by Jane Charles
“You look lovely, Miss Doyle,” a maid commented and Eve took in her appearance one last time. She’d never worn a gown so fine before, there hadn’t been any reason to. She’d been too young to enter Society when her father died and then Brendan lost everything. In fact, Eve assumed she’d never wear anything so fine, including the jewelry Kilsyth had borrowed from his mother. With her hair curled and diamonds sparkling about her neck and ears, Eve felt nothing less than a princess.
With a deep breath, she turned and accepted the wrap and sent a quiet prayer that her speech was what Kilsyth wished and that no mistakes were made tonight.
Even though she’d not met with her guardian to continually review the sentences, she had spent her afternoons speaking with Mrs. Peade, when she was free. At other times, she had practiced polite conversation with the butler and both servants assured Eve that nobody would ever guess she was from Ireland. Eve prayed they were correct.
As the maid opened the door, Eve glided out of her chamber and down the stairs until she reached the library where she knew Kilsyth waited with Captain Pickmore. As she entered, both stared, neither saying a word.
Was something wrong with her appearance? She’d checked in the mirror right before she came down.
Pickmore tossed back the remains of his drink. “I say, Miss Doyle, you look quite lovely.”
Heat infused her cheeks. “Thank you, Captain Pickmore.”
Kilsyth set his glass aside, “Yes, well, we should get going.”
Eve suffered a stab of disappointment at not being complimented by her guardian, but pushed it aside as it was further proof that she was nothing more to him than a ward and the subject of a wager.
The butler and footman appeared with hats and canes for her guardian and Pickmore, but before they could walk out the door, Kilsyth marched back to his desk, picked up his glass of brandy and tossed the contents back in one swallow.
Eve’s eyes widened. She’d never seen him drink in such a manner, as Kilsyth always sipped. The only conclusion she could draw was that he was worried that she might make a mistake tonight and thus he’d lose the bet with Pickmore.
Eve was just as determined not to make a mistake and it had nothing to do with the wager. She needed to do this for herself, for a better life, because on the morrow, she’d thank Kilsyth for his assistance and then she’d be gone. Of course, she’d like to leave without having to speak with him because the parting would be painful. At least for her it would be. Not that she’d tell him where she was going. It was best that there be distance and no further interaction. In two years, she would be able to claim her dowry and then he’d be truly free of her. Two years was probably also the amount of time that she’d need to no longer wish for him to hold and kiss her.
Chapter 14
Bloody hell! Why hadn’t he insisted on a more modest gown, or perhaps a color that didn’t bring out the green of her eyes or complement her porcelain skin?
Henry had nearly insisted that Eve march right back to her chambers and dress in one of her dowdier day dresses, not that she actually owned one, after she’d first stepped into his library. Then he considered the possibility of not even attending the ball, but knew that he couldn’t have backed out at such a late date. Instead, he was forced to take in her appearance and push back the sudden desire that rose. And now, he was forced to endure a long evening as gentlemen sought introductions and signed her dance card.
Damn and blast! He’d been too busy monitoring her conversations and the response from the gentlemen that he hadn’t taken the opportunity to pencil his name beside a dance. Now he’d been left at the side of the ballroom while he was forced to watch her dance with others.
Henry silenced a growl and lifted a glass of champagne as a servant passed with a laden tray.
He did not like to dance, never had and should be thankful that he’d not be forced into the activity with his ward. Yet, he had been looking forward to a country dance all day.
What the blazes was the matter with him? This is what he wanted. If she were a success then once she reached her majority, she’d be able to do what she wished, even if it was to become a governess to someone else’s spoiled brats. Or, she might marry. Some gentlemen had no need for a dowry, and those were the ones whom he’d consider, if they approached, since any funds Eve brought with her would continue to remain a secret.
Already she had one gentleman infatuated with her, but Henry would never grant permission to Mr. Francis Hilliard. His uncle may be an earl, but Hilliard had no chance of inheriting unless his three cousins met their demise. Then there was Hilliard’s mother, who even now watched her son carefully as he danced with Eve. She controlled the son and would most likely try to control any daughter-in-law as well. Eve wouldn’t last one hour in such a household without blistering the woman’s ears.
At the very thought, Henry couldn’t help but grin. He’d like to be a witness to such a blistering.
“I say, Miss Doyle has the ton atwitter,” Pickmore observed. “I suspect that she is in the process of stealing many a heart.”
Any humor Henry felt at Eve taking Mrs. Hilliard down was dimmed at the idea of others falling in love with Eve. Or, perhaps it was the idea of Eve falling in love with one of the gentlemen waiting patiently for their chance to dance with her.
He tossed back the champagne and searched for a replacement.
“I must say, Henry, I had my misgivings about you bringing your ward to my ball, but she promises to be a grand success,” his mother observed as she came to his side. “Such a lovely girl and everyone wanting to know who she is and where she came from.” His mother smiled. “She alone has made my ball a success and I’m certain it will be commented on tomorrow.”
His mother was quite pleased with herself. Though the ball was lovely and a crush by Society standards, without Eve, it would be just another ball, like any other. His mother should be thanking him, though he doubted she would.
“Tell me, Henry, what are you plans for Miss Doyle after this?”
He blinked at her, wondering what she was getting at.
“She is your ward, yet you watch her as one would a lover. One moment your gaze is filled with admiration and, dare I say, longing and in the next moment, you’re frowning as if you don’t approve of her dance partner.”
“I do not,” he argued. “She is my ward and this is her first societal event. I’m simply keeping watch over her.”
His mother lifted an eyebrow and smirked. “Of course you are, dear.” She tapped his arm with her fan and walked away.
Her look clearly bespoke that she didn’t believe him and in essence had called him a liar. Well, his mother didn’t know him nearly as well as she wished. Further, she was wrong. Henry was an expert at schooling his features. She was simply seeing what she wished. After all, before his father was fully buried, she was reminding him of his new duty—to marry and beget heirs, and the importance of a spare given that’s the role Henry had once filled.
Lover! Ha! Just because they shared a kiss, and he in fact desired Eve, did not mean love was an issue. Then again, his mother being a woman, would see matters from an emotional perspective, but in this she was wrong.
Love! Bah!
Her first ball and Eve was quite certain she’d never want to attend another. Perhaps if she had entered Society with her father and sister by her side, it might have been different. Tonight she may have been Miss Doyle, ward to the Earl of Kilsyth, but she was a fraud. She’d changed her look and manner of speech all because of a wager and to be accepted so that she might find a position outside of Covent Garden. If she’d been herself, not one gentleman would have requested a dance. Did she really wish to be accepted by Society, or a potential employer, if she had to hide herself?
She had been flattered that so many bachelors wished to dance with her and hadn’t rested during even one set, but that was only because she was a new miss to be met. Once the newness wore off, she’d no longer be of interest to anyone and would be viewed as just
another miss in want of a husband, just like the dozens of other misses in attendance.
At least Captain Pickmore was attentive, fetching her punch when she became parched and even partnering her. Lady Kilsyth was kind as well, making many of the introductions. However, Kilsyth spent a good deal of the evening frowning, as if she’d disappointed him somehow. If anything, Eve had never been so careful in the manner of how she conducted herself, her decorum and speech before in her life. She had made no mistakes, so why did he frown as if she’d failed him somehow?
Kilsyth had won the wager and now he could be done with her, just as she wished to be done with him.
That wasn’t true. She’d miss him when she finally decided to leave, but to remain in his home any longer than necessary would only bring her further heartbreak.
Oh, if only he were disagreeable for the most part it would be so easy to walk away, but he wasn’t. Deep down he was a caring gentleman, and kind. It was his exterior that caused others to wonder if he was unpleasant.
However, the one matter she was thankful for was that gossip was more focused on the missing mummy and artifacts and not her and Lord Kilsyth. Everyone seemed to have an opinion of the type of person the thief or thieves had been and where the items had been taken. It was a relief in a sense that, unlike Ascot, ladies were not talking about her behind their fans. If they were, she’d not noted them.
“How was your evening, Lord Kilsyth,” Jeffries, the butler greeted upon their entrance.
“A smashing success,” Kilsyth answered as he handed off his hat and cane.
“I am so please to here that, sir,” Mrs. Peade said.
“We knew that you could do it, sir,” the butler added.
“Yes, Kilsyth, a success.” Pickmore reached inside of his coat and pulled out a pouch. “The wager. What was it again.”
“Five pounds,” Kilsyth dismissed as he walked to the sideboard and poured a brandy for himself and another, which Eve assumed was for Pickmore.
“You should have heard them, Mrs. Peade,” Kilsyth began. “Comments on her name, which was clearly Irish, but there was nothing in her manner and her tone to indicate as such.”
Pickmore accepted the glass of brandy with a laugh. “Others thought her a lady, even a princess in disguise.”
Eve took a step back and observed as they spoke about her as if she weren’t even in the room. As if she was a pony who’d learned a new trick and been paraded before the ton for their entertainment.
“Then their shock to learn she was my ward,” Kilsyth added with a laugh.
“And that he’d won her in a game of chance,” Pickmore joined him in his humor, “I thought a few of the matrons might need their smelling salts.”
Humiliation engulfed her. Eve hadn’t realized that the sordid details of how she’d come to be in the care of Kilsyth would be bandied about, and it was certain to make her a topic of the gossips. It was the one thing she had hoped to avoid.
“Your five pounds, Kilsyth.” Pickmore held out the funds. “You did it.”
“We did it,” Kilsyth corrected. “You and I took an Irish-born miss transplanted to Covent Garden and turned her into someone others would believe to be a lady.”
Pickmore waved his hands. “I did nothing. It was all you.”
“Without your support and assistance, it might not have been possible,” Kilsyth argued and Eve seethed.
It was not them, but her. She was the one who had worked for hours. Yes, Kilsyth had guided her, but she had worked harder than the two of them and she was quite fed up.
Already he’d dismissed her. Eve anticipated that after this evening he would, but she hadn’t anticipated it to be immediate. And here she thought to remain in his household until she was ready to leave, fearing she might not wish to. That was no longer the case. As soon as possible she’d be gone. Clearly he didn’t need her or even wish Eve to be around. She had served her purpose and Kilsyth would now turn his attention to his next project, whatever that may be. In fact, when she did leave, it was unlikely Kilsyth would even realize she was gone. Or, he wouldn’t notice until he couldn’t locate the post or his slippers.
“If you don’t need anything further, Lord Kilsyth, I should turn in,” Mrs. Peade announced.
“Yes of course.” Then he grinned. “Take a holiday tomorrow, Mrs. Peade. The maids can see to anything that is necessary.” Then he turned to the butler. “You too, Jeffries, footmen can see to the door.”
“No doubt there will be gentlemen callers tomorrow, since Miss Doyle was such a success,” he answered.
At that Kilsyth frowned. “I suppose. But we’ll worry about that in the afternoon as nobody would dare call in the morning.”
“Very good, sir,” Jeffries nodded and quit the room.
“Well, I’m off to bed. I daresay, I might sleep a week after this,” Pickmore announced as he set his empty glass of brandy aside and walked to the entrance.
“I as well.” Kilsyth agreed and drained his brandy.
Kilsyth paused at the entry and turned back to Eve. “You should find your rest, as well, Miss Doyle.”
“One question, Lord Kilsyth.”
“Yes?”
“The necklace. It is mine now, is it not?”
He frowned. “The necklace?”
“Yes. It was to be mine once I did my part. I’ve won your wager for you and I’d take it now please.”
“Can’t this wait until tomorrow?”
“No, it cannot.” Eve held out her hand. “Pickmore paid his wager and you should pay yours.”
At that, he stomped across the room and yanked open the desk drawer. “This!” He dangled it from his fingers. “You want this now?”
“Yes please.” Eve remained calm.
He crossed the room and placed it in her palm. “Anything else before I find my bed?”
“My clothing. Does it belong to me or you?”
Kilsyth frowned at her. “Why would I want your clothing?”
“You paid for it.”
“This is ridiculous,” he ground out. “What is this about, Miss Doyle?”
“While I may be your ward, I have now served my purpose. I simply wish to know what I could take with me when I leave.”
“Take what you wish and if there are any questions, we’ll discuss it further in the morning.” He turned for the door. “Good night, Miss Doyle.”
Eve stood there in the silence of the library unable to move. She meant nothing to him. Even after the hours they’d spent in here studying and her assisting him with correspondence, picking up after him, and then the kiss. She was nothing.
She’d already suspected and warned herself such was the case, but it hurt nonetheless--deeply--and it was all she could do not to curl up and cry. Instead, she grasped the necklace tightly and slowly turned, taking in the room and the memories. Some she’d hold dear, but others would serve as a warning never to attempt to rise above her station again. Jeffries may think others would call on her, and perhaps they would, but nothing would come of it. No gentleman wants an Irish miss won in a game of chance.
Eve startled at the knock on the door and she made her way to the foyer just as Jeffries opened it. “Might a Miss Eve Doyle be in residence?”
“Are you aware of the time?” Jeffries countered.
“Unfortunately, yes, but we must speak with Miss Doyle.”
“Who are you?”
“Thames River Police,” one of them announced.
Eve sucked in a breath and stepped into the foyer. “It is quite all right, Jeffries,” she said and then turned to the man. “I am Miss Doyle.”
“I regret to inform you, that your brother, a Mr. Brendan Doyle, threw himself from the Westminster Bridge.”
Cold shock flooded her body and Eve took a step back. “He tried to kill himself?”
“He did kill himself, though we don’t believe it was intentional.”
At that she sank down on the stairs, her legs no longer able to hold her. “Then why
would he do such a thing?”
“Bow Street believed he had knowledge of the artifacts stolen from your neighbor. When they approached to question him, he ran and when cornered, he jumped. We fished him out this evening.” The man lowered his eyes. “Again, I am sorry for your loss, Miss Doyle.”
“Thank you,” she murmured, uncertain what to say.
“The coroner has the body. You may contact him about burial.”
Eve buried her face in her hands, unable to concentrate. How was she to bury her brother with so few funds to her name? Where was she to bury him? “A paupers grave,” she found herself answering. “I cannot afford anything else.”
“I’ll inform them.”
“Yes. Thank you.”
“Good evening then,” the man said before leaving.
At the click of the door, Jeffries turned to her. “I’m very sorry, Miss Doyle. Let me pour you a brandy and then I’ll fetch Lord Kilsyth.”
“A brandy would be nice.” Eve pulled herself to her feet. Numbly she walked in to the library and sank down onto the settee as Jeffries crossed to the sideboard.
“But please, do not bother Lord Kilsyth. There is nothing he can do to change the situation, and he needs his rest.”
“Are you certain, Miss Doyle? You really shouldn’t be alone at a time like this.”
She glanced up and took the offered glass. “Actually, I’d prefer to be very much alone right now. Find your bed Jeffries, and thank you for your concern, but this news can wait until everyone is rested.”
“If you insist.” He stared at her, worry in his eyes.
“I do,” she insisted. “And I thank you for your concern.”
For the longest time, she sat in the library, sipping the amber liquid, feeling nothing. She was numb she supposed. Strangely, Eve wasn’t surprised that her brother had come to such an end. Demons had followed Brendan since before they left Ireland. The gambling, drinking, opium and now theft. He was no longer the lad she’d grown up with. The boy who loved horses. He’d become a stranger. As for his burial, she’d not attend. Eve would rather hold on to the memory of the boy while father was alive, not have her last one be of his body being lowered into the ground.
