He Said Yes Read online

  Guided by his words, Evelyn closed her eyes and surren­dered to a feeling so intense, so powerful, so indescribably beautiful, she wept. The world around her fell away, and she existed only in the essence of the moment. Then she felt Marshall plunge deep one last time, felt him swell and throb inside her, bathing her with liquid fire.

  Gradually, contentment took the place of passion. Marshall eased his weight off Evelyn, then drew her into his arms. He held her close, smiling when she snuggled even closer. For the first time in weeks, he felt completely at ease with himself, at ease with the woman in his arms. Perhaps there was something to be said about acquiring a woman's friendship along with her body.

  The following morning, Marshall rose from his desk in the library to greet his sister.

  "Carlow said you wished to see me," Winnifred said closing the door behind her.

  "Yes," he replied giving her a quick kiss on the cheek once she had crossed the room. "I would like to speak to you about a number of things."

  She seated herself, looking very pretty in a royal blue frock with light blue trim. Her hair, the same dark brown as his and their father's, was arranged in a mass of ringlets that started at the crown of her head and fell onto her shoulders. "What things?"

  "First, did I speak out of turn yesterday when I suggested inviting Lord Lansdowne to the regatta party? I would not want to force a suitor on you who is not welcome."

  "You like him, don't you?" Winnie asked hesitantly.

  "That isn't the question," Marshall replied knowing young ladies were often more impressed with a man's ap­pearance than his character. "What I wish to know is if you enjoy his company."

  "Yes, but. . ."

  "But what? Has he done something to offend you? Pressed his suit too forcefully perhaps?" Although he'd had little to do with his sisters' upbringing, Marshall knew Winnifred was far more vulnerable than she realized. She had been raised to be an acceptable young lady, gracious in her speech and manners. Such young ladies weren't always prepared to meet the more aggressive side of a man's nature.

  "No," she insisted. "His lordship has always been a per­fect gentleman while in my company."

  "If he proposes marriage, will you accept?" Marshall asked thinking it a good match but wanting to make sure that there was real affection between the couple before he formally endorsed the courtship.

  "I'm not sure," Winnie replied. She left her chair to walk to the tall, latticed windows that overlooked the western lawn.

  Marshall joined her. "Your flock of peacocks are giving the gardeners fits as usual," he said watching as one of the men tending the lawn shooed several of the birds away from a patch of newly seeded grass. The male, splaying a colorful array of feathers, indignantly danced across the lawn, only to return the minute the gardener turned his back.

  Winnie laughed. "Do you remember when Father brought the first ones home? I was so excited I was dancing on air."

  "You were eight years old" he reminded her. "You'd been sulking for days because he'd scolded you for going into the stables and almost getting trampled by one of the horses."

  "I remember," Winnie said forlornly. "I remember so much about him, Marshall. I can understand why Mama doesn't want to give up her mourning. She doesn't want to forget him."

  "None of us will ever forget him." He pulled her close, knowing there was little he could say to comfort her. He had been away at Eton, then at Cambridge, during most of Winnie's childhood. His relationship with their father had been of a different sort. Instead of being protected and shel­tered he'd been raised to assume the duties and responsibili­ties of an only son.

  "What of Lansdowne, or would you rather not discuss him?"

  "He is very nice," Winnie admitted, looking out the win­dow instead of meeting his gaze. "And handsome. And com­fortably wealthy, or so I've heard."

  "Then what is it?"

  "His estates are near Newcastle," she finally told him. "That's so far away. If we married I would see you and Mama and Catherine only when we are in London."

  Marshall smiled then drew her into his arm for a frater­nal embrace. "Newcastle isn't the end of the world Winnie. And there's more reason than just Parliament for a lord to travel. There will be holidays and hunts and all the other things that bring a family together."

  She looked up at him with tears in her eyes, and Marshall wondered if perhaps another Season wouldn't serve her in­terests best. There was no commandment that she had to marry this year. "You don't have to marry anyone, Winnie. There's plenty of time. The right man will come along, if Lansdowne isn't he."

  "I'm not sure," she confessed shyly. "He did kiss me, and it was very pleasant."

  Pleasant!

  Marshall thought of Evelyn, of the hours he'd spent kiss­ing her yesterday. He certainly hoped she found it more than pleasant. It had been well after dark before he had left her to join the family for a late dinner. She'd been sleeping by then, exhausted from their lovemaking. He stopped himself from drawing any more comparisons. Evelyn certainly wasn't his sister, nor was he responsible for seeing that she made a suit­able marriage.

  "Then, shall we extend the invitation to Lord Lansdowne, as well as several other gentlemen, and see what the future brings?"

  She nodded then returned to her seat. "Catherine and I missed you at breakfast," she said turning the conversation away from possible suitors.

  "I rode out early to look over the fields, then met with the steward. Did your mother join you for breakfast?"

  "No," Evelyn said sadly.

  Marshall frowned. "Hopefully that will cease to be the case. I suspect Miss Dennsworth will have a strong impact on your mother's actions."

  "How so? Mother may be taking her mourning too seri­ously, but I fail to see how a servant can alter her actions."

  "Miss Dennsworth is not a servant," Marshall corrected her.

  Winnifred shrugged her shoulders. "Then a member of the staff. I see little difference."

  "The difference is that Miss Dennsworth has not been employed to polish the silver; she is here to try and help your mother."

  "She misses Father," Winnie said defensively.

  "We all do," Marshall replied. "That is not the issue. The point is that we must all get on with our lives." He hesitated unsure how his sister would react to his next comment. "When I introduce Miss Dennsworth later this morning, I'm certain you will recognize her."

  "Recognize her?" Winnie took on an inquisitive expres­sion. "I don't recognize the name."

  Marshall folded his hands behind his back. "You do recall the incident at Madame La Roschelle's shop. Lady Monfrey accused one of her employees of stealing a brooch."

  "Oh, of course. It was very upsetting, seeing the poor woman hauled away in a jail cart."

  "That poor woman was Miss Dennsworth."

  "You can't mean . . . But what about Lady Monfrey? She will be beside herself should she discover that you have em­ployed someone who—"

  "Miss Dennsworth was found innocent of the charge," Marshall said sharply. "There was no proof that she had taken the brooch. The accusation was nothing more than an overenthusiastic assumption by Lady Monfrey The magis­trate dismissed the charges. Miss Dennsworth is not a thief."

  "Of course," Evelyn said looking doubtful. "But how is she to help? Does she have some kind of special talent?"

  Marshall searched for a way to explain why he thought Evelyn could be the friend Constance seemed to need so desperately, but he couldn't think of anything to say that wouldn't reveal their personal relationship.

  "Time will tell," he answered avoiding any direct com­ment. "In the meantime, I would appreciate it, as will Miss Dennsworth, if you keep your brief but previous acquain­tance to yourself."

  "Are you saying that I shouldn't tell Mother that Miss Dennsworth was arrested?" His sister looked shocked.

  "That's precisely what I'm saying. It will serve no pur­pose other than to embarrass Miss Dennsworth and make everyone in the household uncomfortable.
Life isn't always fair, Winnie, and sometimes people deserve the chance to start anew. Miss Dennsworth has been employed for the summer. That being the case, I am confident that you will not abandon your manners and cause either her or the family any unnecessary distress."

  Marshall waited giving her a few moments to digest what he was saying. She was looking down at her lap, fidgeting with the lace on the cuff of her sleeve.

  "You look worried" he said resuming his seat behind his desk. "Don't you trust my judgment."

  "Of course, I do," she said looking up at him. "How did you come to hire her? I wouldn't think that she would know anyone of our acquaintance, yet you told Mama that she has excellent references. She's a seamstress, not a lady's com­panion."

  "The details of how she came to be hired aren't impor­tant. The issue is that she is here, and I would not be pleased if she were to be insulted by either your remarks or gossip from the servants."

  "It's just that. . . Well, it's a bit unusual, is all."

  "I dare say, it is that," Marshall replied thinking of the strange events that had brought Evelyn from a dress shop on Bond Street to his family's estate here in Ipswich. "But I also think it's necessary. I want this to be an enjoyable summer for the entire family. That means getting your mother out of her room and back into the thick of things. Don't you want to see her smiling again?"

  "I'd like nothing better," his sister replied although she still looked ill at ease about something. A wan smile lit her face for an instant, then vanished. "Very well. I do not un­derstand but I will do as you ask."

  "Thank you," he said holding out a hand to her.

  She came around the desk for another hug, then left him to his morning paper.

  Marshall watched her leave, hoping that her confusion over his request wouldn't prompt her to say anything out of turn to Evelyn. He was certain that his actions would be mis­interpreted should either his stepmother or his sisters learn of his personal relationship with the young woman living in the cottage. A man did not bring his mistress—his lover— into such close proximity to his home while family members were in residence.

  The chime of the mantel clock, a family heirloom passed down from his father's maternal grandmother, marked the half hour. Marshall smiled as he unfolded his paper and began to read. Evelyn would be arriving in a few minutes. She was to be formally introduced to Lady Waltham at eleven o'clock.

  He wondered as he scanned the headlines if she'd awak­ened that morning the same way she'd fallen asleep last night—smiling.

  Thirteen

  Evelyn dressed with the utmost care, wanting to make a good impression on Lady Waltham and Marshall's two sis­ters, whom she was sure to meet as well. Already knowing Winnifred but in a different capacity, Evelyn prayed that the assurances Marshall had given her last night hadn't been ex­aggerated. Just because he had asked his sister to give their new employee the benefit of doubt, didn't mean Winnifred would actually behave as if she knew nothing about her mother's new companion. Nor did it guarantee that Evelyn's assimilation into the household would be a smooth one.

  She walked to the main house, having become familiar with the path and the majority of the eighty some servants employed by the large estate. She entered the house through the east entrance, then followed a maze of corridors until she reached the morning room, where the mistress of the house normally attended to affairs of the day: approving the menu, answering correspondences and addressing invitations, dis­cussing matters with the housekeeper and butler. It was a pleasant room, decorated in shades of deep green and pale yellow with high latticed windows that overlooked the es­tate's green lawns.

  She stood just outside the closed door, waiting for Marshall to join her. Evelyn smoothed her hands over the skirt of her plum-colored dress, hoping it was suitable for the occasion. She knew so little of the etiquette upon which society func­tioned at least when it came to trivial things such as what dress was to be worn in the morning versus the afternoon. Her lifestyle up until now had never depended upon such things, but rather her ability to work ten hours a day without complaining.

  She had however, purchased some fabric before leaving London and used the time between her arrival and that of the family to refurbish her wardrobe.

  A preoccupation with her thoughts and what she would say once she was presented to Lady Waltham kept Evelyn from hearing Marshall's approach. He appeared at her side, smiling as his eyes scanned the length of her, taking in her new attire. "You look lovely," he said in a low voice. "If my stepmother wasn't waiting on the other side of this door, I'd haul you off to some deserted corner of the house and—"

  "Stop," Evelyn hissed at him. "I'm nervous enough as it is."

  Marshall laughed lightly. "There is nothing to be nervous about. My stepmother is a pleasant lady. I'm sure the two of you will get along."

  "I certainly hope so," Evelyn said letting out a deep sigh. "It will make for an unpleasant summer if we don't."

  Choosing not to comment, he tapped on the door, then pushed it open.

  Evelyn stepped inside to find both Lady Waltham and her two daughters. The youngest, Catherine, a pretty little thing with radiant blue eyes, was sitting near the window on a bergere seat with curved arms. Winnifred was seated close to her mother in a straight-backed chair. Her posture exuded an upper-class English arrogance, a surety that she was a lady, and as such, would be treated accordingly. Evelyn gave them a brief glance, accompanied by a smile, then focused her attention on the mistress of the house.

  As expected Lady Waltham was garbed in severe black with a mourning brooch pinned to the bodice of her dress. Her hair was a deep blond her eyes the same dark blue as her daughters'. But there was a stillness in her gaze, and a slack line to her mouth, as if she'd forgotten how to smile. The effect of her pale skin and the darkness of her clothing made her seem pitifully frail.

  Evelyn could see the grief etched into her features. Her eyes were almost lifeless, reflecting the terrible loneliness of losing someone you loved the emotional isolation of being forever separated from them.

  Marshall stepped forward to make the introductions. Evelyn waited until Lady Waltham's eyes came to rest on her before she dipped into a graceful curtsey. "I am pleased to make your acquaintance, my lady."

  "The marquis employed you, against my wishes, I might add" Lady Waltham responded "but I will not hold that against you, Miss Dennsworth."

  "How very gracious of you," Marshall said teasingly. He looked at his sisters. "I think we should find another room in which to occupy ourselves. Your mother and Miss Dennsworth should have some privacy in which to become acquainted."

  Catherine made a pretty pout, then complied stopping in front of Evelyn long enough to smile up at her. Winnifred rose, walked to her mother, placing a kiss upon her cheek, then exited the room without giving Evelyn so much as a cursory glance, cutting her most efficiently.

  Evelyn looked at Marshall. His smile was reassuring as he, too, kissed his stepmother on the cheek, whispering something to her in private, before leaving the two women alone.

  "Well, you might as well sit down," Lady Waltham said once the door was shut. "I'm not sure how to begin our con­versation. As I said I see no reason for your employment. Please, don't take that as an insult. It's simply—"

  "It's just that you prefer to be alone with your misery," Evelyn said sitting down in the chair Winnifred had just va­cated. "I understand."

  "Do you?" Lady Waltham replied clearly taken back by Evelyn's bold manner.

  "You loved your husband very much."

  "Yes, I did" she replied unable to erase the heartbreak from her voice. For a moment her eyes turned gentle, as if she were seeing some past happiness. "He was. . ." Her words faded into nothingness.

  "Tell me about him."

  Lady Waltham's head went up a notch. "I would rather not discuss my husband. My memories are my own."

  "I didn't mean to be rude," Evelyn said. "When my mother died my father locked himself in his s
tudy for days on end. It took me a long time to understand that life had become a burden for him. My mother's death left him feeling aban­doned and alone."

  "You are very perceptive, Miss Dennsworth. Extremely so for a woman your age," Marshall's stepmother remarked somewhat stiffly.

  "Grief has no age requirement, Lady Waltham. Children lose their parents every day. I was young, but I grieved for my mother just as deeply as my father, in my own way. I can still hear her laughter, see her smile. My memories no longer bring me pain, but a quiet happiness that lightens my heart whenever I think of her."

  For a moment, Evelyn feared she had gone beyond the boundaries of what a companion should say to her employer. Tears gleamed in Lady Waltham's eyes. She turned her face toward the window in an effort to hide them.

  "I apologize. I've been rude," Evelyn said.

  Lady Waltham did not reply for several minutes. Finally, having regained her composure, she pointed toward a small Queen Anne desk in the corner of the room. "The marquis wishes to have a party for the annual regatta. You may begin with the invitations. There will be at least two hundred peo­ple attending the lawn party. Pray that it doesn't rain."

  Realizing that she had been accepted Evelyn gladly walked to the desk and sat down. Lady Waltham began listing the names of the people to whom invitations would be issued. It was well over an hour before Evelyn exited the morning room to find a footman waiting in the hallway. The servant informed her that the marquis would like a word with her. She was shown to the study on the second floor of the house.

  It was a man's room, void of the antimacassar coverlets that decorated the backs of most chairs in the house. The fur­niture was sturdy, the cushions of rich, dark leather. There was a small collection of family pictures on one table in­stead of the huge gallery that decorated the other rooms. The library walls were hung with paintings, landscapes and seascapes that seemed to take their life from the surrounding countryside. Evelyn decided the masculinity of the room echoed Marshall's own personality, well-ordered but not se­vere.