He Said Yes Page 23

  She selected a book, then exited the library in hopes of gaining the morning room before the marquis greeted his friend. Unfortunately, her timing was off by several seconds. The Earl of Granby reached the second-floor landing before she could disappear down the back stairs, a shortcut to the east wing that she used since becoming acquainted with the interior of the sprawling manor house.

  They came face-to-face in the hallway. Up close, it was easy for Evelyn to see the rakish elegance of the man. The earl took no pains to hide his interest, his steely blue eyes surveying her from head to toe. Taking in the cut of her mint green day dress, his gaze lingered far too long on her breasts before moving slowly up to her face. He smiled, and she knew that Lady Waltham's assessment was an accurate one. The man was charmingly dangerous.

  Unsure if she should acknowledge him by name—there was no reason she should know who he was—Evelyn hesi­tated frantically searching for the appropriate greeting.

  Blessedly, she was rescued from doing or saying the wrong thing.

  Marshall came out of his study, two doors down the hall, strolling toward them with a smile on his face. "Granby," he said holding out his hand. "Thought you'd be the first to ar­rive."

  "I always am," the earl replied. "And the last to leave. I daresay, it's become a tradition of sorts."

  "May I introduce Miss Dennsworth," Marshall said as smoothly as he would have introduced any lady of society. "My stepmother's companion for the summer."

  "Miss Dennsworth," the earl said immediately trapping her hand in a warm grasp, then bringing it to his mouth for a chaste kiss. "My pleasure."

  The marquis cleared his throat as the earl's lips pressed lightly against her fingers.

  Marshall's reaction told her that the Earl of Granby knew exactly who and what she was. It shouldn't have surprised her. The man was Marshall's closest friend. Realizing that Granby knew the circumstances of her relationship with the marquis, Evelyn found herself embarrassed and slightly angry that the earl was teasing her so easily. But then, gentle­men like the Earl of Granby made an occupation of teasing women. It was as pleasant a pastime to them as a weekend in the country, and just as meaningless. He was too well-bred to say anything out of turn, but he was also enough of a ras­cal to enjoy taunting his friend by paying her undue atten­tion.

  She withdrew her hand as politely as possible. "My lord" she acknowledged him, deciding to return to the cottage after delivering Lady Waltham's book. Now that the guests were beginning to arrive, her company wouldn't be needed until the festivities were over. Lady Waltham would soon have a house full of people demanding her time and atten­tion. It was just as well. She didn't relish blending into the background while Marshall mixed and mingled with the peerage.

  The earl caught her gaze and held it for a moment. Long enough for Evelyn to feel the intensity of his blue-gray eyes. He was indeed a handsome man, strong featured with a smile that could melt candle wax. She pitied any lady who found herself ensnared by that smile. It was inescapable, un­less she were a woman whose heart had already been trapped.

  "Please excuse me, my lords. Lady Waltham requires my attention."

  "Of course," Marshall said, giving her a smile that spoke volumes to her heart.

  She moved down the hallway, hearing two sets of foot­steps fading away as the men entered the study. She was halfway to the morning room when she looked at the book in her hand and frowned. It was one Lady Waltham had read only last week. Frowning, Evelyn retraced her steps, realiz­ing she'd taken the wrong volume from the shelf. She passed the study. The door was slightly ajar, and the sound of voices engaged in casual conversation drifted into the carpeted cor­ridor. She would have kept walking, retrieved the proper book, and returned to the first floor had she not heard her name mentioned.

  She paused just beyond the door, being careful not to be seen, as the Earl of Granby complimented his friend's taste in women.

  "Miss Dennsworth is far more charming than you led me to believe," he said. "It's easy to understand why you enticed her to join you in the country."

  "As long as I'm the only one doing the enticing," Marshall replied. "Miss Dennsworth is not an option for practicing your charms. There will be ladies aplenty for that if I know Constance. She's no doubt invited every available female in the township."

  The earl laughed then said something that Evelyn couldn't quite make out. She felt a small wave of satisfaction that Marshall was warning other men away from her. It helped to ease some of her earlier embarrassment. Of course, there was no reason to warn anyone away. Though she could ap­preciate the earl's good looks, she had no interest in any man but the marquis.

  Hearing a door open and close somewhere nearby, Evelyn hurried on to the library, found the right book, and made her way downstairs, using the main staircase this time. She deposited the book in the withdrawing room, to be read later by Lady Waltham. The large foyer clock, chiming the hour with its normal melodious accuracy, reminded Evelyn that she had promised to luncheon with Catherine and Miss Perry.

  She and the governess had become acquainted although Evelyn stopped short of referring to the middle-aged spin­ster as a friend. Charlotte Perry was a woman of extreme opinions, one who would quickly find fault with Evelyn if she knew of her involvement with the marquis. Miss Perry had small brown eyes that missed very little. She had been Winnifred's governess before taking on the daunting task of teaching Catherine. Like most governesses, she presided over the nursery and schoolroom with a will of iron and an insatiable guardianship of the two Bedford daughters. She kept to herself, as befitted a woman of her station, having lit­tle to do with the servants. Evelyn had first thought that her own status—-a lady's companion being higher than that of a lady's maid—might nourish a friendship between herself and Charlotte Perry, but that had not been the result at all. If anything, Charlotte treated her with a cool reserve that often made Evelyn wonder if perhaps Winnifred had disobeyed her brother and told the governess of the event on Bond Street.

  Evelyn had learned shortly after her arrival at Bedford Hall that the staff of a manor house had its own hierarchy. Carlow, the butler, and Mrs. Wyatt, the housekeeper, were both people with staunch convictions when it came to the management of the manor. During meals, Carlow sat at the head of the table, presiding over the meal. Mrs. Wyatt sat at the opposite end of the table, mimicking the place that Lady Waltham herself occupied in the large formal dining room. The seats between them were filled by footmen and maids. Conversation was limited to friendly trivialities. Occasionally Mr. Druggs would join them, adding a fresh voice to the dis­cussion that usually centered around what was happening in the village. Anyone found gossiping about the family was immediately chastised by Carlow. Miss Perry never visited the kitchen table, preferring to take her supper in her quar­ters.

  Seeking out the third floor, Evelyn wondered if she'd find Catherine studying Latin or French. Regardless of her opin­ion of Charlotte Perry, she was an excellent teacher, given to far more patience than most governesses or so Marshall had told her. But then, there were times that Catherine could try the patience of a saint. She was an extremely inquisitive ten-year-old, forever asking questions and blurting out assump­tions that frequently earned her additional time in the classroom, conjugating verbs in an attempt to teach her for­bearance.

  "There you are," Catherine said, prancing down the hall to meet Evelyn. Blond curls bounced as she moved, her eyes the same sparkling blue as the ribbons in her hair. "I told Miss Perry you hadn't forgotten."

  "I almost did," Evelyn admitted. "I apologize if I've kept you waiting."

  "Come along, then," Catherine said, taking her hand and tugging her toward the schoolroom door. "Cook made gin­gerbread cakes."

  The room was warm and full of light. There was the smell of ink and chalk and the beeswax that was used to keep everything polished to perfection. It was all vaguely pleas­ing to Evelyn's nose, perhaps because it was a different smell from the rest of the house, a more youthful
one that suited Catherine and her mischievous smiles.

  Miss Perry was sitting at her desk, wearing a brown dress and looking very much like a governess with her hair pinched back in a tight bun at the nape of her neck. Of late, Evelyn found herself looking at the woman and wondering if she might one day awake to find herself as stiff and lonely as Charlotte Perry. The dream of having her own dress shop, of maintaining herself as an independent woman, no longer seemed the grand adventure it had once been. It had taken on the form of necessity, a way to provide for herself, noth­ing more. As for thoughts of a family and husband they had vanished completely, except in her dreams when the hus­band was a marquis and their children played on the green lawns and sandy beaches of an Ipswich estate.

  Lunch was slices of cold mutton roast, bread and cheese, followed by gingerbread cakes.

  They ate in a small room adjacent to the classroom. Catherine chatted away about the upcoming race and how she was absolutely certain her brother's sloop would be the first to circle the Thames's buoy.

  "Have you ever been sailing?" Evelyn asked hoping with silent but equal enthusiasm that the marquis would win the race.

  "No. Marshall won't let me anywhere near his boat. He's says females and the Channel don't mix. I told him I could borrow a pair of breeches from one of the stable boys and tuck my hair under a red sailor's cap. No one would know that I'm a girl. I don't have breasts yet."

  "Catherine!" Miss Perry gasped. "Mind your tongue. Young ladies do not put themselves about in such a brash manner."

  "It's true," Catherine said, looking down at her flat lace bodice.

  "That will be enough," the governess said glaring along with the reprimand.

  There was no further conversation until Miss Perry left the room to put the luncheon tray where one of the maids could find it and return it to the kitchen.

  "I'm not sure I want breasts," Catherine whispered lean­ing close to Evelyn so the remark remained one of their little secrets. "Winnie has them, and all she does is worry about finding a suitable husband."

  Evelyn contained her laughter. "Whether you want them or not, I daresay you'll have them one day. And when you do, you'll be as worried about finding a suitable husband as your sister. It's the way of things."

  "Do you worry about finding a husband?" Catherine asked innocently.

  Evelyn stopped herself from telling the young girl an out­right lie. "Sometimes," she replied. "I want a man who will love me the way your father loved your mother. When I find him, I'm sure I'll worry myself silly."

  "You could marry Marshall." Catherine announced. "I know he likes you. I saw him watching you from Ms window this morning. You were walking across the lawn, and he was watching you and smiling the way Papa used to smile at Mama."

  The unadorned comment made Evelyn want to smile in return, but she didn't dare. It wouldn't do to have Catherine repeating her observation to everyone in the household. "It was a beautiful morning. I'm sure his lordship was simply admiring the day, nothing more."

  "Perhaps," Catherine said shrugging her shoulders and sounding unconvinced.

  Evelyn stayed until Miss Perry returned, then left Catherine to her lessons. As she walked across the lawn to­ward the cottage, she stopped and looked back at the manor house, wondering if Catherine was the only one inside who thought she would make the marquis a very nice wife.

  It was the time just before dawn that Evelyn loved best. That quiet time of the morning when the sun inched its way above the horizon, and the translucent light of the moon began to fade quietly from the sky. She often sat outside to watch the celestial changing of the guard. It was her private time. Time to let her thoughts flow with no definite destina­tion. A peaceful time that allowed her to reflect or plan as her mind saw fit.

  This morning Evelyn's mind was consumed by thoughts of the past and the future. She'd always been strong-willed, determined to make her way in the world without settling for marriage simply because she needed a man to provide for her. But she'd let her experience at Clerkenwell cloud her judgment, it had been so easy to step into Marshall's open arms, to let him gradually take charge of her life and her heart. She couldn't blame him. He hadn't tricked her or made promises he had no intention of keeping. The decision to be­come his lover had been hers and hers alone.

  She had followed her heart rather than the morays of her upbringing and society's restraints. She'd made the decision, and the consequences were hers alone to bear. Acknowledg­ing that she had also accepted the hope that Marshall could come to love her. He was such a naturally loving man; his dedication to his family proved it, as well as his generosity in helping her overcome Lady Monfrey's accusation.

  But like so many men, Marshall had come to the conclu­sion that marriage was an institute for the begetting of chil­dren and that to forfeit oneself to it too easily was a sign of weakness. He saw himself as a bachelor, a man committed to enjoying life to its fullest. She saw him as the head of his family, a man dedicated to his stepmother and sisters, a nat­ural provider and protector. The summer was passing quickly, leaving her only a few short weeks in which to convince him that loving someone and being loved were two of life's great­est joys. He didn't acknowledge the need that Evelyn had recognized weeks ago. The Marquis of Waltham didn't need the gaiety of London; he needed a family of his own. Sons to sail the Channel with him and little girls to spoil and pam­per. As the sun sent its first rays of light over the aquamarine water that separated England from the Continent, Evelyn sent up a prayer that she might be the mother of those chil­dren.

  Several hours later, on her way to the manor house to join Lady Waltham for morning tea, a custom that had developed along with their friendship, Evelyn looked across the length of the grounds to see a phaeton approaching.

  A footman came bustling down the steps of the main por­tico, the tails of his liveried coat flapping behind him. The first guest to step down from the open-air carriage was tall and elegantly dressed in a dark brown coat and matching trousers. He handed down a young lady wearing an olive green traveling suit with a sassy, feather and lace hat atop raven black hair. The second lady was a matronly female with an ample bosom draped in jet beads. Her hat sprouted a flamboyant gold feather and a cluster of red silk roses.

  The marquis came strolling down the steps as the last gentleman stepped down from the phaeton. He was elderly, but his age didn't prevent him from standing tall with squared shoulders that said he had a lot more life left in him.

  The Duke of Morland had arrived.

  Having issued the invitations and recorded the requested responses in Lady Waltham's guest journal, Evelyn knew the younger gentleman was the Viscount Sterling, accompanied by his wife, Lady Rebecca. The older woman would be Lady Felicity Forbes-Hammond a no-nonsense matron of society and Lady Rebecca's aunt.

  The scene was repeated again and again over the course of the next three days as more phaetons, curricles, and car­riages came rolling up the gravel drive to deposit guests at the front door of Bedford Hall. Evelyn watched from a re­spectable distance as the house began to fill with lords and ladies. She saw little of the marquis, his duties as host keep­ing him occupied late into the night. Carlow and Jemima supplied the names of the guests Evelyn couldn't readily identify. The Earl of Ackerman arrived two days after Viscount Sterling, followed by the Viscount Rathbone and Lord Kniveton.

  It was Lord Kniveton who unexpectedly pulled Evelyn into the center of things. She was leaving the morning room after a brief visit with Lady Waltham when she met the dis­tinguished gentleman in the hall. It was still early, and most of the guests were lingering in their rooms after a late supper followed by a night of music and dancing. It had been a warm night, and the music had flowed through the open win­dows of the manor's large ballroom, across the green lawns, reaching her cottage in drifting whispers of German and French waltzes.

  Evelyn had tried not to think of the marquis dancing with the well-dressed polished ladies his mother had invited to en­tice him int
o marriage, but she couldn't stop her mind from joining the music. She had never danced with Marshall. The ballroom was not something she could share with him, just as she wouldn't be able to share the upcoming luncheon on the lawn.

  Pushing her thoughts aside because they served no pur­pose other than to reiterate the differences between herself and the man she loved Evelyn dipped into a curtsey as she found herself face-to-face with Robert Hants, the Earl of Kniveton. "My lord."

  "Miss Dennsworth," he said. "It's a pleasure."

  She hadn't realized that any of the guests knew her name. The earl was a ruggedly handsome man. In his fifties with dark hair that had gone silver at the temple and striking amber eyes, he stood six feet tall. Nothing about his younger form had gone to fat. He was lean and trim, dressed in a charcoal coat and striped trousers. An emerald stickpin adorned the center of his white cravat.

  Seeing her surprised expression, the earl smiled. "I asked Waltham about you. I must say his description was perfect. I recognized you immediately. Had you not fortuitously ap­peared I had planned to seek you out."

  "Is there something I can do for you, my lord?"

  "It is I who should be offering a service, Miss Denns­worth. I am in your debt."

  "My lord?"

  "Lady Waltham," he said. "Her husband was my closest friend yet I found myself unable to console her. Seeing her now is a balm to my heart. She is returning to her former self, smiling and laughing once again. For that, you have my gratitude."