Miss Dower's Paragon

by Gayle Buck

  Evelyn looked from one to the other of her friends. She sighed. “Oh, very well. I shall satisfy your curiosity, for I can see that neither of you will let it go otherwise. Sir Charles has not been to visit me, nor am I particularly unhappy about it. Now, may I serve you a proper tea?”

  “But I thought you quite taken with Sir Charles,” said Miss Sparrow, scarcely noticing as Evelyn poured her cup.

  Evelyn’s brows pulled together in the faintest of frowns. She poured for Miss Woodthorpe and set down the teapot before replying. “It is quite puzzling, actually. I thought Sir Charles very much the perfect gentleman for me until I became so very disillusioned in him. I suppose that is what cured me so rapidly of those feelings that I had harbored for him.”

  “Otherwise you must suspect yourself to be a heartless flirt,” said Miss Woodthorpe, her eyes twinkling.

  “There is that, of course,” said Evelyn, laughing.

  “What a horrid thing to say, Apollonia,” said Miss Sparrow, though she also smiled. “Of course Evelyn is not a flirt. She was merely mistaken in her heart.”

  “Then I may think myself to be merely foolish,” said Evelyn wryly.

  Her friends laughed with her. Miss Woodthorpe assured her that neither of them thought her any more foolish than she had ever been.

  “Thank you ever so much, Pol,” said Evelyn with a laughing grimace.

  “Apollonia is a merciless tease so pay no attention to her, Evelyn. I am only glad that you have not suffered too much from Sir Charles’s own turn of heart.”

  “There only remains the question of who did send all of these lovely flowers,” said Miss Woodthorpe in her quiet way.

  Evelyn opened her eyes wide. “Why, they come from my several other admirers, of course.” She abandoned her innocent air to say, “And do not dare to inquire of my mother, Abigail!”

  That set Miss Woodthorpe and Miss Sparrow laughing again, and Miss Sparrow assured her that she would not be so disobliging. “Though I do think it quite pinching of you to leave us in suspense,” she said, pulling on her gloves.

  Miss Woodthorpe also made ready to leave. “I suppose that you have heard from Mr. Hawkins?” she asked casually.

  “Oh indeed; also from Lord Waithe and a handful of my other admirers,” said Evelyn with a laughing look. “I have not been forgotten, it seems.’

  “Of course you have not,” said Miss Sparrow staunchly. “A few days’ absence will but enhance the gentlemen’s sincere admiration for you. You will be as popular as before.”

  “Thank you, Abigail. You have done me a world of good,” said Evelyn, hugging her friend in farewell.

  “Pray give my regards to your dear mama. I hope that the little domestic emergency that called her away so hastily before tea is swiftly resolved,” said Miss Sparrow.

  “I shall,” said Evelyn. She turned to Miss Woodthorpe, who was regarding her with a knowing gaze. Evelyn laughed, shaking her head. “Oh, Pol! What would I do without you to tease me?”

  Miss Woodthorpe shrugged negligently. “You would go on very well, I should think, except that you would have no one to give you sound advice on what to expect of particular gentlemen. After all, you do have the most amazing ill fortune with horses, which gentlemen very much resemble in temperament and character.”

  “Oh do go away! I shall very likely decide to end as a spinster if you keep on in that vein.” said Evelyn, walking her friends to the drawing room door.

  Miss Sparrow had waited so that she and Miss Woodthorpe could accompany one another out. The ladies left after repeating their good-byes.

  Evelyn turned back into the drawing room. Almost absently she reached out to touch a delicate yellow rose, one of several in a Waterford crystal vase. A soft smile touched her lips, for these roses as well as a scattering of the other bouquets among the tokens sent by her admirers were from Mr. Hawkins.

  Of course, Mr. Hawkins would be so thoughtful as to send several offerings, along with his solicitous notes that inquired after her continued well-being. He would do no less for any lady whom he had rescued from a street corner. She sighed, a curiously regretful sound, and left the drawing room.

  Chapter Twenty-five

  Evelyn’s gratitude to Mr. Hawkins lasted for precisely one fortnight before it was completely overborne by her former anger against him.

  In the excess of her gratitude she had forgotten how furious she had been to hear from Miss Sparrow that he had hinted away some of her admirers. It was not that she missed the attentions of those particular gentlemen. Without exception the gentlemen who dropped away from her circle were in some respect unworthy of consideration as a possible husband, all having been too old, or too lecherous, or too much the fortunehunter.

  What had so infuriated Evelyn was Mr. Hawkins’s highhanded, arrogant presumption. Weeding out the undesirables among her admirers was a task for her mother or her to do. It was not at all the concern of a gentleman who could not even claim to be a family relation.

  Evelyn thought she could have accepted all that Mr. Hawkins had done, if not in a glad spirit, at least with some semblance of dignity. She would have found a way, in the politest manner possible, to make clear to him that his concern for her was quite inappropriate and unnecessary. He would have realized his error, and she would have retained his friendship.

  Such was Evelyn’s intention when next she had the opportunity to speak to Mr. Hawkins privately, but certain events made that tempered resolution impossible.

  When Evelyn finally emerged from seclusion, it was quickly borne in on her that she had become the focus of speculative glances and whispers. Uncomfortable, uncomprehending, Evelyn did not know what to make of any of it.

  Mrs. Dower was equally as bewildered and could offer no explanation. “I truly do not understand it, Evelyn. Several of my friends drop what I know must be sly hints of some sort, but I have no notion what it is all about. Dearest, I am sorry. I so wish I were cleverer at times.”

  Evelyn sighed and patted her mother’s hand. “It is all right, Mama. I am certain it must all come clear sooner or later.”

  Evelyn continued to endure the unwelcome attention at the social functions that she and Mrs. Dower attended, never for a moment letting her smile falter. If she only knew what it was all about! She knew that Miss Woodthorpe would have told her, if asked, but she did not see her friend except for a few moments during an assembly. Miss Woodthorpe had been escorted by Viscount Waithe, and not for worlds would Evelyn have intimated in his lordship’s presence that she needed her friend’s counsel. Miss Sparrow had also been unavailable to her, having contracted her youngest sister’s mumps and perforce been required to keep to her bed. It was frustrating in the extreme, for there was no one else that Evelyn could completely trust.

  Then one afternoon at tea, an acquaintance inquired archly whether Evelyn had been receiving Mr. Hawkins during her convalescence. Quite suddenly, Evelyn’s quick intuitive mind fastened upon the truth. It astounded her. It enraged her. She seethed with it, but on no account could she demonstrate a hint of her feelings before this lady.

  With a glittering smile, she raised her brows in cool inquiry. She infused a faint note of surprise into her voice. “Why no, ma’am. Should I have? Pray, why do you ask?”

  The lady fluttered in confusion. She cast a glance at Evelyn’s mother. Mrs. Dower’s puzzled expression only confirmed her instant and horrible suspicion that she had committed a faux pas. The lady hastily changed the topic, chattering quickly past the uncomfortable moment. Within minutes, she had taken her leave.

  Mrs. Dower was astonished by their guest’s hurried exit. “Gracious, whatever was that about?”

  “I do believe Mr. Hawkins has been quite busy on my behalf,” said Evelyn very evenly. Her hands were folded so tightly together that her knuckles had gone white.

  Mrs. Dower regarded her daughter with sudden anxiety. “I can not like that peculiar light in your eyes, Evelyn. You—you are not going to do anything foolish?”


  Evelyn smiled at her mother. The molten sparks in her eyes did not abate. “Oh no. I promise you, I shall be all that is circumspect, Mama.”

  Mrs. Dower let out her breath. “Thank you, dear. I should not like to see you go to the soiree this evening while you were caught up in a temper. I do not quite see what Mr. Hawkins—but never mind, do not explain it to me. I do not wish to know. Only assure me that you will not make a scene.”

  “I hope I am too sensible to disgrace you. Mama,” said Evelyn, still smiling.

  Mrs. Dower chose to overlook the martial light that still burned brightly in Evelyn’s eyes. She said firmly, “We shall have a marvelous time, then. Lord Hughes has promised to escort us.”

  “Has he? Then I may look forward to seeing Mr. Hawkins as well,” said Evelyn.

  Mrs. Dower’s faint uneasiness was strengthened by the silky note in her daughter’s voice. But after throwing Evelyn a worried glance, she decided that she really, really did not want to know what her daughter was contemplating. The girl bore entirely too close a resemblance to her late husband when he had been taken by a high fury. “Oh, it is going to be an uncomfortable evening. I just know it is,” Mrs. Dower murmured unhappily.

  Evelyn tested her theory by throwing herself into the enjoyment of the evening. She laughed often and threw artless glances at all the gentlemen who courted her. She appeared at her loveliest, and even some of those gentlemen who had been glaringly absent from her circle were drawn back as moths to a flame. Evelyn was particularly pleased by that, and she made a point of flirting outrageously with the most undesirable of her suitors. Out of the corner of her eyes she became aware of Mr. Hawkins’s glowering presence, but she pretended not to see him while she waited to see what he might do.

  Evelyn did not have long to wonder. For the first time, perhaps because she was acutely tuned to the possibility, she saw Mr. Hawkins at work. It was done adroitly, subtly, cleverly. One by one the unsuitable admirers faded away once again.

  Evelyn was in a towering rage. She was positively quivering. She knew, however, that it would be disastrous to show it, for that would inevitably lead to just the sort of public scene that her mother most disliked.

  As she racked her brains over how she was to deliver the long overdue set-down that Mr. Hawkins deserved, she accepted an invitation to dance with Lord Hughes. Evelyn smiled at the gentleman as she rose and gave her hand to him. “Your gallantry is much appreciated, my lord,” she said.

  “I have always had an eye for a lovely lady. You are very much like your mother in appearance, you know,” Lord Hughes said with a merry wink.

  Evelyn laughed, surprised by his lordship’s manner. She had not thought that Lord Hughes liked her overmuch, for he had always treated her with the slightest air of amusement. She realized as she looked into his knowledgeable eyes that he had guessed at the reasons behind her original reserve toward him. “Thank you, sir. It is a compliment, indeed,” she said, a smile still touching her lips. “I know that my mother sets great store by you as well.”

  Lord Hughes acknowledged her oblique apology with a slight nod. Tucking her hand into his arm, he said, “I am not as young as I once was. Perhaps you will not mind it if I usher you to the refreshment table instead of joining this set?”

  “Of course not, my lord,” said Evelyn.

  “I believe Miss Dower promised this dance to me.”

  The hard voice brought both Lord Hughes and Evelyn around. At sight of his grandnephew, Lord Hughes raised a brow. “Indeed, nevvy?”

  “Yes,” Mr. Hawkins ground out. His short glance at Evelyn’s astonished face was one of thin-lipped disapproval.

  Evelyn had had quite enough. With a tight smile for Lord Hughes, she said, “I am sorry, my lord. I had indeed forgotten that I had promised this dance to Mr. Hawkins. I hope that you will forgive me.”

  Lord Hughes swept her hand to his lips to place a lingering kiss. He was quietly amused by the hard look in Mr. Hawkins’s eyes. “I can forgive you anything, Miss Dower,” he said. His rich voice was a veritable caress.

  Evelyn inclined her head, her smile for him less constrained. She appreciated the irony in his lazy gaze. Then she turned to place her fingers delicately on Mr. Hawkins’s sleeve.

  As he led her toward the floor, Evelyn hissed, “I do not wish to dance. We shall find a private room, if you please!”

  Mr. Hawkins glanced down to encounter her overly bright, glittering eyes. His brows rose slightly. “Of course, Miss Dower, if that is your wish.”

  “It is!” Evelyn snapped.

  She did not address him again as he led her out of the ballroom and a short distance down a hall. He paused to open a door and stood aside for her to precede him. Evelyn swept past him without a glance.

  She found herself in a study. She did not turn until she heard the closing of the door, then she rounded on him. “How dare you, sir!” Her voice was trembling with fury. “How dare you to presume to interfere in my concerns.”

  Mr. Hawkins was stunned alike by her fury and her beauty. Evelyn’s eyes blazed and the firelight cast molten gold over her delicately boned face and the swift rise and descent of her bosom. He had never seen her look so magnificent. He desired at that moment nothing except to pull her into his arms and make love to her.

  Dragging his thoughts back to the matter at hand, he attempted to placate her. He advanced, saying in reasoned tones, “I was but thinking of your best interests. An innocent such as yourself cannot be expected to recognize knavery in all its guises. My uncle is a careless libertine. I would not have you fall prey to his seductions.”

  His quiet inflections served to incite her fury to greater proportions. “Mr. Hawkins, I am far less in need of protection than you assume. On the contrary, I am quite up to snuff.”

  Evelyn saw that he did not appear in the least convinced by her declaration. His expression of polite disbelief was the final straw. She stamped her foot. “You infuriating man! How can I make you understand that I do not wish, nor do I need you to play my bodyguard?”

  He saw that tears glittered on her lashes and his heart smote him. Mr. Hawkins reached out to capture her hands. “Evelyn-”

  She pulled free instantly. “Stop! Pray do not!”

  He looked startled. He said stiffly, “I am sorry if I offended you. I assure you, I had no intention of taking advantage of our tête-à-tête, Miss Dower.”

  Evelyn stared up at him for an astonished moment, various emotions fleeting across her face. Quite suddenly, she gave a low laugh that bordered on hysteria. “Yes, of course you would not! How very like you, Mr. Hawkins!” Her voice broke and her eyes were suddenly awash with tears. She turned away quickly, the back of her hand pressed over her mouth.

  Mr. Hawkins stood stock-still, staring at her bowed head. Then he moved, swiftly and surely. His hands descended on her shoulders and turned her so quickly that she had to catch herself against him with her hands. He pulled her close into his arms.

  Her face was pressed against his shoulder, while her hands were folded against his chest. She fancied that she could feel the strong, swift beat of his heart. She did not move, not daring to believe that he was actually holding her in so intimate a fashion.

  Evelyn closed her eyes, drinking in the feel and the masculine smell of him. She loved him, she slowly realized. She had denied it for so long. She had even hidden it from herself behind a romantic fancy woven around Sir Charles. Poor Sir Charles, she thought. He had never had a proper chance at all.

  Mr. Hawkins breathed in the sweet scent of the soft hair beneath his cheek. She was in his arms at last, the warmth of her feminine curves fitted neatly against him.

  His breath quickened. He ached to do more than hold her. It was agonizing to hold her thus when he dared not demonstrate the depth of his passion. She was such an innocent. Even to take possession of her mouth in the manner he so desperately craved must surely frighten her and would undoubtedly give her a disgust of him.

  They stood thus
for several heartbeats while the battle raged in him. But honor, battered and bitterly hated, finally won.

  Evelyn sighed and stirred. She lifted her head and smiled up at him. “I am quite composed now,” she said softly.

  It was an effort for Mr. Hawkins to unlock his arms from about her; even more an effort to step back and put distance between them. His hungry gaze brushed her half-parted lips before dropping to the rounded breasts so invitingly displayed by her low décolletage. Firelight created fascinating shadows with every breath she took, further stoking his imagination. Realizing the turn of his thoughts, he dragged away his eyes.

  He turned abruptly toward the mantel. Without glancing again in her direction, he said harshly, “Forgive me. I have crossed over the line yet once again.”

  The warmth that Evelyn had been feeling evaporated with the cold indifference of his voice. Tears pricked her eyes again. He cared nothing for her. He never had. His demonstration had been naught but a ploy to divert her from her anger against him.

  “I cannot bear this,” she said on a half-muffled sob.

  He turned.

  His expression was one of such surprise that Evelyn’s fury returned full-blown. Her voice shook with the force of her pent emotions. “You have attempted to keep me immured and isolated all Season. You have warned off several other gentlemen from me, even your own friends. You cannot deny it, for I have seen that even Viscount Waithe is no longer my ardent admirer! Why, why have you done this?”

  “I cannot answer that,” said Mr. Hawkins raggedly. She had spurned him once. He could not bear for her to do so again, not now when he had so desperate a control over himself.

  “It is obvious that you cannot possibly want me for yourself!” Evelyn cried, all of her hurt bursting forth. He had set her aside with just a few cold words. “You have made that abundantly clear!”

  Her words struck him with the force of thrown daggers, and he jerked toward her. He stopped, his fists clenched as he stared at her. More than anything else, he wanted to protest his love for her.