Dear Lord! How awful would it be?
“Miss Grey, look at me,” Thomas tempted gently.
“I cannot.” Her breath left her in a gasp. She hadn't realized she'd been holding it.
He sighed. “Are you all right?” The inquiry was firm, yet gentle, an invitation to take stock of the situation.
She considered the question, her face casting off the tense expression as she discovered her answer. Slowly, she opened her eyes, blinking. “Yes.”
Roguish grin a mere inch or two from her, he pressed her further. “Yes, you are all right.” Tucked within his words was an imperative to remember. His breath feathered over her lips, precariously close. Caught in his spell, she could not look away. “That's enough for now,” he husked, his voice different, deeper somehow. He pulled back, never taking his greenish-gray eyes from her.
Evangeline, at last, could look away.
* * *
Albert Grey waited in his friend's study, impatient to share news of their tentative success.
“Albert!” Winston greeted, entering the cavernous room. “I wasn't expecting you. Sorry to have kept you waiting.”
“I am well aware, Winston, but there's been a development.”
“A development?” the man repeated, unsure if this bode well or ill.
Albert prolonged his friend's anticipation as long as possible, knowing the news, when revealed, would make him a happy man. “Winston, old chap, the most interesting events conspired today to aid our cause, or I should say bring our conspiracy near to fruition.”
Winston's eyebrow rose speculatively and he lowered himself into the chair adjacent his accomplice. The tale proceeded until the end, Albert's voice building to crescendo in describing how Mrs. Rhodes' presence had become more than tolerable to him for the first time in his collective memories.
“I never doubted, Albert,” Winston said with good cheer. “Not for a moment. But it...well, it is precariously close to... Oh! What's the saying?”
Albert came to his friend's aid. “I believe you refer to the saying, 'too good to be true', Winston.”
“Ah! That's it.” Abruptly, his good cheer waned, a serious, troubled expression flickering across his wrinkled face. “Mrs. Rhodes, you say? I imagine, Albert, that woman will have scandal whispered in the ears of many before the New Year is rung in.”
Albert nodded his agreement, his own merriment affected.
“My nephew is quite immune to whispers; maybe he even relishes people thinking the worst of him. But your daughter, Albert! It may be difficult for her.”
“Evangeline is a resilient young woman. Despite the persistent efforts of my dear wife, she's a practical woman of good sense. She'll be fine. In all honesty, my concerns lay firmly in how my wife will affect Evangeline. The woman portrays me in a most terrible light to the girls, and I fear my eldest daughter has taken it much to heart.”
“How so?” Winston wondered.
“Her reluctance to marry, for one,” Albert pointed out. “There are other, more subtle signs as well. Evangeline behaves at times as if she does not trust me; I see it in her eyes. I'm afraid Mrs. Grey's episodes have affected her deeply. My only hope is that she will set it all aside now that she'll marry.” Albert grunted getting to his feet, his joints protesting audibly.
Winston chuckled. “It's good that we get our charges settled. Neither of us is getting any younger.”
The longtime friends walked out together, quite satisfied at the success of their plan, anxious to see the wedding over and done with.
* * *
“Are you still awake?” Melody whispered into the dark room.
As if I could sleep!
“Come in, Melody,” Evangeline hushed. Truth be told, she welcomed the company. Melody's soothing appealed to her after the hours spent alone with her thoughts. Melody set the oil lamp on the bedside table and crawled into the high poster bed, slipping beneath the pale yellow bed-coverings.
“I am glad you're not sleeping. I had no chance to talk with you alone since...” There was no need to go further with the thought.
“It was overwhelming,” Evangeline confessed. She almost smiled. “It all happened so quickly, Melody. There was no chance to even string a thought together, and it was settled.”
“Mr. Masterson found Father directly once he left your room, Evangeline. Father told everyone he asked for your hand immediately.”
“I do not know what to think about it.”
Melody scooted closer, rubbing her fingers down Evangeline's braid. “Of course you don't. Life changed in an instant.”
The soothing strokes calmed her, for Melody, knowing her so well and having such a tender heart, touched only her hair.
“Yes. It did,” she agreed softly. “Everything will be different. I'll live in a new home. With Mr. Masterson...”
“It will be fine,” Melody assured her. “You've enjoyed his company, and he yours. I've been watching the two of you.”
“Enjoying a few afternoons of conversation hardly constitutes reason enough for marriage.”
“People marry after far less,” Melody reminded. “Mother was right, you know,” she broached the subject in afterthought.
“About what, pray tell?” Evangeline asked, turning to face her sister.
“About Mr. Masterson. He's a worldly man, Evangeline. He knew full well the implications of carrying you into the house – and what would be expected.”
Her words mingled with the darkness, echoing in Evangeline's mind.
“I think he did it deliberately,” Melody added, the lilt in her voice giving a dreamy cadence to the words.
“Why on earth would you think that, dear sister?” she scoffed.
“He must love you! It's quite romantic.”
“Oh, Melody,” Evangeline sighed. “Men such as Mr. Masterson don't love anyone but themselves. But he did spare me a great deal of humiliation, and, for that, I am thankful. I'll make the best of it.”
Melody giggled, and Evangeline blessed the shadows hiding her frown.
“Make the best of it? Oh! Just wait until he kisses you. You'll lose all your sensible thoughts and fall in love.” Her sister emitted her own sigh, although it was soft and breathy. “This means you'll be married before me!” she added with perky vigor.
Evangeline stayed closed mouthed. Married. The property of her husband – of Mr. Masterson – to do with as he pleased. A shiver overtook her, morbid fears rising to strangle the breath from her. Would he do to her as her mother described, pinning her down and violently dispossessing her virtue until blood ran from her body?
Dear God in heaven!
'It is natural for a woman to desire a man intimately.'
Melody's veiled reference to the same act was so contrary to her mother's; it made no sense. How could she discern which of them spoke the truth? Her mother, to be sure, tended toward the dramatic, but she loved her husband. That was plainly seen. But she could not believe, either, that Melody would lie to her. Confusion spiraled, twisting her scattered thoughts into a disorganized puzzle. The mystery was only to be solved through her marriage, the question remained until then. Would the answer come to her through tender desire or debasement?
“Sleep in here with me, Melody, please?” She needed her sister's comforting presence beside her.
“Of course I will.”
Pulling the covers close to her chin, Evangeline turned toward the windows and stared out at the soft glow of moonlit skies until sleep claimed her.
Chapter Six
Troubles fell away, cast off like unwanted rags as excitement coursed through Evangeline's veins. The ladies gathered around the entry's circular pedestal table admiring one another's handy work. All had arrived except Mrs. Castille, who was expected at any moment. Attention centered for the moment on Mrs. Augusta Preston's beautiful offering, soft winter-white wool knitted in an elaborate, elegant pattern. It was lovely.
“Mrs. Preston, the shawl you've made is beautiful,” Evangel
ine remarked, her face lit with appreciation for the garment. “I've never seen a finer design.”
Similar sentiments followed around the room. Augusta smiled, a most humble attempt, but pride shone bright in her deep blue eyes. None blamed her, for her skill was remarkable.
“Here she is!” Opal trilled, gliding across the entry hall with effortless grace.
Olivia Castille added her garments to the table, offering a kind word on each piece before anything else could be said.
“I am so happy everyone is here,” Opal gushed. “Now come, we'll have tea before taking the gifts to Reverend Oakley.” Ushering the ladies to the parlor, Opal Grey stood before her audience. “I am pleased to announce our daughter's engagement.”
A few surprised gasps preceded the many smiles, and all heads turned toward Melody. All except Verla Rhodes and her daughter, Jamie. Their eyes burned into her hotly. Both Melody and Evangeline blushed at the unfortunate misunderstanding, their mother blissfully unaware.
“Miss Grey, who has gained your affections?” Verla sneered, innuendo made plain in her flat smile and exaggerated inflection.
Evangeline dared not move a muscle, nor attempt speech, so great was her discomfiture.
“Miss Grey?” Mrs. Davis repeated, delight evident at the surprise. “That is splendid news! Who is the lucky gentleman?”
Fiona Davis smiled shyly, catching Evangeline's eyes with her own. The young woman's expression conveyed what the sweet, but plain and backward girl would never say aloud – 'There is hope!'
“Mr. Masterson spoke with Mr. Grey only yesterday,” Opal informed, pride discernible in naming Evangeline’s soon to be groom – if not so much Evangeline herself.
“Mr. Masterson?” Olivia startled. Her eyes shot to Augusta, for she knew well the woman had been Thomas' most recent mistress. They then softened as they settled on Evangeline. “How wonderful. Mr. Masterson could not have done better, Miss Grey.”
Tolerating the attentions of well-wishing ladies stressed her greatly, and she remained quite aware of Verla's subtle sneer throughout. Just as she felt certain the subject of her upcoming nuptials had exhausted itself, Verla joined the congratulatory group; although it soon became apparent Verla's mind was bent on maligning her.
“How sudden your engagement, Miss Grey. Rather shocking, if I may say.” Triumph flashed across her face at the smooth transition of focus. “After witnessing the familiar way Mr. Masterson handled you yesterday, well, dear, I had no idea you were so close to that gentleman.”
All eyes rested upon her at the comment, quite the uncomfortable situation.
“Mr. Masterson aided me, Mrs. Rhodes, after I took an unfortunate fall out of doors. He was most kind, I assure you.”
“Oh! Yes, he was,” Melody joined in. “Most kind.”
Verla gave no response.
“Mr. Masterson proposed?” It was the first Augusta Preston spoke, incredulity lacing her brittle tone.
“He did, indeed!” Opal piped up, eager to be the center of attention again. “Took Mr. Grey into the study to speak privately, of course. Within a quarter of an hour the matter was nicely settled.”
Augusta studied her with interest, blue eyes alight with questions. The flash of emotion faded, giving Evangeline pause to collect herself. Unease tightened instead as Augusta took up a position next to Verla Rhodes.
“It is time,” Olivia announced. “Let us have these loaded and be off to deliver our gifts.”
Grey Manor bustled with activity and holiday cheer, Evangeline observed from her seat. Still swollen and paining, her ankle prevented much activity. Pleasure and dread vied for supremacy in her middle at the sight of Mr. Masterson strolling into the parlor, Mr. Lane close behind. He made for her. Closing her eyes and counting to ten, Evangeline awaited him. What else could she do, captive to the chair with her injury? What would she discover in those convoluted eyes? Would they show regret, anger? She suppressed a shudder.
“Good morning, Mr. Masterson,” Augusta greeted with a double helping of enthusiasm.
Evangeline's eyes snapped open.
“Mrs. Preston,” he returned, his expression impassive, unreadable.
“Imagine my surprise to discover you here...and engaged!” Sultriness tinged her voice as her gaze raked up and down his muscular form.
Thomas sidestepped the blond haired woman and closed the short distance between himself and Evangeline, his gaze guarded. “Miss Grey,” he said, voice low and tight.
Two words. They frightened her. Affected her. “Mr. … Mr. Masterson,” she answered, unable to say more.
Augusta faced them, again appraising Evangeline, now with a look of disbelief. “Why, she's like a shy child, Thomas,” Augusta laughed, careful to keep her voice low.
Evangeline took exception, both to the words and to Augusta's slip of tongue.
Thomas.
A sinking feeling ensconced her, for she understood at once. They knew one another intimately. Was this his means of showing her exactly what her place was to be? Wife to the world while he carried on his affairs behind closed doors? The idea troubled her.
“Why, I don't believe you know Miss Grey very well at all,” Thomas corrected with a grin. He turned those eyes on Evangeline then, unsettling her.
“I know you,” Augusta responded quickly, a smile slipping across her lips.
Thomas smiled easily. Did nothing offend him?
“Ah, Mrs. Preston, but that is in the past,” he replied, never taking his eyes from Evangeline.
Was this his answer to her inner question? His smile suggested he laughed at her shock, yet his eyes blazed as if he willed her to understand the exchange.
“I do hope you will attend our wedding, Mrs. Preston. Only family and friends will be invited.”
Evangeline sucked in a breath, the air alive with the clarification he issued. Thankfully, her mother arrived to collect everyone, moving to help her to their waiting carriage.
“Allow me,” Thomas offered, awaiting no response as he lifted Evangeline and carried her out.
She stifled her protest, aware of Mrs. Preston's hungry gaze upon them.
What on earth has gotten into me?
“I shall see you when you return,” Thomas imparted after settling her inside the carriage.
“I thought you were returning home today?”
“I will wait until later in the afternoon.”
The distraction of his promise tempered her excitement. The task ahead provided a pleasant diversion, yet not enough to erase the knowledge that Thomas Masterson would be waiting upon her return.
* * *
By early afternoon light snow sifted down from the heavens, silently draping its crystalline glitter over the drab landscape. Beautiful to behold, it brought with it the unwelcome, bitter cold. Albert, Thomas and Jonathan met the ladies as the carriage returned, Thomas carrying Evangeline at once inside to warm her before the hearth.
“We've been anxious for your safe return. The snow will be heavy.” He took her hand between his, rubbing her red, frozen digits. “Nature seems intent on keeping us near one another,” he whispered devilishly.
Evangeline stared in affectation. She needed space. Time to think. She could not sort her conflicting feelings with him so near. Why must fate torture her so?
“But tomorrow is Christmas! Your family...”
“They will understand, Miss Grey.” Green and gray swirled in his eyes, dark and turbulent, alive with hidden intent.
Evangeline could only stare into the ever-changing depths, helpless to escape. Her stomach lurched, confusion unfettered in her thoughts. What did he expect from her? “Mr. Masterson,” she managed to speak at last, words tumbling from her unintended as her most private thoughts betrayed her, “I...I do not understand. You...any of this.”
Amusement flickered in his gaze, not maliciously. At least she did not believe so. But in all honesty, she'd no idea what to make of him. Ever malleable was his demeanor – just as his eyes.
>
“I know,” he answered.
It was no answer at all.
“My prim and proper Miss Grey. What do you wish it to mean?”
She clutched the arms of her chair.
Oh! He infuriated her!
Surely he meant to embarrass her with such a question. “I've no expectations, Mr. Masterson,” she stated, her anger providing strength of voice which pleased her immensely.
“Is that so?” he questioned, arrogance and disbelief tainting his words. “I believe, Miss Grey, you do have expectations, and I shall delight in discovering each and every one.”
What?
Evangeline flushed furiously, her shoulders squaring smartly in attempt to defy the possible truth. “You may believe and do what you like, Mr. Masterson.” His low, husky chuckle vibrated through her being, skimming each nerve as it traveled her.
“You so easily offer me carte blanche? Oh, Miss Grey, I promise to do exactly that.” Raising her hand again, he brushed his lips across her knuckles, and left her.
The sounds of him speaking with her father drifted to her above the fire's crackling hiss. Why did she speak so? She ought to know by now how he manipulated her words to suit his own wants. It was no use, for she did not possess the cunning to foresee the next direction he would take. Melody arrived, breaking her reverie.
“Would you care for a book, or perhaps your sewing?”
Would she ever! Anything to divert her attention.
“A book would be nice. I've one on my bedroom side-table. Would you mind?” Asking others to wait on her bothered her so. Sitting in her chair, unable to get away and lose herself in the out of doors, added to her growing agitation. Surely she'd soon go mad!
“Not at all! Would you rather read upstairs? I'll help you up if you'd like.”
“Thank you, Melody. I think that will suit me.”
Her sister supported her arm, steady and strong as she made her way to the staircase.
“Miss Grey, what are you doing?”
Why did he have to be underfoot? Would there be no rest for her until he left? And how long would her reprieve last - until he returned – until she'd be his wife?
A Practical Arrangement Page 8
