Never again, she had avowed that day, would she indulge such silly notions.
I am plain. That is all there is to it. And all my knowledge and good sense will never outweigh that fact. It is not as if I wanted a husband in the first place.
But she had thought Mr. Davenport an acceptable match in all honesty. He never tried to touch her, blessedly. She'd thought he was like her in that way. Now, she understood. He was not like her; he simply held no interest in her. Knowing self pity an unacceptable option, Evangeline concluded it to be unproductive and selfish in every way. No. She'd use the gifts Providence had blessed her with to her utmost ability. With no great want for a husband, being plain became an asset as Evangeline considered further.
Always a pearl to be gained from an irritating grain of sand!
Revisiting the incident settled her. Men took no interest in her. Mrs. Rhodes' talk was just that – talk. In any case, Evangeline determined to avoid future private conversations with Mr. Masterson. No proper woman wanted her name linked through rumor with that gentleman – if one could call him such.
Conversation centered awhile on distributing materials to the women, further returning quiet and order to Evangeline's thoughts. Unable to claim great beauty or charm, she held her reputation extremely dear. After all, what did one possess if not one's good name?
“Mrs. Brentwood,” Mrs. Castille asked, “will you winter with your family?”
Melody had returned home after her husband's untimely death. Ten months of marriage – less than a year – and cruelly widowed. So sad. Her resilience through her ordeal birthed pride in Evangeline for her sister.
“That is the plan, Mrs. Castille,” Melody replied.
“It is a shame you've no heir to comfort you,” the woman offered kindly.
Melody nodded her thanks, and Evangeline's heart broke a little for her sister. No one knew of Melody’s deep grief, save her, grief that she'd not conceived a child. Taking her sister's hand beneath the table, a move that cost her much, Evangeline offered the simple comfort of touch. Melody squeezed in return, a silent thank you in the language of sisters.
* * *
“Ouch!” Melody yelped before giggling playfully. “You're not paying attention!”
Meeting her sister's eyes in the dressing table mirror, Evangeline flushed at her mistake. “Oh, Melody! I'm sorry. I missed a hairpin.” Untangling the object, she resumed brushing.
“It's all right. You are a hundred miles away, though.” Melody waited, giving Evangeline the option and the space to answer.
It was why Evangeline adored her only sister so well. Melody understood – at least better than anyone else. Evangeline kept a space between herself and others. She needed that space. It was the sole place she could be Evangeline Grey, embracing her many thoughts and observations without risk of censure. Being with Melody was nearly as safe.
“I suppose I am being silly,” she sighed. “I cannot but wonder at Verla Rhodes' comment today.”
Melody, who had closed her eyes as Evangeline brushed, opened them, finding her sister's steady gaze in the looking glass.
“Are you referring to her mention of your conversation with Mr. Masterson?” Melody laughed. “No one takes Verla too seriously, Evangeline. Do not let her ruin any chance at conversation you may have with so handsome a man.”
“Humph,” she snuffed. “Mr. Masterson is not a man, handsome or otherwise, I care to converse with.”
“Why ever not?” Melody asked.
“We both know exactly why not,” Evangeline stated in her no-nonsense way.
Melody's giggle followed promptly. “Are you worried he'll make you swoon with his charm and wit?”
It was her turn to laugh. “Me? Evangeline Grey...swooning?” Her eyebrow arched, daring Melody to conjure the unlikely image.
Overcome with laughter, Melody ceded. “Oh! Evangeline!” she choked out between fits of mirth, “I'd love to watch Mr. Thomas Masterson try to make you swoon!”
“That will be quite enough silliness for one night,” Evangeline declared somberly, but her eyes twinkled merrily. “We'll not rest properly if we allow ourselves to continue.”
Melody quieted as Evangeline brushed on, smoothing over the wavy, auburn curls with her nimble fingers.
“Do you never long for love?”
Evangeline stilled, as habit dictated her do when uncomfortable. “I have love, Melody. I have you and Mother and Father.”
“I mean the love of a man...” Melody's voice trailed off, a melancholy thread to her tone. “I do.”
The simple honesty touched Evangeline, yet she could not truly empathize. “No, Melody,” she replied, running the brush once again through her sister's hair. “I prefer to avoid the attentions of men, any attentions.” She placed the silver brush on the dressing table and gathered Melody's hair to begin braiding. “You know how I feel. I suppose you desire the...the...companionship of a man because you were happily married.” She tied the braid's end. “There. All finished.”
They traded places, Melody unpinning Evangeline's long, brown hair. “It's not the way Mother says it is. It's quite wonderful, being with a man, I mean.”
“I've no desire to discover which of you is correct.”
“I heard Father tonight, Evangeline.”
Sighing, Evangeline nodded. “He wants me to marry. But I've no worries, at least for now.”
It was Melody's turn to lift a brow.
“It's not as if suitors are breaking down the doors. And...well, I can be a deterring force.” Evangeline smiled faintly and handed the ribbon back for Melody to tie her braid.
“Father wants us settled in our own homes, with husbands. He is only thinking of our futures.”
“You'll marry well and I shall live with you. I'll have a handsome allowance – at least enough that I won't be a burden to you.”
“And what? Never have your own home? Your own child?” Melody wrapped her arms around Evangeline's shoulders. “I want you to be happy. You have so much to give.”
She stiffened under the close, intimate touch, regretting the pain of rejection that flashed across Melody's face. Would she never be able to mask her discomfiture, even to spare the tender feelings of her own dear sister? It was no use. Evangeline Grey knew herself, had since the day her father's embrace revealed her true nature – her different-ness from her mother and sister. She didn't require, nor want, the pawing at of limbs trapping her, pinning her in.
“Let us go to bed. Things will seem better tomorrow, Melody.”
Chapter Two
Perched on the edge of the oversized chair, Evangeline braced for her father's displeasure.
“You try my leniency, Evangeline. It's time you settle on a husband. If, by winter's end you have not, I will choose for you.”
Prickly tingles stung Evangeline's scalp. This was worse than expected. Under her father's stern gaze, she felt the blood drain from her face. His expression softened.
“I worry for you,” he sighed. “I have no heir, Evangeline. To see you and your sister married is my only prayer before I depart this world. It is my duty to ensure you are well cared for.”
“I know,” she replied mildly. “I don't mean to be difficult. But...,” she paused, unsure whether to go on.
Albert came around his desk and rested against its front edge. “Well, let's have it.” His smile betrayed his tender amusement.
“I need to...to hold a certain respect and admiration before I could ever want to marry. No one inspires these thus far.” There! She'd said it.
Albert's eyes were kind, his tone gentle. “That may be so; however, make no mistake. What I have stated stands.”
She bristled. Now what was she to do? Panic threatened, the knowing of what awaited her in the bonds of matrimony choking off her airway. Tamping down the unwanted volley of emotion loosed in her mind, Evangeline willed her good sense to take control. “I shall endeavor to do my best,” she placated, well ashamed in the knowledge she willfu
lly practiced deception.
What other option existed?
“You'll thank me one day, Evangeline.”
Oh! I know you believe that, Father.
The sad truth was quite different. Evangeline wanted no part of the gift her father insisted she accept. It wasn't only her father, she allowed. He was acting in her best interests; the world was unkind to the feminine half, believing those of that particular persuasion in need of a constant caretaker. Scoffing inwardly at the absurdity, Evangeline reluctantly acknowledged the harsh reality.
“Run along now. Your mother wishes to speak with you.”
Already out of sorts at her father's announcement, Evangeline went very still at this newest awaiting torture. Her senses bordered on overload, digesting her changing circumstance. Enduring her mother's hysterics or melancholy or breakdown was unthinkable at the moment.
As ever, Evangeline dipped into the wellspring of strength buried deep at her core, heaving up composure to mask her hidden self. A slow, quiet breath, then another, gave her the moment needed to collect herself. “Yes, Father.” For a second she thought he meant to embrace her as he came near, the prospect raising the hair on her arms.
Please do not touch me. Not now.
To be penned in on the outside as the noose tightened around her inner self was more than she thought to bear. Passing from the room without incident, she breathed her relief on the walk toward her mother's room.
“Evangeline, dearheart! Come in. Sit with me.”
Preparing as best she could for the unknown variable that was her mother, Evangeline sat delicately upon the chaise. “You wanted to see me?”
“Well, of course, Evangeline. You have spoken with your father?”
“I have.”
“Then it's settled. We'll make a list of potential husbands and...”
“Mother, please,” Evangeline whispered, her voice catching. “I've no wish to...”
“But you must!” her mother interjected, astonishment plain in her tone. “We'll want to make the best match we can.”
Holding herself still, her only defense against the onslaught, Evangeline concentrated on breathing evenly as her mother's prattling filled her ears.
“A temperate man, to be sure, will suit you, Evangeline. And you mustn't be overly concerned with looks, darling. Nearing two-and-twenty, one cannot be choosey, and well, dear, you fail miserably at charming possible suitors. Perhaps an older man...”
The endless barrage of chatter filled Evangeline near to bursting. If only she could escape, could be alone with her violent, swirling thoughts.
“The important thing to remember is men have baser needs. It is best to suffer through and keep them happy. You'll be fine, dear; you're so sensible about things. Thank heavens you are. Why, I've suffered terribly at your father's hands! So ill-used we good wives are – and those of us who are sensitive – well, it's unbearable! Count yourself lucky, Evangeline, dear, and lie still. It's over soon enough.”
Willing herself stiller, if that were possible, Evangeline absorbed her mother's too vivid, too awful descriptions of that act, wanting nothing so much as to disappear. She shivered, nausea mounting as she understood what was to be visited upon her body. Evangeline held her emotions well in check – save the ones rearing their hideous heads at present – sheer dread and revulsion. Finally Corinne interrupted, leaving Evangeline the opportunity to escape. Her maid found excuse to save her when and where she could. “If that is all, Mother, I'll have my walk now.”
“Really, Evangeline, is that necessary? It's too cool for you to be out. And the damp will surely invite a chill or a bad throat.”
“The fresh air will do me good. I won't stay out overlong.”
“If you must, dear.”
Opal Grey folded easily under a firm constitution, and within minutes Evangeline pushed briskly against the firm ground, her legs driving her forward until they burned with fatigue. Unwelcome images flashed in her thoughts, products of the unwanted schooling recently endured. Why, oh why did she have to remember each and every word? Stalking around the fields, now crinkly brown-gold with cut stalks, nature and her sights invaded, edging out the disquiet of earlier. The soft crunch of autumn's rubbish beneath her footfalls sounded in rhythm with her deep breaths and pounding heart, soft white noises drowning out all worry of marriage, mothers, and men.
Turning west at the field's border, Evangeline edged along the rectangular plot, happy to have this long side and another two more to go before her return toward the stone house. A copse of trees sat to her left, branches now bare before her eyes. She searched the higher limbs for the leafy nests of squirrels. The sound of her movements startled a few birds from their rest, but beyond that, the air was heavy and thick with impending rain. Nature, it seemed, matched her mood today. The thoughts of such alignment with the sky and all resting beneath its protective dome tugged a smile from her lips.
Finding focus in the solitude of outdoors, Evangeline offered her prayer, her heartfelt plea to Providence for a reprieve from her sentence – or at least a sign of what she was to do.
* * *
“We'd be delighted to have you, Thomas!” Albert boomed with pleasure. “And of course you are welcome to study the methods I employ for wintering the fields.”
“My uncle will be glad to hear,” Thomas relayed. “I am to assume control over Cherry Hill in the spring.”
“Such a fine property,” Albert admired aloud. “One you'll find most prosperous if managed properly.”
“No doubt the reason my uncle sent me to you, Albert. This is another effort on his part toward the development of my person,” Thomas dripped wry amusement.
“Yes, well, Thomas,” Albert chuckled, “you see right through your uncle's scheme.” Lowering his voice, Albert added, “It is what your father wanted.”
Empty silence loomed, mercifully filled by Albert's change of direction. “When can we expect you? Mrs. Grey will suffer greatly if I fail to procure details.”
The older man's eyes glittered with humor, mischievous and surprisingly youthful, at least to Thomas' observing gaze.
Strange.
No matter. Uncle Winston would be appeased and Jonathan relieved. Jonathan had spoken of little save his desire to engage the widow Brentwood since their meeting at the Castille dinner. Thomas smiled impishly. Yes, Jonathan Lane would be in his debt quite nicely.
“Now then,” Albert corrected course yet again, “there is one matter more I wish to discuss, a matter most serious.”
Thomas listened, truly wondering at the serious tone of his father's longtime friend. Honestly, he respected Albert Grey more than any man he knew. It stemmed from the knowledge that Albert understood. Really understood. Albert had imparted to him at his father's funeral that he well comprehended why Thomas behaved as he did and assured him that his father knew as well.
'Your father never expected nor wanted you to be your brother.'
These words, along with others spoken to him by Albert Grey, remained firmly fixed in his memory, though he rarely considered them with any seriousness. He feared doing so, being not audacious enough to believe them entirely.
“What is it?” Thomas asked.
Albert's eyes crinkled in that same mischievous manner again.
Dash it all! What was this about?
“I know quite well your reputation, Thomas.” Albert allowed his meaning to sink in.
Thomas' eyes widened slightly and his lips quirked devilishly in spite of himself.
“My daughter, Mrs. Brentwood, is not for you. I ask that you respect my wishes in this matter.”
“Of course, you have my word.” Thomas Stanton Masterson kept the salacious grin plastered on his lips, the request somehow odd and cryptic in the straightforward delivery. Unable to ascertain exactly why, he set the thought aside to continue his current conversation.
“It is not a matter of my accepting you, Thomas, but an entirely different thing. My Melody is an emotive, sensitiv
e woman, you see.” Albert sighed heavily. “She is at times much like my wife. What I am saying, Thomas, is that Melody may be a beautiful girl, but she's quite susceptible to her emotions.”
Thomas understood perfectly. Mrs. Brentwood may be sensitive and emotional and overly malleable in the eyes of a protective father, but to a carnal man such as himself, Melody Brentwood was a clingy trap to avoid at all costs. Raising his black brow archly, Thomas at last realized what troubled him at Albert Grey's request. “Your concerns are duly noted. Yet you have two daughters, with all due respect. May I inquire as to why you did not include the other in your request?” Teasing was evident in his tone, yet he could not deny a small frisson of trepidation. It was a bold question to pose – even to a worldly and well-known friend.
Then, to Thomas' great shock, Albert tossed his head back and roared with laughter.
“My boy, I carry no such worries about my Evangeline!”
Affronted? Unmanned? Thomas struggled to ascertain the maelstrom of thought besieging him. The unspoken challenge implied by Albert's statement awakened a primal urge within, heightened by his troubling recollection of Miss Grey's unfeigned dismissal. “I see,” Thomas said, contemplative.
Albert Grey beamed inside, smug and satisfied at having laid his trap so well. With gauntlet thrown down perfectly, he had but to sit back and enjoy.
Indeed! By Jove, he and Winston would have a match secured by spring.
Conversation continued, Albert lighthearted and relaxed as he talked of barley, of fields, and of crop rotation. But Thomas' thoughts were centered on the challenging conundrum named Evangeline Grey.
* * *
Unease skittered through Evangeline's middle, the unpleasant sensation quickly boxed and stacked away with meticulous efficiency. Mr. Lane and Mr. Masterson would arrive at any moment. “Mother,” Evangeline implored, “please cease fretting as if royalty deigns to grace our humble home.”
“Oh, Evangeline! Aren't you the least excited to receive company? And the company of two such handsome men!” Melody's face was awash with color, her blue eyes bright.
A Practical Arrangement Page 2
