***
When Eve heard that Marcus had gone to London, she realized that she might not ever get the chance to say good-bye. She wasn’t going back to Averford House, not with Sophia holding a grudge. She had to make a clean break. But if she had the chance to see him again, could she manage to leave him? Would he still want her? She had her doubts.
“I want you to know that you’ve upset me very much,” Sophia told her after dinner once Lizzy had gone to bed. “And you’ve certainly made it harder for Marcus and Alice to come together.”
“But you heard her, Sophia. Alice isn’t interested in Marcus.” If Eve had thought for one moment that she was, would she still have made love with him in the library? In the field? In his room? She couldn’t be sure. Heat rose to her cheeks.
“That’s not what I heard at all. She said she found him charming, and she’d begun to change her mind. If not for you, they might already be together.”
“I want you to be happy, Sophia. I love you like a sister. I would never have hurt you on purpose and I hope you know how very sorry I am.”
“Then go away,” Sophia said coldly. “Not now. I don’t want to give Lizzy any reason to be suspicious or to spread gossip in London. But once the Dovedales leave, go away and give Marcus and Alice a chance.”
“I’ll go away, and I hope things turn out in the way that you want. But you can’t make them fall in love, Sophia. No matter how much you wish them to be together.” Eve wasn’t sure Marcus planned on coming back. To Tilly Meadow to visit Brandon, perhaps, but only as long as Brandon stayed there. He might be in London searching for a new situation for the Coopers even now. “I have an appointment in London in a few days, and then I’ll be taking the position with the Dovedales. I’ll be out of your way.”
The next day, the rain came and they were stuck inside. They played games, charades, backgammon. Sophia seemed to forget sometimes that they were at odds, and other times she treated Eve with false cheer. But Lizzy had no reason to suspect that they weren’t getting along. By the third day, Eve decided to share her treasures from India after Lizzy began asking questions about it, a place where her husband, Geoffrey, had spent time away on business without her.
They looked through Eve’s picture books and dressed up in Eve’s saris for a laugh. Eve chose a deep green sari and went behind the screen to change. She emerged wrapped in a length of hand-dyed and embroidered silk that bared one shoulder and showed a flash of skin along her midriff.
“Namaste,” she said, coming out and bowing with her hands pressed together in front of her, as she had seen Prama and so many others do.
“Nama—what?” the others asked.
“Namaste,” Eve pronounced the word slowly. “It’s a traditional greeting. It’s like wishing someone well. It means simply hello or more reverently, ‘I recognize the holiness within you.’ Namaste.” She bowed again.
They all repeated the word.
“Turn around.” Sophia stood to feel the silk. “Eve, this is extraordinary. You look beautiful. It suits you.”
“Go ahead, try one on,” Eve urged.
“Is it comfortable?” Alice asked.
“Very,” Eve answered. “You’ll feel like an exotic princess.
“I want to try one.” Lizzy jumped up. “The gold.”
“It would go very nicely with your chestnut hair. Shall I show you how to drape it?”
“Please. I’ll never figure it out on my own.”
Eve helped them into saris, the peacock blue for Sophia, which made her eyes all the more striking, and a crimson for Alice, which did not clash with her red-brown hair at all, as Sophia had feared. When they were all done changing, they admired each other in the unfamiliar garb.
“Something’s not quite right. Our hair. It’s all wrong. Look.” Sophia held up a page from Eve’s book of photographs. “It should be parted in the middle and smoothed, perhaps loosely gathered in the back. I’ll call Jenks.”
In the end, they looked like Englishwomen pretending to be exotic beauties, but they were admiring each other delightedly when Lucy came up with a message.
“My lady,” Lucy said, clearly working to control any response to their surprising new looks, “Mr. Dovedale is arriving from the train station. Lord Averford suggests you join him to greet the car.”
“Of course. Thank you, Lucy.”
“Wouldn’t it be fun if we went down like this?” Alice suggested with a laugh.
“I would like to see the look on Lord Averford’s face,” Sophia said.
Lizzy nodded. “And on Geoffrey’s. He will wonder what you have done to his wife. Let’s do it.”
“Do let’s.” They all giggled conspiratorially.
Eve, though, felt no urgency to run out with the others. Her spirits were beginning to flag. She would meet Geoffrey Dovedale soon enough. She had been eager to share some spices with Mrs. Mallows, and she took the opportunity to go down to the kitchen instead of out to greet the new arrival. Mrs. Mallows labored over preparations for the evening meal, making Eve hesitant to interrupt.
“Yes, what is it?” The cook turned to her, surprise at Eve’s costume etched clearly on her face.
“I’ve brought some of my Indian spices. I wanted to share one of my recipes with you, but I can come back another time.”
“Oh no, dear. It’s a good time. And you’ve treated us to a look at traditional Indian costume, I suppose. Very daring, Mrs. Kendal. Look at that embroidery.” She leaned over to study the fabric. “Mrs. Hoyle would be envious of the stitch work.”
“Perhaps I will show her before I change.”
Mrs. Mallows handed Eve a spoon. “Stir the sauce while you tell me about these spices and what we can do with them.”
Eve stirred and shared recipe ideas while Mrs. Mallows tasted all the spices, some familiar, some not. Turmeric, pomegranate seeds, coriander, star anise, saffron, fenugreek, green and black cardamom, and more. In the end, they agreed on an apple squash curry with stewed chicken, something that combined the familiar ingredients they had in abundance with exotic new flavors. Mrs. Mallows thought they could add the dish to the evening’s menu.
The kitchen was hot and Mrs. Mallows was a strict taskmaster, but Eve enjoyed cooking with her for the rest of the afternoon until it was time for her to change for dinner and join the others, especially since it took her mind off having to leave Sophia, Thornbrook Park, and Marcus behind forever.
***
When Eve returned to her room to prepare for dinner, she decided on a pale orange gown, silk with a fine filigree of cream lace draped over it. It was older, true, but too pretty to ignore. The neckline was edged in black with a flourish of purple ribbon on the left side. It wasn’t cut too low, though it swept the tops of her breasts. In it, she felt every inch a lady. She wished Marcus were there to see her under different circumstances, should things have worked out between them.
Lucy came to help with her hair and admired her without reserve.
“Mrs. Kendal, you’re like a princess from a fairy story.”
“Thank you, Lucy. I feel a tad old to play the princess, but maybe I won’t once we’ve done something with my hair.”
“You’re not so old as all that, are you? Twenty-four? Maybe twenty-five? So young yet.”
“Nearly twenty-six,” Eve said, sitting down in front of the mirror. “But let’s not speak of it.”
Lucy arranged Eve’s wavy curls into a softly romantic cascade.
“Perhaps I should bob my hair. The way they show in the magazines, have you seen it? Such a bold new style.”
“I think it would suit,” Lucy said, meeting Eve’s gaze in the mirror. “It would lend your delicate features some pixie-like charm.”
“Perhaps once I’m back in London with the Dovedales,” Eve said. “Thank you, Lucy. New hair for a new start.”
Be
fore she made her way down to dinner, she stopped for one last thing. Among her treasures, she still had a few necklaces, the ones that couldn’t fetch a high enough price to be worth selling. Ben’s mother’s amethyst beads would go best, but she chose the melo pearl she’d had on when she’d first encountered Marcus at Thornbrook Park.
She had bought it after haggling in a marketplace in Calcutta, or as Prama had taught her, Kolkata. She’d been so proud of her purchase, especially after Prama had told her that she had driven a hard bargain and ended up with a very fair price. Wearing the necklace reminded her of that feeling, of being the strong, proud, independent woman she meant to be for the rest of her life.
As Eve approached Sophia’s suite, Sophia was just stepping out. They greeted each other coldly, and Eve felt another pang of loss. What a mess she’d made of things.
Sophia wore a stunning ivory satin with pearl gray embroidery and pale blue beading.
Wordlessly, they went down to dinner together. Gabriel and the Dovedales waited in the parlor. Gabriel managed the introductions.
Geoffrey Dovedale took her hand. He was a tall man, standing an inch or two over six feet, and thin, as if he possibly skipped meals due to a busy schedule. His dark hair was slicked back but just starting to recede at the temples, and he had a dark, thin mustache.
“I’m so pleased to meet a dear friend of my Elizabeth.” He peered down at her through his spectacles. “I look forward to getting to know you.”
“The honor is all mine. I’m a great reader. I would like to hear more about your work.”
Once Agatha joined them, they went in, Gabriel taking his seat at the head of the table with Sophia to his right, and Agatha to his left. The Dovedales sat together next to Sophia, with Geoffrey directly next to Sophia and Eve across from Lizzy. Alice filled the seat next to Eve that was normally filled by Marcus. It seemed off somehow. She wished they could have left his chair empty, but perhaps that would have made it all the harder to bear his absence.
“Elizabeth said that you have three girls, Mr. Dovedale,” Sophia said. “You are outnumbered by females, poor man.”
Eve forced herself to pay attention to the conversation. She was going to be the Dovedales’ governess, but all she could think about was Marcus.
“I consider myself very fortunate. Daughters are wonderful things. Though I do mean to teach Margaret, our youngest, to play cricket. She has quite an arm.”
“Now, Geoffrey, you will do no such thing.” Lizzy turned to Sophia and Alice. “Can you imagine?”
“I think, given the right opportunities, girls can do anything as well as boys,” Alice said, as the footman made the rounds with a well-done roast and gravy. “You’re wise to start her young. Margaret Dovedale, first female cricket champion. I quite like the sound of it.”
“Not if her mother can help it,” Dovedale said. “But we’ll see. Also, I’m not quite as outnumbered as you might think, Lady Averford. I have recently acquired my most devoted companion, Drake. He’s a pug. I love my daughters, but I must confess that I haven’t had one moment of concern since leaving them at home with their nurse for the weekend. I do, however, worry about my Drake. What will he do without me?” Dovedale asked.
“Make a shambles of your study, that’s what,” Lizzy said with a knowing nod. “I hope you didn’t leave any valuable manuscripts lying around.”
“Only one from Mr. Forster. I told him it was completely unbelievable and I needed a rewrite. And he told me it was all based on true events and I might consider stuffing it in a place, well, it’s not polite conversation. But, at any rate, he informed me that I was not the only publisher in town. I informed him that I was perhaps the only publisher offering a chance to improve his story, but that he was free to make up his own mind.”
“Is Mr. Forster a talented writer?” Eve asked. “I haven’t read anything of his yet, that I am aware of.”
“You will.” Mr. Dovedale paused, fork in the air as he prepared to taste the next course. “Most assuredly. He’s brilliant. Especially if he learns to take some good advice. E. M. Forster, yes, you would do well to look him up. His debut garnered some strong reviews and high praise. What do you like to read?”
“Lately, I’m enjoying Edith Wharton, but I also like Henry James, Thomas Hardy, and always Jane Austen,” Eve answered with a smile.
“Jane Austen, of course. You’re a romantic. Most women are.”
“She also likes Kipling,” Alice teased.
“And Brontë,” Agatha added. She’d been so quiet that Eve had almost forgotten she was there. “We had a conversation about Brontë just a short time ago at this table, in fact.”
With the exception of the Dovedales, no doubt they all remembered the last conversation about Brontë and the man who inspired it, Marcus. Everyone grew quiet for a moment as if the ghost of Marcus had joined them at the table, channeled by Agatha. Sophia shared a glance with Gabriel and moved the conversation along.
“When we were girls,” Sophia said wistfully, “Eve and I had a pact involving Jane Eyre. Do you remember, Eve?”
She liked Sophia remembering their past. It helped her believe they could yet have a future. “Of course. You were determined to marry a Mr. Rochester of your own. But I think perhaps you ended up with a Mr. Darcy.”
“What’s that you’re calling me, Mrs. Kendal?”
“It’s a compliment, Lord Averford,” Lizzy said. “Rochester was bombastic and cruel. Darcy may be proud, but he was honorable.”
“Rochester was deceptive, perhaps,” Alice defended. “I don’t think he meant to be cruel. He didn’t have much choice.”
“He had every choice. He could have said, ‘Jane, I love you, but my mad wife is in the attic.’” Lizzy speared her broccoli with a passionate flair. “But did he say a word? No!”
“But Rochester was cruelly forced into a terrible first marriage by his father. And brother,” Eve observed, looking directly at Gabriel. Would it be lost on him, the trouble that occurred when marriages were forced? “Given his choice, he might never have married Bertha.”
“And once she took ill, he did the best he could for her. He kept her out of institutions,” Alice said. “And who could fault him for trying to hold on to love when it finally found him?”
“Well, Mr. Darcy is a bit tame by comparison,” Eve said, eager to move the conversation to safer territory. Arguing the merits or failings of Rochester could only make tensions rise. Readers were passionate in defense of beloved characters.
“Come with us to shoot birds in the morning. I will show you tame,” Gabriel boasted.
“I would love to,” Alice said, miming taking aim with a rifle. “I think I could be a crack shot.”
Gabriel laughed, not taking her seriously. “Gentlemen only, I’m afraid.”
“I need to return to London in the morning,” Eve said. “Wrapping up some business with my solicitor.” She hadn’t mentioned that her solicitor was dead and that the business was locking away his murderous “wife” and her “brother.”
“What is it you’re writing, Mrs. Kendal?” Mr. Dovedale paused to push his spectacles further up on his nose. “Elizabeth tells me you’re working on a novel.”
“I am. A love story between a South African widow and an English soldier.”
“A tragedy? These things never end well for the women. Madame Bovary, Anna Karenina.” Dovedale nodded authoritatively.
“Absolutely not.” Eve shook her head. “For once, I would like to see a woman in a love affair have a proper ending. A happy ending. Why not? What’s wrong with wanting to be loved? She’s no innocent, but she’s not hurting anyone by following her heart.”
For the second time of the evening, conversation halted at the table. Sophia and Gabriel looked at her. Let them glare. She couldn’t take back what had happened and she didn’t want to, though she wished for all the world that
she and Marcus had proceeded differently. But she was getting to be a bit annoyed with Sophia. So it wasn’t the future Sophia had planned, but why wouldn’t her friend want her to be happy? They were like sisters, biology aside, so why wasn’t she good enough for Marcus? True, she feared she couldn’t have children and Sophia wanted an heir for Gabriel, but was an heir more important than two people one cared about finding love?
“The readers generally think it’s immoral for a woman to carry on with a man who is not her husband,” Dovedale observed. “It’s the readers we aim to please, and they like to see a moral lesson. Bad behavior can’t be rewarded.”
“I think it’s time we acknowledged that a number of novel readers, perhaps a vast number, are women, Mr. Dovedale,” Eve said. “I doubt that women want to read about other women being stoned or thrown into the path of a train or swallowing poison, merely because they’ve fallen in love without the benefit of a marriage certificate. It might be time to try something new.”
“That’s not the kind of book I want to read,” Sophia said, averting her gaze.
“Oh, Sophia, you’re so old-fashioned.” Alice rolled her eyes. “It’s exactly what I would like to see. Eve, write it and you will be my hero.”
The footmen started serving the curry that Eve had prepared with Mrs. Mallows, and conversation turned to the unusual new dish. Eve was grateful for the distraction. The last thing she wanted was to stir up more trouble between herself and her friends.
Twenty-two
“I should have taken the train to meet her.” Marcus paced, unable to settle his mind or body while Eve was out there and Lawson remained unaccounted for. “What if he went looking for her? What if he found her?”
“She’s due here any minute. You need to relax,” Tom Reilly, seated calmly at his desk, urged his friend. “If he wanted to hurt her, he would have done so by now. There’s been no sign of him at the Strumps’ house. Perhaps he fled the country to get away from his wife. She sounds like an odious woman, by Mrs. Kendal’s account.”
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