He Said Yes

by Patricia Waddell

  "If I am with child, then you need not worry that I will become a burden."

  "I will not turn my back on you or a child."

  "I believe you. You 're too compassionate, too honorable, to cast me aside. You would do your duty, I'm sure. A com-forttable cottage in the country, an allowance, perhaps you'd even find time to visit the child once you grow bored with me and retain a younger, more attentive woman to satisfy your needs."

  The words that had been spoken months ago rang in Marshall's mind until his head actually began to ache. What had he done? How in the name of God had he convinced himself that Evelyn would be happy being a mistress, a lover to be hidden away?

  He knew then, in a stark moment of despair, that he loved her. Had loved her from almost the first. That was why he'd persuaded her to come to Bedford Hall with him. He hadn't wanted to give her up, because in doing so, he would have been giving up her love. And she did love him. He knew her feelings as well as he knew his own—now. A woman like Evelyn didn't give herself to a man because of passion or gratitude. Her character was too strong, her convictions too deep. She lacked neither common sense nor courage. He ad­mired that about her, along with so many other things.

  She loved him. And yet she had left him.

  He'd been stupid and selfish. But most of all, he'd been blind to all that Evelyn had meant to him. He'd refused to ac­knowledge how much he cared clinging to the idea that marriage was to be avoided at all cost. He looked toward the cottage windows. Evelyn had kept them open, weather per­mitting. A shaft of moonlight found its way across the floor, fading away before it reached the toes of his boots. He took a deep breath, releasing it in a mournful sigh as he realized what he'd lost.

  "Your father used to come to this cottage to think," the duke said reminding Marshall that he wasn't alone. "The night you were born, he sat staring at nothing, the same way you're doing now." Morland chuckled. "If memory serves, there was a bottle of whiskey that night, too."

  When the duke took out his pocket watch to check the time, Marshall felt his stomach knot so hard the whiskey threatened to come up the same way it had gone down.

  "You look like you've just invited a ghost into the room," Morland said, his expression concerned. He tucked the watch back into his vest pocket. "What the devil has gotten into you tonight, lad?"

  Marshall found himself blurting out the story, telling the duke everything that had happened since that fateful day on Bond Street. By the time he was finished, he was wiping the sting of tears from his eyes with his shirtsleeve.

  "Well," the duke said once the story had been told. "I can't say what I would have done in your place. A man has to sort out his own mistakes. Sorry to hear that my pocket watch brought about such a calamity. But then, perhaps its for the best. I doubt you'd be soul searching so deeply if Miss Dennsworth hadn't left."

  "I have to find her," Marshall said, his thoughts sobering now that he'd confessed his folly in wanting to turn a shop girl into a mistress. "There may be a child. I have to know, and she deserves to be told that she isn't wanted by the au­thorities. She shouldn't have that worry."'

  "No, she shouldn't," the duke agreed. "But I'm more con­cerned about what you intend to do once you've found her."

  "Would you be shocked if I told you that I plan to marry her, if she'll have me?"

  "Shocked. No," the duke said, coming to his feet. He put a wrinkled hand on Marshall's slumped shoulder. "But I will be disappointed if I'm not invited to the wedding."

  Nineteen

  The storm that had been lurking to the north finally reached London, sending down gray torrents of rain that kept all but the most stout of heart inside their homes. Summer was gone, the hunting season over, and Parliament had once again called its members to take up the business of the em­pire.

  Marshall sat in his Mayfair library, the windows sheeted with rain. He had brought the family to London last week. There was shopping to be done for Winnifred's trousseau. She and Lord Lansdowne would wed after the new year. At least he was to be spared the opera and theater. Constance and Lord Kniveton would chaperone Winnifred. Things were settling down, life resuming the orderly pattern he had once thought preferable. But no longer. Evelyn's departure from Bedford I [all had forced him to confront his feelings.

  He'd never imagined how it felt to be in love. To feel as if another person inhabited his body, to share every thought, every feeling. And yet, that was exactly how he'd felt when­ever he'd been with Evelyn. She had become a part of him. She'd been his friend, and he missed her. His lover, and he was starved to hold her in his arms again. He loved her so much that at times his heart felt as if it would shrivel up in­side his chest. Since the regatta, he had lived on memories, recalling the sound of her laughter, the way she smiled at him whenever she thought he was acting the aristocrat, the warmth of her body when they made love. There was no way he could get on with his life until he found her.

  He hadn't given up looking for her. Druggs had discov­ered that she'd left Bedford Hall in the back of a mail cart. She'd taken a coach from Harwich to London, but the clues had stopped there.

  Marshall walked to the window, brandy in hand. Was she in the city? If he called out his carriage and combed the streets, would he find her? God knew he'd tried everything else.

  "Marshall, are you certain you won't join us this evening?" his stepmother asked from the doorway.

  He turned to find Constance looking lovely in a dress of deep gold foulard trimmed in black lace. She was getting on with her life, thanks to Evelyn. "No, thank you," he replied, masking his thoughts. "I had planned to spend it at the club. It's Wednesday."

  "Oh, I'd forgotten. Do give the duke my regards."

  "I will," he replied before turning back to the window and letting the memories flood his mind once again.

  Later, standing in front of his mirror, Marshall adjusted his cravat. His face showed the strain of the last few months. Catherine had commented on the gray that was beginning to show at his temples, and he had managed to make a joke of it. Frowning at the thought that he might grow old alone, Marshall turned away from the reflection and reached for his cloak.

  It had stopped raining, leaving the streets gleaming under the light of the gas lamps that lined St. James Street. Marshall entered the club's main salon. When the footman told him the Duke of Morland was waiting in the subscrip­tion room, he made his way upstairs.

  "Your Grace," Marshall said as he stopped in front of the large wing-backed chair where the duke was sitting.

  "Waltham. Sit down. I've been waiting for you."

  Marshall sat, waving off the footman who approached with a tray of drinks. He waited knowing the duke hadn't sought him out just to pass the few minutes it would take to have their gaming room readied.

  Morland reached into his pocket, withdrawing a slip of paper. He handed it to Marshall. "Fourteen Cross Street. Islington, near Chapel's Market. I understand she's taken to sewing for the theater. Several in that area, you know."

  "You found her!"

  "More like stumbled over her," the duke replied his com­posure undisturbed by the shocked expression on Marshall's face. "I own the building. Don't manage the property, of course. Have a man for that. But I go over the ledgers occa­sionally. When I saw her name, I made a few inquiries. She's there. Safe and sound. Rooms on the second floor above a haberdashery."

  Evelyn! She is in the city. Within reach.

  "Well, off with you then," Morland chuckled. "Sterling will be joining us tonight. He'll take your chair. Unless, of course, you'd rather keep the lady waiting."

  "Not bloody likely," Marshall said tucking the paper away. His hand was shaking as he extended it to the duke. "Thank you."

  He was down the stairs and out the door so quickly one of the club's footmen came dashing after him to deliver his hat and cloak.

  Marshall tossed them into the carriage before fishing Evelyn's address out of his pocket and handing it to the driver.

  The carriage
moved east along The Strand, crossing onto Fleet Street before turning north on Farrington Road. Islington was up the hill from the city, a neighborhood of patchwork squares filled with houses, taverns, and eateries. The theaters weren't as well known as the ones in the West End, though Marshall had visited them on several occasions.

  The trip took an excruciating hour, the city streets crowded with carriages and hansom cabs now that the rain had stopped. Marshall used the time to think. Why was Evelyn still in the city? Lack of funds was the obvious an­swer. She had left her salary behind, untouched according to Druggs. "Stubborn woman," he mumbled to himself, then smiled.

  When he got his hands on her. . . The thought brought another smile to his face. God, he felt good. But not as good as he was going to feel.

  The spire of St. Mary's Church loomed over the neigh­boring rooftops as the carriage came to a stop in front of No. 14 Cross Street. Marshall gave the haberdashery a brief glance, then walked toward the narrow alley that ran be­tween the buildings. Rooms for lease normally had their own private entrance. When he found the door, he turned the ringer, setting a small bell to jingling on the second floor.

  Evelyn opened the door a few minutes later. She was wearing a blue dressing gown. Her hair was down, falling about her shoulders in the mass of curls he remembered so well. Her eyes were wide, her face pale, shocked into pallid lifelessness by the sight of him.

  "Miss Dennsworth," he said in his most formal voice. "I apologize for calling at such a late hour, but we have some unfinished business."

  Evelyn stared at him, disbelieving her eyes and ears. She must be dreaming. She'd dozed off in the chair after finish­ing a hem on a crimson dress that would present itself on the stage of the King's Head Theater tomorrow evening. The marquis couldn't be real. He only existed in her dreams now.

  "The air has a chill to it," Marshall said calmly, forcing the door open so he could step into the hallway where Evelyn stood staring at him. "Shall we go upstairs?"

  She wasn't dreaming. Marshall was standing in front of her, looking devastatingly handsome. But how had he found her? "What are you doing here?"

  "Reacquainting myself with a lost love."

  He closed the door and locked it, pocketing the key in­stead of returning it to Evelyn. He'd found her. Things were finally under control, and he meant to keep them that way. He'd wavered between despair and anger for the last three months. Now all he felt was love. And relief. His heart felt renewed replenished after months of being drained and empty.

  "I. . . I don't know what to say," Evelyn said almost sob­bing. A surge of emotions tore through her. It was so power­ful that for a moment she couldn't find her breath. "How did you find me?"

  "First things first, my love," he said pulling her into his arms.

  His mouth came down on hers, hard and demanding. His tongue coaxed her lips to part, and then he was inside, tast­ing her. Evelyn clung to him like life itself, tears running down her face as he ravished her mouth. No matter how hard she had tried to forget him, she'd failed. His memory was too deeply engrained in her heart, too much a part of her to ever be forgotten. And she had remembered everything: how he felt, how he smelled how he tasted. But, oh, reality was so much better.

  When he finally released her from the kiss, Evelyn's knees buckled.

  "None of that," Marshall said lifting her into his arms. "You will not faint. Unless there is an acceptable reason, of course."

  "I thought I'd never see you again," she cried, burying her face against his chest as he made his way up the stairs. "The duke's watch. Winnifred came to the cottage and—"

  "Hush, love, I know what happened. I threatened to take a birch switch to Winnie's bottom, but Lansdowne would have none of it. Nothing is amiss, sweetheart. You've no reason to be frightened. Trust me."

  Trust him. She'd never stopped. Never once in all the weeks since she'd fled Bedford Hall had she stopped believ­ing in him, wanting him, loving him. The times she had sat down to write him the letter she hadn't had the courage to write that night were countless. The words had flowed so easily from her heart, but she dared not post them for fear of what he might think of her now. He said nothing was amiss. Had the duke's pocket watch been found? Did Winnifred no longer think her a thief?

  The door leading into Evelyn's set of rooms was open. Marshall stepped across the threshold and smiled. It was ap­parent that she'd become a theater enthusiast. The front room was cluttered with costumes. A black cape with a vi­brant green lining was draped over the shoulders of a head­less, wooden mannequin. There were velvet costumes and lacy gowns in bold, daring colors, hats with peacock feathers and long dangling ribbons. The small room was alive with color. It was easy to imagine actors strutting across the stage, their characterizations enhanced by the impressive costumes.

  Marshall deposited Evelyn on a threadbare sofa, stretch­ing her out as he bent down to place a quick, hard kiss on her mouth. His hands immediately began to relearn her body, spending an extra few minutes smoothing over her hips and belly. There was no plumpness, no warm rounding. She was more beautiful than he remembered. Her eyes were sparkling with tears, her lips red from his kisses. His body began to throb with heat. He wanted to strip her naked and take her on the sofa the same way he'd taken her the first time, but he held himself in check. There were things that needed to be said first, questions to be answered. "Is there a child?"

  "No," she said her senses vibrating with so many emo­tions she was trembling. "Is that why you came?"

  "The reason I'm here should be obvious," he said. "You left me!" His voice rose several octaves. "Bloody hell, woman, do you know what you put me through? I've damn well been going out of my mind these last few months. I ought to take a switch to your backside."

  "I didn't know what else to do. I know it was the coward's way out. To run. But I couldn't stay." Her mind was slowly absorbing the chaotic facts that somehow Marshall had tracked her to Islington, that Winnifred's suspicions had been resolved. "I panicked" she confessed. "Winnifred was so sure that I'd taken the duke's watch. All I could think about was how it had been that day, the jail wagon and the constable, the prison. I—"

  "Hush," he said pulling her back into his arms. He held her tightly against him, partly because he wanted to reassure her and partly because he'd come so close to losing her he needed to reassure himself. "The watch was found pushed under a piece of furniture by someone's foot because it had come away from its chain. Winnifred jumped to conclusions. She returned to the cottage to offer you an apology, to ask for your forgiveness, but you had already left."

  Evelyn stared at him with wide, tearstained eyes. "Then she never told your mother?"

  "No. She waited for me to return to Bedford Hall and confessed the whole unfortunate incident. I was furious. I still am. But there's nothing to be done about it. She will apologize. I hope you accept it. She is young and thought she was doing the right thing. Although she's done a good bit of growing up this summer, marriage will finish the process. Lansdowne is a good man." He cradled her face between his hands. "I'm sorry. I know how frightened you must have been. You should have waited for me or gone to Druggs. The poor man has been beside himself. He's quite taken with you, you know."

  "He was always very nice to me," she said, wanting noth­ing more in that moment than for Marshall to keep talking to her. She had missed his voice. At times the loneliness was so unbearable, she'd walk through Chapel Market just to hear the conversation between the stall vendors and their cus­tomers.

  Dreams of him had wrapped around her at night, his image keeping her warm. The days had been filled with as much work as she could manage, long hours spent hem­ming, altering, and creating costumes for the local theaters. Some of the actresses had commissioned her to make their street clothes, as well. If her references continued to grow, she'd soon have the money to open her own shop. Not the modiste she had once dreamed about, but a shop specializ­ing in theatrical costumes. She'd discovered that she enjoyed working
with the extravagant designs and colors the stage required.

  Did he think to resume their affair? Since they were both now in London, did he imagine her giving up her work and moving into the house on Lambeth Road? As much as she loved him, and dear God, she loved him so much it hurt, she wouldn't be pulled back into an affair. Her body was throb­bing even now, wanting him, wanting the completion only he could give it, but not without love.

  Not this time.

  As painful as their separation had been, she had come to realize that she could survive without him. It wasn't a happy existence. There would be no complete happiness without him, but she could find contentment in her work.

  "Why didn't you write, at least send a note that would have relieved some of my anxieties?" he asked. "I had to fabricate a story about a sick friend to ease Constance's mind. She was sure some terrible mishap had befallen you. I returned to mayhem, Miss Denns-worth, pure mayhem."

  "I'm sorry, but you of all people should know why I ran away," Evelyn told him.

  "I understand" he said gently touching her face. He glanced around the room. "Why Islington?"

  "I met an actress on the way from Harwick. She ripped her gown getting out of the coach, and I mended it for her. She said the theater needed seamstresses and convinced me to apply for the position. It pays better than a couturiere. I should have enough money to open my own shop soon. And I've made some friends. Theatrical people are really very nice."

  "So you've been here the whole time," Marshall said. "I set Druggs to searching the city last week. I was beginning to think I'd have to search the whole of England."

  His words gave Evelyn hope, but they weren't the ones she needed to hear. "Our arrangement was for me to leave at the end of the summer."

  "Did you really think that I'd let you walk out of my life so easily?"

  "No," she said keeping her voice calm despite the emo­tional storm that had arrived with the marquis. "I know what you had planned my lord. You thought to convince me to re­turn to London as your mistress."