He Said Yes Page 25

  He gave a wicked smile, then laughed. "The regatta starts tomorrow. One last kiss for luck."

  "If you insist, my lord," she relented with a wicked smile of her own.

  The next morning, Evelyn answered a knock at the cot­tage door. She found Druggs standing on the flagstone doorstep. The secretary was dressed in his customary brown suit and crisp white shirt. Looking past his shoulder, Evelyn saw a curricle waiting. It had rained during the night, but the morning was shining bright, the sky filled with wispy, white clouds. A brisk wind was blowing, promising a perfect day for sailing.

  "Shall we be on our way?" Druggs offered her his arm. "The sooner we reach Harwich, the better our view of the harbor. People crowd the streets worse than market day."

  Once he'd handed her into the curricle, Evelyn opened the parasol she'd made to go with her dress. She'd finished the elegant confection the previous week, having purchased the sea green fabric more impulsively than practically before leaving London. She'd designed it with something special in mind, and what could be more special than the opening cer­emony of the Harwich Regatta. The skirt was cut to flow and spread out at the back, the front hanging straight and snug over a crinoline frame it had taken her days to adjust in order to present just the right silhouette. The hem was drawn up in small festoons that would allow for easy walking at the same time it displayed the proper amount of ivory petticoat. The pointed bodice fit snugly, emphasizing her narrow waist. It was a feminine design, one given to fashion and acceptabil­ity.

  The trip to Harwich was thoroughly enjoyable. The day was bright, the breeze balmy, the summer colors a treat to the eye. Harwich was a key port with links to seafarers that went back to the days of Drake and Raleigh. Ships had sailed from its harbor to defend England from the Spanish Armada. The port still served as a base for Her Majesty's Navy. The lighthouse, a lofty structure of honey brown brick, safeguarded the flow of packet boats and frigates that crisscrossed the Channel on a regular basis.

  When the vehicle left the tree-shaded roadway, turning toward the village, the top of the lighthouse came into view. Long morning shadows stretched out like a lazing cat, adding a touch of elegance to the otherwise practical, flat-faced buildings that surrounded the docks. Ahead lay the harbor. Evelyn stared at the clustering masts of squared-rigged ships set against an archipelago of sun-bleached clouds. The water and sky seemed to take their color from each other, their individual boundaries merging in the bright morning light as seagulls cried and circled overhead.

  A hundred types of hulls, so many they were moored in walloping rows, bobbed up and down on the waves. The graceful lines of sloops, large and small, lay alongside ma­jestic clipper ships. The tall castle of unfurled sails and tim­ber masts loomed over the flat decks of cutters and packet boats. The northern side of the harbor teemed with lean gun­boats of the British Navy. Here and there the dark, stately lines of a warship lorded over the water with masterful men­ace, reminding everyone that Britannia now ruled the seas.

  Druggs was forced to slow the curricle to a crawl. As he'd predicted the streets were filled with people. The crowd was assiduously gathered. Lords and ladies and acceptable local gentry mixed with villagers and men wearing seaman's gear: salt-bleached canvas breeches and striped jersey shirts. The air was a blend of salt and sea, opened kegs of ale, and woodsmoke from the sputtering fires of street vendors selling breaded sausages and plum duffs. A carnival atmosphere had taken over the town, and Evelyn looked at everything with wide eyes, absorbing the sights and sounds with childish wonder.

  Oh, how she'd love to be strolling through the village on Marshall's arm. Not wanting to spoil her first excursion away from Bedford Hall, Evelyn pushed the disappointing thought aside. It was enough that he'd arranged for her to be here, to see him sail out of the harbor. He was sharing the day with her in the only way he knew how. It was a telling sign that Evelyn added to her stockpile of hope.

  She looked around and smiled. At least she could be her­self with Druggs. The secretary knew exactly who and what she was; she didn't have to guard her feelings or watch her words. She could enjoy the day and share in Marshall's en­thusiasm, even if she was obliged to do it from afar.

  As they neared the harbor. Evelyn saw Lady Waltham in the family's phaeton. Catherine was at her side, dressed in a pink silk dress with a matching parasol, and looking like a perfect little lady. Winnifred and Lord Lansdowne were standing nearby. The young lord was an attractive man in his late twenties with brown hair and eyes. Marshall had ap­proved his suit of Winnifred, and Evelyn had to admit that they made an attractive couple.

  She recognized more people as Druggs skillfully maneu­vered them toward a hill that overlooked the harbor. The Viscount Sterling and his lovely wife were keeping company with Lady Felicity Forbes-Hammond and Lord Kniveton. Not seeing the duke or Marshall's other friends, Evelyn as­sumed the gentlemen were inside the Three Cups Hotel, the official clubhouse of the Harwich Yacht Club.

  "Here we are," Druggs said, managing with his usual effi­ciency to find a shady place to stop the curricle. He handed her down. "There's his lordship's sloop," he pointed.

  Evelyn strained her eyes, hoping to catch a glimpse of the marquis, but there was so much activity on board that she couldn't be sure whom she was seeing.

  "He's standing at the wheel," Druggs said.

  "I see him!" she said a second later, unable to contain her excitement. His dark hair was blowing in the wind and she could see the smile on his face. He loved to sail. She waved doubting that he could pick her out of the crowd but want­ing to wish him well regardless.

  Suddenly the crowd went still as a curling trail of black smoke lifted up from a cannon on board one of the warships. The shattering boom was followed by a deafening cheer from everyone inhabiting Harwick's narrow streets. Evelyn watched as the sails were unfurled their billowing canvas catching the wind to propel the ships across the water.

  The race for the Thames had begun.

  "When will we know if he's won?" Evelyn asked turning to Druggs.

  "They'll send a wire from the Royal Yacht Club in London," he told her. "If the wind holds, we'll know before nightfall."

  "I hope he wins," she said. "He loves to sail."

  "Yes, he does," the secretary agreed his face brightening as a group of children ran across the street, shouting and teasing the way all youngsters do when their parents aren't close at hand. "Would you like to browse the shops?" he asked. "The marquis insisted that we make a day of it."

  They did inspecting the shops along the waterfront be­fore finding a small eatery that specialized in spiced tea and pastries. Evelyn found Druggs to be an enjoyable compan­ion. He spoke of his life, having been born in Yorkshire, and his family. She was surprised to discover that he was one of eight children.

  "The joys of a large family can be overstated" he told her as they left the eatery and ventured into the center of the vil­lage to inspect more of the quaint shops that sold goods de­livered by the ships that came and went out of the harbor on a daily basis. "Being the middle son, there were times that I dreamed of being an only child and not having to wear shoes that had been handed down from my older brothers."

  "And I imagined having brothers, older ones to order me about and younger ones to tease me," Evelyn confessed. "But then, it's our nature to want what we don't have."

  "At times," Druggs said. "But there's nothing wrong with a little ambition. One never knows what heights one may reach."

  She met his gaze for a brief moment and found his ex­pression solicitous, as if he were encouraging her to think beyond her current circumstances. They had never discussed her relationship with the marquis, to do so would be in the poorest of taste, and Druggs was a gentleman in his own right. But Evelyn couldn't help but wonder if Marshall had voiced some opinion of her, some hint of his feelings.

  Not knowing how he truly felt caused her more distress than she was willing to admit. He was still the most gener­ous, the most kindhearted man
she had ever met, but no words of love had passed between them. She knew nothing of the workings of his inner mind or heart, nor did she sus­pect that she would unless she prompted the issue by ex­pressing her own emotions.

  She loved him desperately, and the memories of all they had shared in the short time they had known each other kept the hope in her heart alive. But she wanted more than mem­ories. She wanted a future. A future filled with the happiness she knew only he could provide. Happiness and children and years of sharing. But before they could share a life, Marshall had to share his feelings. Did he love her? And if he did, would he reveal those feelings before summer's end?

  With Druggs at her side, they entered a small shop. The interior was dim, smelled of incense, and was cluttered with all sorts of exotic paraphernalia: colored beads and painted paper fans, wooden carvings and ceramic figurines, seashells from the West Indies and the African coast. Evelyn held a creamy pink and white shell up to her ear, something Catherine had told her to do should she ever find one large enough, and was amazed that she could indeed hear a sound that resem­bled a soft roaring of the sea. She smiled as the shell echoed the memory of the night she and Marshall had made love on the beach with the moon and stars shining down on them.

  "How much is this?" she asked the clerk, a pinched-face little man with a dark, weathered complexion and a gold tooth that gleamed whenever he opened his mouth.

  "It doesn't matter," Druggs said taking the shell from her hand. "If you like it, then you shall have it."

  The clerk laughed. "Aye, that be the way, gent. Whatever it takes to please the lady."

  "Isn't there anything else you would like? Some of the figurines are quite unusual."

  Evelyn shook her head. "Just the shell, if you please."

  She knew Marshall had told Druggs to spare no expense in making sure she enjoyed the day. The man had tried to purchase something in every shop they'd entered so far, but Evelyn had refused to give any particular item more than the briefest attention. The shell was different. It was a memento of the sea that she would always cherish.

  The next shop on the crowded street was a millinery shop. Evelyn stopped to look at the hats, fans, and parasols displayed in the window.

  "I've a thirst for a pint of ale," Druggs told her. "Go on inside. I'll wait for you across the street."

  "If you insist," Evelyn replied taking a second look at one of the bonnets in the window. She hadn't had a new bon­net in years. This one was very pretty with a blue ribbon around the brim and a small splash of colorful feathers that made it fashionable without being gaudy.

  She entered the shop and began browsing through its wares. Its size, cramped but cozy, forced her to listen to bits of conversation and girlish laughter as young ladies from the village and neighboring estates tried on the most flamboyant creations the milliner had to offer. Three young women, two of whom Evelyn recognized, were gathered around a display of ribbons. One of them was Sybil Radley.

  "He's spent the majority of the week with me," Sybil told her friends. "We walked in the garden last night after dinner. He spoke of the regatta, of course. But I'm convinced he's interested in more than sailing. We have waltzed together al­most every night."

  "I heard that Lord Lansdowne intends to announce for Winnifred. Lord Waltham will look to his own future once his sister is wed," one of the young ladies replied. "You've grown up together. My mother said gentlemen prefer young ladies who share a common background. I'm sure your fam­ilies would applaud the match."

  Evelyn's heart caught in her throat. They were talking about Marshall as if his future were already charted, prede­termined. But then, that was the way of society. Courtships were plotted, marriages arranged, and wedding dates set based on social compatibility and the noble necessity of pro­viding an heir. Love had little to do with the perpetuation of the peerage.

  Evelyn stepped back, but not far enough to keep from hearing Sybil's reply.

  "Although it isn't proper for a lady to flirt too openly, I in­tend to make the best of the summer," she assured her com­panions.

  Forgetting the bonnet, Evelyn exited the shop. Once she was outside, she fought back the overwhelming urge to cry. Tears would serve no purpose except to draw her unneeded attention. With her insides trembling at the possibility that one day Marshall might very well marry the scheming Sybil or someone just like her, Evelyn opened her parasol and stepped away from the millinery shop.

  Eighteen

  Overhearing Lady Radley and her friends in the millinery shop had stripped the day of its gaiety, but Evelyn managed to appear lighthearted until Druggs deposited her in front of the cottage at day's end. With summer at its zenith, the evening light would linger, and she longed to take a walk on the beach, alone with her thoughts.

  By the time night claimed the sky, wiping the heat from the air and sending cool, dark shadows over the land Evelyn wasn't anywhere closer to knowing how Marshall felt about her than she'd been before traipsing down to the water and letting the waves spill over her bare feet.

  She brewed a pot of tea, then sat quietly near the window, fighting off the mounting hopelessness that seemed deter­mined to invade her mind. She shouldn't let gossip upset her, knowing full well it was based on speculation not fact, but the ensuing silence of the cottage, broken only by the soft sound of waves spilling onto the beach, brought nothing to convince her that she wasn't living in a fantasy world.

  Was she foolishly mistaking Marshall's physical affection as love, or did he actually feel something for her? She told herself that he did, believed it when she looked into his eyes, but sitting alone in a cottage that she was occupying under false pretenses, it was difficult to imagine that he'd come charging back from London with a confession of love on his lips.

  A knock on the door alerted Evelyn to a visitor. Thinking it was Druggs with news of the race, she made sure her dressing gown was buttoned, then opened the door. But in­stead of Marshall's efficient, strait-laced secretary, Evelyn found herself facing his sister.

  "Good evening, Lady Winnifred," she said. "Does your mother have need of me?"

  "No," Winnifred replied stiffly. "May I come in?"

  "Of course." Evelyn swung the door wide and stepped back. "I was just about to have some tea. Would you care for a cup?"

  "I am not here to socialize."

  Evelyn did her best to be charming, despite the harshness of Winnifred's tone. "Have you heard results from London? Mr. Druggs told me that a telegram is usually sent."

  "The Harwich Club took the trophy," Winnifred informed her impatiently. "My brother's sloop circled the buoy to claim the race."

  "I'm glad. Please give his lordship my congratulations."

  Winnifred said nothing. Instead, she began to walk around the main room of the cottage, as if she was looking for something. When she turned to face Evelyn, her expres­sion was serious. "I've come to ask you to return the duke's pocket watch."

  "What?"

  "His Grace's pocket watch," Winnifred repeated. "He dis­covered it missing this morning. Mother has set the servants to searching, but I find myself doubting that it will be found in any of the likely places. The regatta prevented me from calling upon you before, but since the watch hasn't been found, I had little choice."

  Evelyn was too shocked to do more than stare unbelievingly as Marshall's sister blatantly accused her of stealing the Duke of Morland's watch.

  Not again! Please, God, not again!

  "I know our servants too well to believe that any of them have taken it," Winnifred went on. "The duke checked the hour before retiring last night. I saw him handling the time­piece myself. It was a gift from his son, his only son, now deceased. I'm sure you can understand why it has a strong sentimental value to him. It is imperative that it be found and returned to him."

  "And you think that I have it. That I can return it," Evelyn said her temper rising in equal proportion to her fear.

  Marshall was in London. If Winnifred went to her mother, tol
d Lady Waltham what she'd seen and heard on Bond Street, what would happen? Would the local magistrate be summoned? Would she be hauled away from Bedford Hall in the same disgraceful manner? A jury would be unlikely to believe her a second time, especially if Winnifred testified that she'd been arrested once for the very same crime. There had been formal charges, a warrant issued. Regardless of the verdict, she'd been tarred by a black brush, and there was no remov­ing the stain.

  "My brother asked me to refrain from telling our mother of your previous experience with Lady Monfrey," Winnifred said. "However, I feel that I must. The duke is a guest in our home, a valued friend of our family. Were my brother in res­idence, I would allow him to handle the situation, but he is not. Therefore, I must ask you, Miss Dennsworth. Do you have the watch?"

  "No."

  Winnifred's expression was doubtful. "Would you con­sent to having one of the footmen search the cottage? I as­sure you, he will be discreet."

  "As discreet as you in coming here to accuse me of theft without a smidgen of proof," Evelyn retorted angrily.

  "I do not like this any better than you," Winnifred de­fended her assumption. "But, you were accused of theft in London, and despite the court's decision—"

  "A verdict of not guilty" Evelyn reminded her.

  "Nevertheless, I would be remiss if I didn't inquire. Surely you can understand my reasons."

  "I understand that you think me a thief."

  Panic rose inside Evelyn as she realized that Winnifred felt duty bound to reveal the scandalous events that had taken place in London to Lady Waltham. Even if the duke's pocket watch was found, the damage would be done. The friendship Evelyn now shared with Marshall's stepmother would be shattered. No proper lady kept company with an accused thief.

  "Did you sell it in the village?" Winnifred asked her. "Is there a shop where it can be purchased, retrieved before His Grace realizes it wasn't misplaced by his valet?"

  "I did not take the duke's watch. I did not sell it in the vil­lage. I have no idea where it is, nor can I give you any guid­ance in finding it," Evelyn replied indignantly.