above another as a lot of his peers did—Gibb had lost his introspective mood, and when he reached home he was once more on an even keel. He’d see Evangeline later and put his proposal to her.
If his staff were surprised to see him dining at home, they were too well-trained to show it. The meal was tasty and full of flavor but something was lacking. Halfway through his postprandial port he realized what it was.
Company.
How pathetic. He was lonely. When was the last time he had admitted to that state of affairs? He had no idea. Gibb contemplated his port and sighed. What was happening to him? This attitude was alien to him. Made him uncomfortable, and wary. If he wanted someone with him, what next?
Neediness? Never. He wouldn’t visit Evangeline that evening. After all, it was not a firm engagement, only if he was in the area. Therefore he would not be. Nor would he invite her to Cresswell. There was no need.
He stared into the fire and counted the ticks of the mantel clock. After eighty he tossed off the port and left the house to head to Evangeline.
* * * *
“That’s enough.” Evangeline slapped her hands on each of his chair arms and glared at Gibb. He looked somewhat amazed at her sudden outburst and she didn’t care. Enough was enough.
“Whatever black dog is riding you, lose it now or go home,” she said. “You have been nothing but morose since you got here. Almost as if you were coerced. And that, I assure you, was not the case. Now either treat me as the friend you say I am and share what is wrong, or go and sort it out. Either way, you are not going to continue to sit there as you are at the moment. If you looked at some mother’s milk you would curdle it.”
He gave a short, humorless laugh. “That’s a fine description. I thank you.”
“For goodness’ sake.” Could she get away with plain speaking? Why not, Evangeline decided. Something had to be said, and straight talk was no doubt the best way to get through to him. “I implore you to listen to yourself. You came in, gave me the most perfunctory embrace ever known to man or woman. Sat in the chair, and played with that goblet. I swear the contents will be giddy along with me as I watched you fidget. Then you answered everything I said with a grunt or a monosyllabic reply and look as if you’d rather be anywhere else but here. If that is the case, just go.”
She straightened up and forced herself not to stand arms akimbo.
Gibb sighed. “Was I that bad?”
She shook her head. “Oh no.”
“Thank the lord for that.”
“Don’t get complacent. You were worse. Much worse.” The misery in his eyes melted her annoyance. After all, she’d known to be his friend would not be all sweetness and light, so why, on the first occasion since he had opened up to her and spoken about his wife he was in a black mood, was she so annoyed?
Because he seemed to be moving on. Because it is one more sign that he will not let me into his life. Because the time for me to say goodbye is getting ever closer. Because I would like more. And I know I will not get it.
“Gibb, friendship means sharing. I’m not asking for you to fall onto my shoulder and sob all over me, heaven forbid. Or think I can do that to you. But if something is troubling you, why keep it to yourself? You said you wanted to be my friend. This blow hot and blow cold is wearing, and, not to put too fine a point on it, unhelpful.” Would he understand or choose not to do so? It was bad enough to know their future together was limited, but she had reluctantly accepted that she had to bide her time and let him take things at his pace. But this night he seemed to have regressed.
“Do you want to end our friendship?” she asked in an undertone, hoping he didn’t agree it was the thing to do. One day it would happen but, pray god, not yet. Butterflies danced inside her and her palms itched. “Is this where you think things are all too much for you?”
“What?” He looked up at her, startled. “Good lord, no. I’m just blue devilled. I have to go to Cresswell and I’d prefer to stay here to keep an eye on you. Crowe may have left, his cronies haven’t.”
“Cresswell again so soon?” She ignored the comment about Crowe and his cronies. She could and would sort them if necessary.
“If I don’t go and start the work that is needed it will crumble and become a ruin with the first frost of winter according to Pugh. I can’t let that happen.”
“Have you decided if you’re going to live there?” The love when he spoke of his godmother made her wonder.
Gibb shook his head before he ran his hands through his hair. One perfect brutus cut was now a mess. “Oh no. Or not often, although I will visit until I decide what to do with it. I just want it restored to how my Godmama loved it.”
And he says he cannot and does not have emotional feelings about anything or anyone. Rubbish.
“That seems a good thing to do,” Evangeline said. “When do you leave?”
He smiled wryly. “I hope to persuade you that it will be when do we leave,” Gibb said. “If we could perhaps fit a few days there together. I’d value your input about the house and gardens once more. You seemed to enjoy our day there, and a woman’s view is always welcome.”
Any woman, or me?
“A French knife-thrower?”
“My friend,” Gibb said in a way that brooked no argument. “Who happens to be both French and a knife-thrower.”
* * * *
Four days of pleasure was not too much to ask, Evangeline decided on the fourth day at Cresswell, as she swung her bonnet in one hand and held Gibb’s with the other. She deserved some.
Here, Gibb was a changed man. Relaxed, in casual country clothes, with his hair bleached at the tips by the strengthening sun, his arms a deep, burnished bronze and his worn Hessians and leather waistcoat, he could be taken for a country squire. He laughed with the workers they met, gave clear and concise directions with regards to how he wanted the estate to be run and, Evangeline thought, made friends with each and every person now in his employ.
They had reserved rooms in the village hostelry, two very elegant chambers, side by side but not connected, and Gibb had introduced her as a friend who was going to help him sort out the house. If anyone thought it meant they had an understanding of the to-be-married variety, no one mentioned it. Instead she was welcomed wholeheartedly. If that in itself seemed strange to Gibb he didn’t mention it, and Evangeline wanted nothing to mar their time together so she chose not to comment.
For, even if he didn’t realize something momentous was soon to happen, she did. This would be their last time alone. Evangeline had come to the sad but inevitable conclusion they couldn’t go on as they were and nor would she ask him to alter his opinion of who he thought he was. If he couldn’t come to terms with his changing persona and see himself for who he had become, she wasn’t going to do it for him. It was unfortunate, her emotions were involved and she could not change that. So, cowardly or sensibly—she wasn’t sure which—she had decided she’d have to draw back.
But not yet. First, she would enjoy these few days.
The picnic basket, packed by the housekeeper and carried by Gibb as they made their way across the field toward the river, was heavy, but he held it as if it weighed no more than a feather. Evangeline knew that was not the case. She’d watch it being packed. A bottle of champagne wrapped in a cold cloth along with two goblets, ham, cheese and fresh-from-the-oven bread. Tiny cakes, some pastries, lots of early fruit from the ageing session houses and several handfuls of nuts completed the repast. How they were expected to eat it all she had no idea.
But then Gibb was a big man with an appetite commensurate with his size. No doubt he would make good inroads into it.
She mentioned it to him and he laughed. “The more I eat, the less there is to carry home. A winning situation, I’d say.” His expression was animated, his face carefree and he appeared ten years younger.
What was it about this place that did that? He’d told Evangeline his heart was in Scotland so why now did he seem so happy? She pondered how best to ask him as they reached the riverbank and he spread a blanket over the grass under a willow tree. Its drooping branches created a cool, welcoming haven from the sun.
Evangeline tossed her hat to the ground and sank onto the blanket as her skirts billowed around her. She stretched her arms above her head as Gibb eased out the cork on the champagne with a gentle pop, filled two goblets and leaned them against the picnic basket.
“One for you when you’re ready.” He made his way to the water’s edge and sank the bottle into its cool depths.
He turned and wiped his wet hands on his buckskins before he slipped his jacket off and rolled it into a ball. Once he reached Evangeline he dropped it behind her back. “There you are. Voilà, one pillow. Relax and enjoy the peace.”
She grinned and kicked her sandals off to wriggle her scandalously bare feet in the lush grass at the bottom of the blanket before she took the proffered glass. “Thank you.” She took a sip and savored the fresh tingles it left on her lips and the way it slid down her throat, citrusy and oh so French. “I so love this. It goes with this place.” She gestured to their surroundings with her glass. “Oops.” The liquid had almost spilled. “Too good to throw away.”
Gibb laughed. “True enough.” He opened the picnic basket. “Food?”
“Eh?” Evangeline opened her eyes, which she hadn’t even realized she had closed. “Not yet.” She yawned. “Lud, I am so tired. Why is it the noise of the clock on my landing, the lamplighter, street sweepers and raucous revelers never bothers me in town, but the clock on this landing, the owl in the nearest tree and the fox coughing in the copse keeps me awake here?”
“Different bed?”
She shrugged and sipped some more champagne, embarrassed to show herself as perhaps ungrateful. “It could be, but this bed is as comfortable as mine in town. The pillows are feather, the sheets silk and the room as dark or as light as I want it. Ah, one of life’s imponderables I fear.” She yawned again. “Sorry.”
Gibb plucked the half-full glass from her lax fingers. “Stretch out and relax for a while. We’re in no hurry.”
“Hmm.” Evangeline wriggled until her head rested on his jacket. “I’ll just rest my eyes.”