Chapter Fifteen
Two weeks had passed since Evie had woken to see the worried faces of her family peering down at her, and to learn the ton was celebrating another scandal: her dreadful and ill-conceived kidnapping of Richard, or the bit they knew—being caught alone with him. The scandal of it had been too much for her mother, who had suffered several fainting spells. The doorknocker to their townhouse had been removed as if the family was out of town. Papa had thought it wise to withdraw from town to their smaller estate in Derbyshire. Even then, some of society still had found it necessary to call upon them.
She had regained her strength in the week of bed rest that had been forced upon her by a fretting mother, and she had since spent most of her days baking in the kitchens and riding across the lanes of their manor in quiet introspection and avoiding curious callers, only admitting a few friends. The Christmas season was bearing down on them, and Evie felt little cheer in her heart to help her mother prepare for their annual festive ball. She was making an effort for them and was quite determined to present a pleasant if not overly happy countenance. Anything to hide the pain inside her that grew daily, instead of abating. The door to the parlor opened, and she glanced up, arching a brow at the puckered frown on her mother’s face.
“What is it, Mamma?” Evie asked, pushing aside the diary in which she recorded her experiments in the kitchen.
“There is a letter from Kencourt Manor,” she said, her lips pinching.
“Thank you, Mamma.” She opened the drawer to the small writing desk, took up the letter opener, and slit along the elegant seal. A quick scan of the contents pulled a smile to her lips.
Dear Lady Evie,
I’m happy to come to tea. May I bring Jack with me? And my books? We shall read my stories.
Emily
“And who is it from?” her mother queried archly, sitting on the crème colored sofa closest to Evie.
She folded the correspondence and braced against her mother’s reaction. “It is from Lady Emily. I sent a note last week inviting her to tea. I’ve just received her reply.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Lady Emily, Mamma. She is Lord Westfall’s daughter. She is full of charm and wit. She has the eyes of her father, and his smile…”
Her mother’s eyes widened, and Evie flushed, forcing down the hurt in her heart.
“She is a beautiful child, and I promised her we would be the dearest of friends. I intend to keep that promise because she is quite delightful.”
“What nonsense you speak. Have you no care for your reputation? You will not make a spectacle of yourself and of this family!”
Evie stood and walked to the windows, watching as the gardeners raked the fallen leaves from the grounds. Soon those many limbs on the tress would be bare, seemingly bleak and dreary until they bloomed again. Much like how she imagined life would be for her. The loss of Richard made her feel empty, bleak, but Evie had no intention of wallowing in the sense of despair. She would heal, and eventually, all the dreams she’d had of being his lover and his wife would fade from the dark corners of her heart where she had recently pushed them. One day she would feel happy again. “My reputation has already been broken, Mamma, and I daresay it is not as dreadful as I had imagined.”
“Evie!”
She faced her mother. “I am ashamed to admit to myself that there was a bit of truth in what…in what I had been told by a friend.” It was too difficult to speak his name. Their fight had been so wretched and final. The mere memory had pain twisting its vicious claws through her. A few steady breaths centered her. “In the time since little Emily was found, I’ve never paid a call upon her. Though my lips did not condemn her like those in society did, nor did my heart believe her to be vile and beneath our notice, my indifference and caution, when she is just an innocent child, made me just as callous.”
“That is most certainly not true,” her mother replied, with clear affront.
“I’ll not be persuaded to be unkind because the ton says so. If you do not admit her here, we shall meet in Hyde Park.”
Her mother’s eyes flashed. “You are bent on damaging all your chances of an alliance. We are fortunate society is apt to place blame for your disgrace on Lord Westfall’s shoulders where they belong. The papers are more sympathetic to us, for they understand what a black heart that man has. There is still interest in your hand, and you will not jeopardize that, young lady.”
“I will not be pressured into a marriage with a man whom I do not love. On that score, you beseech me to wed in vain, for I will not succumb to such a life.”
“You ungrateful child,” her mother sobbed. “We are on the brink of ruin, your father’s debts—”
“I will work if need be, and we will still be far better off than many, Mamma.”
Her mother gasped and clutched at her chest, her overwrought theatrics pulling a smile to Evie’s lips. “I will do all in my power to relieve what we are facing, but I will not endure a lifetime of unhappiness for it,” she said hoarsely.
“We are thousands in debt, and we will be made to suffer because of your dreaded willfulness. Whatever did I do to deserve a daughter like you?” She wilted on the sofa, pressing her hand to her forehead as if pained.
“Then Papa, you, Elliot, and I will work to come to a solution without sacrificing each other’s happiness for it. We are not poor. I’ve glimpsed poverty, and this is not it.” She waved toward the open window overlooking their opulent lawns. “There are people at this every moment lying in ditches and alleys without shelter, and winter is upon us. Children on the streets are starving, without food or any type of succor. We are not suffering. We have very expensive art and silver we can sell to settle the most pressing debts. Papa has unentailed property, lands in the country, a castle in Scotland, and a manor house in Cornwall. Mamma, they can be sold.”
Her mother gazed at her as if she was a frightful creature. “Suffer the shame of selling our possessions?”
A knock sounded, and while her mother composed herself, Evie bid them entrance.
“Lady Beechman, Lady Jane, and Miss Dawson have called, my lady,” their butler announced to Mamma.
“See them in.”
Evie rang the bell to summon tea and sat on the sofa to await their callers.
“Have you heard the news?” Lady Jane asked without any preamble, sweeping into the parlor with the other ladies at her heels. “We were just at Lady Fitzhugh’s garden party and heard.”
“What news?” her mother demanded, rousing herself from her prostrate position on the chaise.
“Have you by chance, Lady Evie, heard the news, since it concerns…well…it concerns a friend of yours?” The ladies threw each other a knowing glance.
With a sigh, Evie plastered the required smile on her face and met Lady Jane’s regard. “I’ve not had the pleasure, but I am certain you will inform me.”
“My dear friends, London is all atwitter,” Miss Dawson said with great enthusiasm. “There is to be a ball, and everyone is calling it the ball of the year.”
“No, sister dear, they are calling it the ball of the decade. A most illustrious event and invitations are already being coveted.”
Her mother frowned. “How peculiar. I’ve not heard of this!”
“Yes, for sure,” said Lady Beechman. “It is the most exclusive and well sought-after event.” She made a deliberate pause. “It is being hosted by the Marquess of Westfall.”
Evie barely contained her jolt at that announcement. Richard was to host a ball? She’d never heard anything more preposterous. “Lord Westfall is hosting a ball?”
“Yes!” the ladies chorused.
While she had been crying and screaming into her pillow each night, he had been planning a ball? Anger surged through her, and she eagerly tucked it into her heart for it to keep company with her torment.
“But…but Lord Westfall has never entertained since he came into his title,” her mother said, clearly unable to reconcile with such an announcement.
The housekeeper knocked, then rolled in a tea trolley, and in quick order laid out the teapot and cups along with several French delicacies and other assorted pastries before departing. Mamma served tea, and Lady Beechman eagerly reached for a madeleine and popped it in her mouth, her eyes fluttering in pleasure.
“These are positively decadent. I must insist on getting this recipe for my cook.”
“I made them,” Evie said with a soft smile.
“You?”
“Why yes, baking is an art I’ve always loved.”
Her mother looked on the verge of collapsing.
“What an incredible talent,” Lady Beechman finally said with a genuine smile. “I quite envy you, Lady Evie.”
She canted her head to one side. “I’ll be compiling a book soon with some of my more flamboyant recipes, which will only be made available to selected households. I may even change a few instructions to add character to each recipe based on the fashionable household seeking to purchase my recipes.”
“Purchase!” Miss Dawson exclaimed.
“Why yes, you do not believe I should give them away?”
“Of course not,” she said hurriedly. “But whatever shall you do with the money?”
Evie took a sip of her tea. “I’ll be forming a charity to help the many children left indigent.”
The marchioness smiled warmly. “I believe I shall be your first patron. I believe every piece of confectionary I have begged for the recipes is your creation.”
“Yes.”
“Upon my word!” Lady Jane said. “We have been quite diverted from our news, haven’t we?”
From the sympathy glowing in Miss Dawson’s eyes, Evie suspected she knew the diversion had been quite deliberate on Evie’s part.
“Yes, we did, though I am very sure there is other news to be shared?” Evie prodded.
Lady Jane’s head shook, her dark curls bouncing on her forehead, her brown eyes sparkling. “My dear, all other news has been superseded, the newspapers and scandal sheets are atwitter. It was even reported the Times ran a piece on Lord Westfall’s impending ball. It has been confirmed he bought Belleview Park, and preparations are being made for it to be held there.”
Evie had heard of Belleview Park and recalled the furor that had surrounded the earl who had sold one of his most stately and prized unentailed homes. Sitting on seven hundred acres of prime grounds, admired for its rolling lawns and exquisitely arranged gardens, it boasted over one hundred rooms, and a very large lake lauded for its abundance of fish. The manor estate had been coveted. Somehow it did not surprise her to learn Richard had been the mysterious buyer whose identity society had been desperate to uncover.
“The guest list will be from the highest echelon of society, we’re told. The Duke of Wellington and the Prince Regent have been specially invited, and it has been confirmed they intend to attend.”
A startled laugh jerked from Evie, and all eyes swung to her. Surely they jested. Not even when rumors spoke of Richard being specially invited to the Prince Regent’s scandalous house parties had he attended. His contempt for their extravagant follies had been too entrenched for him to play the hypocrite. What in the world was going on?
“Have you not received an invitation?” Lady Beechman queried, stealing another sweet treat. “The ball is to be held this Friday.”
Her mother inhaled swiftly, a hectic flush coloring her face. “Perhaps our invitation was sent to London. Not many in society are aware we’ve retired to Derbyshire.”
“Oh, dear me,” Lady Jane said sympathetically.
Unable to simply bear hearing any more, Evie launched to her feet. “Please forgive me, I’ve developed a sudden headache.” With quick curtsies to their callers, she hurried from the parlor, and dashed up the stairs to her room, simply hating the tears that were threatening to spill.
…
The morning of the auspicious ball arrived and passed quite pleasantly for Evie. Though as the clock ticked toward evening, her mother’s acute and much-lamented distress that an invitation had not been delivered increased. Evie was quite relieved, though it confirmed the break in her and Richard’s friendship was irreversible. The sense of loss was overwhelming, and it horrified her that she even still thought about a man who had such little regard for her.
“It is probably better that we did not receive invitations, for I would have had to decline. Our presence would have excited too much dreadful speculation after the debacle of you being found together,” Mamma said, lowering her knitting needles with a heavy sigh. “I am at a loss to understand why we were not sent an invitation.”
Evie pretended to be engrossed in her knitting. Her mother had asked for her company, and she was now sorely regretting agreeing to that request.
“Evie, have you no opinion on the matter?”
She lowered her arms. “I do not care that we were not invited.”
“It is outrageous, that’s what it is. I’ve been reading the papers and Wellington is now saying Westfall is a war hero, and without his skills and dedication, England would have suffered more for it. Now all everyone is talking about is his philanthropic spirit. I just cannot credit it. It seems as if someone is actively restoring his reputation. Outrageous, if you ask me, as there are no redeemable qualities in that one.”
Evie sighed. “Mamma, the ton simply did not want to know about his efforts. They were mentioned several times by those who stood by Lord Westfall, but it seems scurrilous reports were more celebrated.”
“Pah!” her mother snapped with a wave of her hand.
A knock sounded, and her mother bid entrance. Their butler walked in. “Her Grace, the Duchess of Wolverton, has called.”
“What a delightful surprise,” Evie said while her mother harrumphed. She had never quite forgiven Adel for “stealing” the Duke of Wolverton and his massive wealth from under their noses.
Evie launched to her feet as Adel entered. Her mother stood and curtsied. “Your Grace.”
Adel gave a graceful nod of her head. “Lady Gladstone, thank you for receiving my unexpected call.”
She turned to Evie, and they hugged.
“Oh, Evie, I am quite happy to see you looking so well.”
Evie smiled. “I’m fully recovered.”
Her friend searched her face with a worried frown. “Are you?”
“Yes…yes, I believe I am.”
It was clear Adel did not believe her assurance. They sat beside each other on the sofa, and her mother resumed her knitting.
“Evie, Lady Gladstone, I confess I came here on a special mission for a friend.” Adel went into her small silken purse and withdrew a sealed pale cream piece of paper. She handed it to Evie with a tentative smile.
Evie gripped the paper and pried it open, not liking the anxiety swirling through her.
Evie,
The elegant and bold familiar scrawl leaped from the pages, and her traitorous heart trembled.
I humbly ask you to do me the great honor of attending me at Belleview Park tonight at eight. I’ve sent a carriage for your convenience.
Your servant, Richard
Even when he had written to her during the war, he had been a man of few words, but this…this was ridiculous.
“No,” she said, letting the paper flutter to the small walnut table.
“What is it?” her mother asked sharply, leaning over to pick it up.
“This is beyond the pale,” she gasped. “Evie cannot prepare for a ball with so little time. No dress has been ordered—”
“Mamma, I will not go,” Evie said firmly, standing. “If you will ex…excuse me.” Then she hurried from the parlor to the outside gardens, tilting her face to the last rays of sunshine disappearing behind the clouds. Intolerable tears burned the back of her throat. What was he thinking, sending her such an invitation, as if all was well between them? Two weeks of awful silence and now this? Why had he even sent it so late? Was it that she had been a mere afterthought? Oh, why do I torment myself with these useless questions?
Leaves crunched behind her, and she lurched around. “Oh, Papa.”
He smiled. “Once again, Evie, you have your mother in an uproar.”
A watery laugh slipped from her.
“I read the invitation Lord Westfall has sent. Are you not even a bit curious?”
“No.”
“Strange indeed.”
Her eyes widened. “Are you wanting me to accept, Papa?”
He clasped his hands behind his back and walked to stand beside her. “No, it is your choice.” He frowned. “I’ve never quite worked up the courage to ask what you were doing alone with the marquess at midnight. You were dreadfully ill, and then your mother and I tiptoed around the issue, fearing your delicate nature would allow a relapse if pushed.”
“I am not that delicate,” she muttered, affronted.
“Of course, the reports in the papers were outlandish and not to be believed.” Eyes very similar to hers held her gaze. “Though I am ignorant of the situation, perhaps you should hear him out. We buried ourselves here in the country to escape the scandal, but I assure you it is very much alive in London and burning like wildfire. Despite the depictions of the cartoons, marriage to Lord Westfall at this moment is highly welcomed and will render you respectable.”
A crushing pain settled on her chest. “Oh, Papa, he will never marry me. Nor do I believe I want him, even if he offers.” Liar. The intolerable ache worsened.
He placed his hands around her shoulders.
“Did you know he barged into Rosette Park and stormed to your room when you were fevered?”
Evie froze. “I did not!” she said, stricken.
Was it that her fevered dreams…hadn’t been dreams?
Please, Evie, fight. Without you, I have no hope. Had her dreams of Richard holding her been a reality? Surely not. She then recalled the gentle stroking of his hand and the touch of his lips against her hair. Dear Lord, it hadn’t been a delirium.
“Hmm, he was quite desperate to see you, and he sat with you for hours. I’d always thought him a degenerate, but that day I saw a man who truly cared.”
“Why hasn’t anyone said Richard was there?” she whispered. “I cannot credit you and Mamma remained tight-lipped.”
A smile tugged at her father’s lips. “When you fell into your delirium, you also cursed him with some rather choice and alarming words. I believe that was the first time your dear mamma fainted…or perhaps it was when, in your delirium, you muttered you would inform him if there was to be a child.”
A tide of mortification swept through her and Evie almost fainted.
“I daresay, my dear child, you are fully recovered, and well enough to travel to this ball.”
He pressed a kiss to her cheek and departed.
A few minutes after her father left her with her uncertain thoughts, Evie hurried inside to the parlor. Adel was still waiting, but her mother was absent.
“Where is Mamma?”
A smile tipped Adel’s lips. “Lady Gladstone insisted your stubborn nature will see everyone to the poor house and has taken to her bed. I even heard a request for the doctors because her poor nerves are suffering terribly.”
Evie sighed, massaging the slow throb building at her temples. “Mamma doesn’t even like him,” she muttered.
“He has recently become imminently suitable to most maters in the ton. It seems the very idea that Westfall is hosting a ball has signaled his desire to be welcomed back into society’s fold.”
Evie couldn’t account for what would induce him to act in such a manner. “I doubt very much that is his intention.”
“Will you go?” her friend asked softly.
“I…I am unprepared. The ball starts in four hours’ time.”
“I have a dress in my carriage.”
Evie could only stare helplessly at Adel. “You what?”
“I have the most gorgeous rose-colored dress with matching slippers and gloves lying amongst tissues in a box in my carriage.”
“Why are you helping him?” Evie accused. “He has revealed his heart to be a wretched scoundrel.”
“Yes, but you always knew that he was a reprobate and loved him anyway,” Adel said with a gentle smile to remove the sting from her words. “And I do believe he means to atone.”
She stared at her friend for a moment before replying, “Yes, I’ll go.”
“Good,” Adel said approvingly. “For a dreadful moment, I feared Lord Westfall would have had to resort to his secondary plan of kidnapping you.”
Evie gaped. “He had plans to kidnap me?”
“If you proved too stubborn and declined his invitation. There is a yacht waiting in Dover with a vicar aboard. I believe the destination is Paris?”
Evie hated the foolish blast of hope and love that tore through her heart. “Let’s prepare,” she said musingly, and silently prayed she wasn’t once again foolish.