“Miss Grey, I'm glad to see you moving about so easily this fine day. Join me.”
She rummaged around for excuse, the window of opportunity gone in a flash.
Bother!
“Fate conspires against me, Mr. Masterson,” she said honestly. “You need feel no duty to entertain me. I sought the parlor believing it empty.”
“Yet it is not,” Thomas pointed out. “Are you so disagreeable, then, that you seek sanctuary alone?”
Why his words frustrated her so, she left unexamined. “I am not disagreeable, Mr. Masterson. Merely I lack a desire to entertain, nor to be entertained at present.”
“Miss Grey,” Thomas laughed, “you are disagreeable. No question about it.”
“That...that is untrue,” she denied with vigor.
“Contrary yet again?” His ever-changing eyes shone mischief, golden hints glowing against the soft backdrop of brown and gray currently reigning.
The only way to win, to best him at his own game, required a slice of humility. Evangeline balked at the thought. She'd agree, but under her own terms – none of which brooked one whit of humility. “I stand corrected. Disagreeable it is,” she said smartly, having seen her way to overall victory. “I shall seek solitude to correct my mood. Good day to you.”
Freedom! A smug and satisfied smile blossomed, and with her footfalls carrying her away, Evangeline did not fight the display.
“Nonsense, Miss Grey. I shall dispel your poor mood.”
Her smile quickly faded, replaced with a defeated frown. “Surely you cannot wish to be subjugated to my ill-tempered state. Perhaps later.”
“Evangeline,” Thomas addressed firmly, “come here.”
She whipped around to face him, eyes narrowed with little concealed wrath. “I insist you stop calling me by my given name. It is unseemly and suggests a familiarity quite non-existent.”
Thomas stood, his gaze commanding, consuming.
My! He was impressive when he looked upon her so!
“Do not make me say it again, Evangeline.”
Against all good sense, she complied, her will to resist bent before her foolish heart. Granting her will one bit of defiance, she stopped short of closing the gap completely. The small semblance of control she maintained did offer consolation, and she peered directly at his face. Such folly! Golden flecks blazed amid the molten steel backdrop in his eyes, singeing her vellum resolve to ashes.
“Much better,” he husked approvingly.
Oddly, his approval gave her pleasure, the truth raising a deep flush upon her flesh.
“There are matters we must discuss.”
Her flush deepened, even as her heart sank. They would come now, his dictates. He'd made plain his intention to possess her body. Instead, she wished him desire her heart. Oh! Her foolishness knew no bounds! His way would be better, perhaps not for her heart, but for her peace of mind. “You have my attention, Mr. Masterson.” Carefully she chose her words, for to appear overeager would cause her to suffer his amusement – or worse, his pity. To show indifference was cruel. And a lie. Evangeline opted for cautious interest, at least she hoped her expression conveyed such. Frankly, she'd little experience in the arts of courtship, or engagements, or much anything having to do with men.
“What are you thinking, Miss Grey?”
Immediately, she averted her gaze and went still.
“Tell me.” It was not a request, yet was delivered gently.
Why could he not say what he intended and be done with it? A pang of tenderness sprouted for her mother, her own discontent forging understanding where before there had been none. Tucking the revelation away, she counted to ten and answered. “I wonder, Mr. Masterson, whether we shall, indeed, discuss matters, or if you shall merely impart your wishes and await my acknowledgment of the way our life shall be governed.”
Thomas' piercing gaze forced her to look away again; she could not face the anger afire in those quicksilver eyes.
“Is that so?”
His scrutiny weighed her down, riveted her in place.
“Look at me, Evangeline.”
She obeyed.
“Now,” his anger evaporated, “we will discuss.”
Seating her beside him on the settee, leaving a small space between their bodies, Thomas laughed.
“Please,” she implored, “do not laugh at me. Is it not enough that you have me at a disadvantage? Must you also make light of my condition?”
“Your condition?” he repeated. “Now it is I who am at the disadvantage.”
“I dare say, I don't believe you, sir.”
“You call me a liar?” His brash grin faded.
She sighed. “Mr. Masterson, I do not know what I'm saying in all honesty. You manage to twist and turn my straightforward speech until I can no longer discern my own thought or intent. If you've any compassion, any kind affection for me at all, I beg you explain yourself and stop this game of words.”
Thomas stroked his fingers across her cheek, multiplying her confusion. “Very well.” A salacious grin replaced the cool mask. “But to hear you beg, Miss Grey, brings to mind anything but discussion or explanation.”
Evangeline inhaled sharply. His impertinence and lewd speech offended her sensibilities and heated her ire. “Lewd speech is unbecoming, Mr. Masterson. Please refrain from expressing yourself in such fashion when in my presence.”
“Will you endeavor to dictate to me, Miss Grey? I'll be no Albert Grey, nor will I tolerate a wife with the ill-disposition of Mrs. Grey. Do you understand?”
If her shock was a measurable commodity, Evangeline might trade for considerable wealth. Absently, she gaped, open-mouthed at the quandary before her. For a libertine and rake, he possessed a keen understanding and command of faculty. In his declaration her assumptions were laid to rest. Far from dull-witted and thoughtless, Mr. Masterson housed within a strong character. Already impressed with his knowledge of barley farming and business, he'd revealed another facet of his inner, hidden-away self. The more she unearthed, the more he resembled a man of worth. Yet her own folly and inner turmoil lurked dangerously close, no doubt tainting her judgments.
A shudder traveled her person. “I understand.”
“Much better.”
Another slight shiver ran its course, this one from near delight.
“First things first, Miss Grey. We'll have no secrets.”
He spoke as if his words held the authority of law, unnerving Evangeline to greater extent, if that were possible.
“I have not forgotten your vexation of the other night.”
Bread and butter!
What lie could she proffer to satisfy? “Oh. That was nothing at all. I felt quite undone after descending the stairs.” Knowing her lie a willful act of wickedness produced little remorse.
“Do you expect me to believe that?” Thomas asked softly.
Evangeline retreated, becoming statuesque, frozen, her cheeks stained with rosy shame.
“Why do you feel the need to hide from me? I practice patience with you, for I am mindful of your outdoor confession. But there are limits to my understanding, Miss Grey.”
No easy answer could be made. “You misunderstand,” she began. “It is not that I wish to harbor secrets, Mr. Masterson, but there are things which I prefer to forget. That evening's vexation is one.”
“But you have not forgotten, as is evident by your rosy-hued discomfiture. We can deal with whatever it is together. We're to be married, Evangeline. I've no wish to merely reside in the same house with a stranger.”
Her previous shock paled in comparison to the stunned disbelief currently washing over her. “That is what you wish?” Her voice sounded strange, far away to her own ears.
“I cannot provide for your needs properly, a commitment I take quite seriously, if you insist on hiding yourself from me. And what you seek to protect is likely the very thing which must be laid bare before me to act in your best interest.”
Well!
The ways in which she might dissect that statement were plentiful. Of any explanation she'd anticipated, this proved entirely unexpected. She sighed wearily. Much as she wished to unburden herself and seek sanctuary in his promise, revealing Melody's tryst reeked of betrayal.
“I've a suggestion,” Thomas spoke softly, “for I believe you wish to tell me, but cannot bring yourself to speak the words aloud.”
Did he intuit her inner thoughts? Peer inside the secret soul within? She acquiesced with a nod. How he thought to accomplish this, she hadn't a clue.
“I've come into the knowledge that Mr. Lane and your sister are engaged in an affair. Also brought to my attention was the culmination of passion in Mr. Lane's guest chambers the other afternoon.”
Thomas paused, and his assessing gaze lingered on her with meaningful intent. Evangeline waited, unsure whether it wise to acknowledge the awful truth and pour out her conflicting emotions.
“How much did you see?”
Scorching heat lapped at her flesh, roiled within her middle, consuming to a near pain.
Dear God in heaven! How could he know?
She must have spoken her thought aloud, for he answered.
“You dropped this.”
Upon his open palm rested her tattered lace bookmark, her initials embroidered boldly along the top edge. Denial sprang to life, furious and vehement, but she knew it a futile exercise.
He knew.
“Is my humiliation satisfactory, Mr. Masterson, for your pleasure?”
“I find no pleasure in your discomfort,” he declared with passion. “Why would you think such of me?”
“Because you knew all along!” Evangeline hissed through clenched teeth. Leaping to her feet with dignity in tatters, she newly despaired of ever escaping as solid arms encircled her waist and pulled her body back down to the settee.
“Enough.”
Such finality in that word.
“I had hoped you would trust me enough to tell me on your own. I realized it simply too difficult for you and decided on this route. In no way did I mean to cause you shame. I seek to forge a bond between us. To foster trust.”
Desperately she wanted to believe him without reservation. Self-preservation, however, warned her off.
“Evangeline, how much did you see?”
Bother!
He'd give her no peace until the sordid confession was given. “Everything, I suppose.”
Rich laughter spilled from him; it was glorious and troubling, comforting and downright wicked. “I doubt that very much, Evangeline.”
Her name rolled off his tongue with an intensity that curled her toes, lifted the hairs on her neck. She basked in the warm sound - privately, of course. “What ever can you mean by that?” Truly, she could imagine seeing no more, and at that thought she cast aside self-preservation in favor of indulging her piqued curiosity. “I did see everything! Mr. Lane's backside was quite exposed while atop my sister.” She hushed, bringing a hand to cover her mouth in embarrassed dismay at her own rashness.
The amused grin on his face made her wonder if she'd shocked him at all.
“You're not going to expose them, are you?” Horror laced her muffled question.
“I've no interest in their affair whatsoever beyond its impact upon you. The incident troubled you, and I wish to know why. I've made you angry; for that I can make no apology. You open up beautifully when riled, and I find your transparency rather alluring.”
“Oh, for heaven's sake, Mr. Masterson! I shall have no peace whether I tell you or not. I was...troubled, indeed. My sister's lack of propriety may ruin her! I'd be a silly fool not to be troubled.” She lowered her voice to nary more than a whisper, glancing at the parlor's doorway. “Furthermore, I've no small aversion to enduring such pawing and unrestrained activity upon my own person.” Evangeline trembled in the aftermath of her outburst.
True to his character, Thomas responded without sign of shock. Why not after all? He'd surely visit similar attentions on her in the near future.
“Will it comfort you if I explain that Mr. Lane and your sister are two individuals well acquainted with the act of lovemaking, and therefore, hold no reservations concerning unrestrained activity? A first loving should be conducted quite differently.” He cupped her cheek tenderly. “I am pleased you told me. Mr. Lane is aware of the danger, as is your sister. Do not worry overmuch.”
Evangeline, however, never registered his closing remarks. Mr. Masterson's large, warm hand cradling her jaw, the scent of him, held her rapt attention.
A first loving should be conducted quite differently...
His admission twisted her middle into knots fit to befuddle a sailor. Much as she hated to admit, her mind already sought to envision that different scene, apprehension and morbid curiosity twined in an infinite loop of imagination and known fact.
“I must be on my way home, Miss Grey,” Thomas informed softly. “I will see you again before we are wed, perhaps each week.”
The hand against her cheek moved, drawing her closer. As if time slowed, she understood what was to come, yet his lips brushed against hers before she'd a chance to react.
Firm.
That word came to mind; his lips were firm.
Soft.
Yes, quite soft.
Gone.
Gone too quickly; not quickly enough.
She blinked up at him, already questioning whether he'd kissed her at all! His answer came, not through speech, but direct all the same. Gray, gold and green mottled together in his gaze's heated promise, in understanding, in private connection. He smiled then, and bidding her good day, was gone. The lone realization rattling in her otherwise silent thoughts soothed inexplicably. She'd not been afraid.
* * *
A new year rang in quietly, the calm before the storm of measurements, seam alterations, note writing, and general chaos. Between the wedding gown, pale pink with a beautiful lace edged under-bodice, and her wedding trousseau, Evangeline found herself in constant need of 'one more fitting'. While this February morning promised the same, it was brightened not only by Melody's return from visiting the Platte home, but Dorcas Platte's visit as well. The woman's cheer and wit were a welcome addition to the tedious waiting.
Yes. The waiting built an ever-growing ache in Evangeline. Part of her, the practical self, wished it accomplished at once, for her anxiety over the unknown gnawed at her peace of mind as field mice chewed on any grain kernels to be found in this late stage of winter. And just as nature's creatures exhausted the abundant stores of fall, so did she retain but meager stores of her composure. Yet the inward, frivolous nature, that girlish wistfulness of every bride to be, clung to each moment like the cherished dreams they were. Her duality was irreconcilable to her way of thinking, and vacillation between censure and indulgence made up the civil war rampaging within as her wedding date inched nearer and nearer.
“Evangeline, you are lovely in pink,” Dorcas admired, adjusting the gown's skirts and circling her with an appreciative eye.
“It is my favorite color,” she admitted with a small smile.
“Well, it suits your complexion, dear. Don't you agree, Mrs. Grey?”
Opal chattered on in renewed enthusiasm, never answering Mrs. Platte's question. “Oh, Dorcas! Dear friend! My nerves are sore pressed! So much to accomplish in such short time. Mr. Masterson cannot understand how much we women go through to prepare for a wedding. Insisted on a February wedding, he did! Said he'd wait no longer. I dare say I only breathed once my Evangeline's monthly courses came after such insistence.”
“Mother!” Evangeline gasped, her face aflame in mortification.
“I only speak the truth, dear. A mother watches these things.”
Dorcas Platte squeezed Evangeline's hand gently. “My nephew is eager to have his lovely bride with him as quickly as possible.”
“I shall thank the Good Lord when the vows are spoken, Mrs. Platte,” Opal interrupted. “The way my daughter behaves! It's a wonder M
r. Masterson keeps the engagement at all.”
“Whatever are you saying?” Dorcas fussed. “My nephew is smitten with our Evangeline.”
“Smitten?” Opal harrumphed with disdain. “I'll never understand it. All that talk of barley and fields! Why, it would bore a body to tears. My daughter fancies herself a farmer! Tsk.”
“Do not trouble yourself over that, Mrs. Grey. Cherry Hill is to be handed over to my nephew, and I think it wonderful she'll be a helpmeet for him.”
“Mr. Masterson asks my opinion, Mother.”
Evangeline questioned her ideas. Perhaps she did bore Mr. Masterson to tears and he suffered her with patience only until they were married. That unwelcome thought stole her present enjoyment of the lovely rose hued gown, which moments before had consumed her attention.
“All right, take it off,” Opal directed Corinne to aid her daughter. “We'll see the darker blue gown again. Have all the undergarments arrived?” Opal questioned the girl.
“Yes, mum. And the gloves, the stockings and sleeping gowns.”
“Splendid.” Any trace of ill-humor disappeared at the renewed opportunity to admire clothing. “And what's more to brighten our day is Mr. Lane has offered for Melody!”
“I wanted to tell Evangeline first, Mother. You've spoiled my surprise.”
“Your sister has enough surprise in store for her, Melody. As soon as we get her settled we'll begin planning a proper wedding. Mr. Lane is not demanding I work miracles!”
“Both daughters married in the same year! How wonderful!” Dorcas said kindly.
Evangeline traded meaningful glances with her sister, both desperate to be alone in one or the other's bedroom. One week remained until this house would no longer be her home. Sadness tugged at her heart. Her life had been spent running these halls, studying the wooded areas and traipsing across the fields of barley.
She and Melody had run and chased through the tall green grasses, hiding and seeking in bare feet on hot summer days. They'd lain amongst those fields of gold, lulled by rustling wind as it rippled over and across the sea of waving stalks, watching clouds drift lazily overhead. The carefree memories left her wistful and happy. One day, she realized suddenly, she may watch her own daughters in summer abandon.
A Practical Arrangement Page 10
