She had, of course, decided to use her older beau to make Nicholas jealous. If he saw her with another man, he would surely see her in a new light. Even if he was old, Lord Trevelan would suffice. The viscount was closer to fifty than forty, but he was still a moderately handsome man. Lord Trevalan had been Evangeline’s suitor since she was just sixteen. She never liked him much, but that didn’t stop him from calling on her every other day.
So, why did he stop coming? Why hadn’t he called on her in several days? Had he been frightened off by the arrival of the new Lord Penworth?
Evangeline didn’t think so. Lord Trevelan didn’t look like the sort of man to be frightened off by anything. He looked like a lion—not that he had whiskers. She was glad he didn’t, because she didn’t like men with hair on their faces.
Evangeline tried to picture his face. For a man of six and forty, he had very few wrinkles. His hair was feathery and brown, with only the slightest trace of gray. And he still had all his teeth, as far as she could tell. Lord Trevelan was amiable enough, and Evangeline had decided long ago that she would marry him if no other option presented itself.
Of course, another option had presented itself. Evangeline wanted to marry Nicholas. She smiled at the thought, and was renewed for the rest of the journey.
Evangeline ventured closer to Lord Trevelan’s property. She could see his house in the distance, but she didn’t dare arrive at his doorstep. It wasn’t proper for an unmarried female to call on a bachelor. Instead of knocking on his door, she sat under a tree and massaged her feet through her boots. A blister on her ankle was pounding against its restraints. She started to remove her shoes, but a rustle in the brush stopped her.
“Hello?” she called over her shoulder. “Is someone there?”
“Miss Fremont? Would that be you?”
Suddenly, Evangeline was sitting in the shadow of a very tall man. She looked up, and Lord Trevelan was standing over her. She had hoped to run into him, and it seemed to be happening sooner than she thought. “Oh! My lord! Yes, it is me.”
“What are you doing here?”
A frown twitched on Evangeline’s face as she stared at him. In the sunlight, she could see the thinning of his hair. It reminded her of his age. “Well, I… I just went for a bit of a walk. There’s a brook over there, and the scenery is nice, what with the trees and the… the…”
Trevelan chuckled. “My dear, you don’t need to inform me of the surroundings. I’ve lived here my whole life. I already know about the brook and all that. I’m just surprised to see you.” He smiled. “But it’s a pleasant surprise, let me assure you.”
She returned his smile. “Why, thank you.”
“Did you come from Penworth Park?”
“Yes. Yes, of course.”
“That’s a long walk.”
Lord Trevelan didn’t need to tell her that. Her blisters were a constant reminder. “I know. I needed the exercise.”
“I’m sorry about your father.”
“Thank you for your condolences, my lord. It means a lot to me. Truly.”
Lord Trevelan sat beside Evangeline under the tree. He was moving a bit slowly, which reminded her again that he wasn't the youngest of men. “You needn’t bother with all the my lords. I’ve known you so long, it doesn’t feel right. You should call me Richard.”
“Well…” Her chin tilted haughtily. “Had your visits been more frequent these last few weeks, I might have been more familiar with you.”
“Have you missed me?” he asked.
Evangeline didn’t give him the satisfaction of an answer.
“I would have liked to visit you every day, but I was visiting my mother in Wiltshire. She’s been ill.”
Evangeline’s eyes widened. “Your mother is alive?”
Someone else might have been affronted, but Lord Trevelan threw back his head and roared with laughter. “Goodness, girl, you wound me! I am not so old. My mother is not quite seventy. She was much younger than my father, you know?”
“Oh.” Evangeline wasn’t moved.
His eyes were locked on her, but Evangeline didn’t return his gaze. He was handsome enough, but he certainly wasn’t someone she wanted to stare at all the time. “You look very pretty. You have a bit of color on your cheeks, and I have to say, it complements you well.”
Evangeline lifted her hand to her face. Indeed, her cheeks were warm to the touch. “I must have gotten overheated on the walk.”
“Do you mind if I stay with you while you rest?”
“Of course not, my lord.”
“Richard.”
“Richard,” she repeated with a smile. But it was a fake smile. Evangeline was very accomplished in the art of fake smiles.
“Evangeline.” As he said her name, Lord Trevelan captured her hand and gave it a kiss.
“Yes?” Evangeline tugged her hand away from him. She had one purpose for Lord Trevelan, and it had nothing to do with letting him cling to her hand.
“How is the new Lord Penworth?”
Folding her hands on her lap, Evangeline replied, “He seems very kind. He’s not at all like I thought he’d be.”
“What were you expecting?”
“My mind was conjuring all sorts of things,” she said. “I thought he’d be a pompous fool or a foul-mouthed ruffian.”
“But he’s neither of those things?”
“No, not at all.”
“You… like him?”
“I suppose so,” Evangeline admitted with a shrug. “To be honest, he seems perfect.”
“Handsome?”
“Very.”
“Young?”
Evangeline shrugged. “Moderately so.”
“And rich, of course.”
Evangeline turned to look at the man sitting beside her. She wanted to use Trevelan to make Nicholas jealous, not the other way around. At the moment, Lord Trevelan was looking so dejected, she almost felt sorry for him. He looked like a child that lost his puppy.
Even if he did like dogs, one thousand puppies wouldn’t have wiped the frown from Trevelan’s face.
“Well, I suppose he’s not perfect. We all have our flaws, don’t we?” Evangeline tried to make amends. But Trevelan didn’t look convinced. “Why don’t you visit him, Richard? You can form your own opinion of him.”
“I agree. One should always meet a rival head-on,” Trevelan said with a sigh. “I suppose I should go meet him.”
“Rival?”
“He is my rival for your affection, it seems. You speak very highly of him.”
“Oh… but I…” Evangeline’s eloquence was faltering. “I don’t think he cares to win my affection. And even if he did, he is out of luck. I already have an attachment to you.”
One side of his face twitched into a tiny smile. “You do?”
“Yes,” she lied. “And if you come to meet Lord Penworth, then it will be an excuse to visit me. Mama and I are still living at Penworth Park. We haven’t left.”
Evangeline could have fed him falsehoods all day, were it not for the arrival of a particularly vexing man. A crunching of leaves alerted her to his presence. When she turned around, she had a dreadful feeling in the pit of her stomach. She knew it would be him.
“Good morning, my lady,” said Jonathan. His missing hand was tucked inside the pocket of his coat, and he waved to her with the other. “You ventured so far out, I thought I’d never find you.”
Evangeline saw Trevelan’s concerned expression, and she realized she made a snorting noise when Jonathan arrived. “What are you doing here?”
“Not happy to see me?” Jonathan asked with a chuckle. “I’ve been looking for you for over an hour. Your mother asked me to find you. She wanted you to join her for tea, but… I’m pretty sure the tea is cold by now.”
When Lord Trevelan rose to his feet, Evangeline nearly laughed when she saw several dewy leaves stuck to his rear end. “Who are you, sir? Are you Lord Penworth, by any chance?”
“I’m afraid not,
but I’m flattered you might think so.”
Evangeline stood, smacking the leaves from her dress as she rose. “This man, Winters, is Lord Penworth’s valet.”
“Oh.” Trevelan studied the other man present, trying to decide if his attire was befitting a man of his station. He turned away after a few seconds, having deemed the valet beneath his interest. “Shall I call on you tomorrow, Evangeline?”
“Of course, Lord Trevelan,” she said, smiling sweetly. “You may call on me anytime you’d like.”
“Goodbye.”
“Goodbye.”
Evangeline and Jonathan walked a few paces away. When they were at a safe distance, Jonathan asked, “Who’s the old man? He’s not a beau of yours, is he?”
“He’s Lord Trevelan, a viscount, and our closest neighbor,” Evangeline said. “And… I suppose you could call him a beau. He’s not so old.”
“He’s old enough to be your father,” Jonathan said with a grimace. “And then some.”
“Regardless of his age, Lord Trevelan is a kind, thoughtful, venerable man. He is always a gentleman, and he always treats me with utmost respect.” Evangeline narrowed her eyes. “That’s more than I can say for some people!”
“If you ask me, he could treat you with more respect. I’m not sure it’s proper for you to be alone with him. He should have taken that into consideration.”
“What do you know about propriety?” Evangeline fired back at him. “Besides, I’m alone with you right now! I’m not sure that’s proper either!”
“I don’t claim to be an expert on the ways of gentlefolk, but I don’t think it’s proper for a young lady to be alone with a gentleman,” Jonathan said, smiling inwardly. He liked to banter with her. He couldn’t help himself. “As I am not a gentleman, I am an exception. I am a servant; therefore, it is entirely acceptable.”
“Really?” Evangeline sighed. “Why is that? It’s not as if you’re completely incapable of stealing my virtue. I think you’re just as capable as any man. And we don’t treat you like a servant. We treat you like one of the family, don’t we? You even join us for supper!”
“One of the family? Really?” A smile appeared on his lips. “I think that’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said.”
Under her breath, she said, “I wasn’t trying to be nice.”
He heard her anyway. “Of course you weren’t, my lady. I should have never expected you to be nice to me.”
Jonathan wanted that comment to vex her. But when he looked over at her and saw her limping, he wished he could take it back. She had a twisted grimace on her face, and he knew she must be in pain.
“Did you hurt your foot?” he asked. “You’re limping.”
Evangeline sucked air through her clinched teeth. Every time she took a step, it felt if her feet were being rubbed raw. “Yes, I… I’m afraid my feet are very badly blistered,” she confessed. “Until today, I never wore these boots for anything more than a quick stroll. I wouldn’t be surprised if they were bleeding.”
Jonathan’s face was pinched in an expression of concern. “Are you in a lot of pain?”
“A considerable amount, yes,” Evangeline said with a sigh. She was glad the bonnet shaded her eyes. Tears of self-pity were wavering within them. “I wish I could sprout wings and fly home... or wave a magic wand to make a carriage appear.”
Jonathan stopped walking. “I could be your carriage.”
His words brought her to a halt. Evangeline, who was several paces ahead of him, turned around. “What?”
“I could carry you,” he suggested. It was meant to be an innocent suggestion, but she looked horrified. “No one would see us, and it would get you off your feet.”
“No! I can’t ride on you. What a ridiculous thought! It’s completely out of the question!” Evangeline started to walk faster, as if hoping to leave him behind. She was still hobbling, though. “A gentleman would never suggest such a thing.”
“Who said I was a gentleman?” Jonathan asked. With his long strides, he caught up to her in no time at all. “You go out of your way to remind me I’m just a valet, and valets do suggest such things.” He didn’t know why his heart ached to see her hobbling. She was such a tyrant, she probably deserved it. “I was only trying to be helpful.”
“I-I know,” she stammered, thoroughly relieved that he couldn’t read her mind. She had to be honest with herself: Jonathan Winters’ presence was unsettling. Most of the time, she was only pretending to dislike him because she was angry with herself for liking him too much. Evangeline didn’t want to enjoy his company. Her stomach did tumbles whenever he appeared, and she hated herself for it.
“I have another idea.”
“I shudder to think of what that might be.”
“Take off your shoes,” Jonathan suggested. “I’ll carry them the rest of the way.”
“I can’t!”
“You won’t?”
“I will not!”
Her feet were protesting against her protests. Her heel was crying for release.
A few seconds later, Evangeline finally capsized. “Alright. You can… carry my shoes.”
“Alright then,” he said with a smile. “Go sit on that stone over there.”
“What stone?”
“Over there.” He pointed to a large stone in the shade of two large trees. With a pained expression, Evangeline limped to the rock and sat. She hadn’t the heart to protest any more.
Or did she? When Jonathan knelt beside her feet, her eyes widened.
“What are you doing?!”
As he reached for her feet, Jonathan said, “Removing your boots, of course.”
“You can’t!” she gasped, jerking her feet away. “I don’t want you touching my feet and my stockings! The only man who gets this close to me will be my husband!”
“Will you marry me, then?” Jonathan asked with a chuckle. His eyes met hers, but she didn’t look amused. “Come on, now. Hold out your little foot. I promise I won’t hurt you.” For some reason, she did as she was told. With a grin on his face, he started to unlace them.
Surprisingly enough, the removal of her shoes was relatively painless, both emotionally and physically. Somehow he managed to avoid hurting her blisters. She did, however, have a bit of a physical reaction when his hand brushed against her stocking, albeit very briefly.
Clutching her shoes in his hand, Jonathan rose from the ground. “There.” He looked down at her, still sitting on the rock. “I would offer you a hand, but I don’t have one to spare.”
With a roll of her eyes, Evangeline hopped to her feet. Free of their constraints, her blisters didn’t hurt quite as much. But the dew on the grass did sting a bit. “Don’t you ever get tired of the hand jokes?” she asked.
“No. Not really. I'd rather laugh about it than cry about it.”
To Evangeline, the thought of Jonathan Winters with tears in his eyes was as ludicrous as an elephant with chocolate tusks. “You would never cry!” she shouted.
“Oh, but I have!” he countered, swinging her shoes as he walked. “Any man who says he’s never cried is a liar.”
“Has Nicholas cried?” Evangeline asked. “Have you ever seen him cry?”
“No,” Jonathan admitted. “But I bet he cried when he was a baby, didn’t he? Therefore… every man has cried.”
Evangeline rolled her eyes. “Your humor is as dry as the grass is damp.”
Jonathan failed to hear her retort. Instead, he uttered a single word, which made no sense to Evangeline.
“Kittens.”
She looked at him like he was crazy. “What?”
“Kittens,” he repeated. “Over there. In the woods.”
Still clutching the boots, Jonathan lifted his hand. He tried to direct Evangeline’s gaze past a line of trees, to a small clearing in the woods where kittens’ heads were bobbing timidly above the rim of a farmer’s hat.
Evangeline let out a shriek, and sprinted away from Jonathan with childish zeal. When he caught
up with her, she was kneeling above the overturned hat, peering down at the kittens with adoring eyes.
“They’re precious, aren’t they? They can’t be more than a week old!” She reached down to pat the head of the white one, the furriest of the bunch. “Do they belong to someone? Do they have a mother?”
“Every animal has a mother,” Jonathan noted sarcastically. “Whether the mother has abandoned them or not, who knows?”
“I want to keep them!” Evangeline exclaimed, whining like a child. “Can I take them home with me?” She looked up at him with pleading eyes.
The change in her disposition reminded him just how young she really was. “I bet they’re crawling with fleas… and the mother cat could come back. They haven’t been weaned, and I’m not sure you should be asking me for permission. I’m just the valet.”
“Well, I’ll come back and check on them every day.” She looked at the boots in Jonathan’s hand. “And… I’ll wear something else on my feet.”
“A wise idea,” he uttered softly, realizing something for the first time. Evangeline’s personality was as changeable as the weather. Around Lord Trevelan and Nicholas, she was a charming, reserved young lady. Around him, she was a short-tempered, sharp-tongued minx. Show her some kittens, and she became a wide-eyed child. There were many layers to Evangeline Fremont, and he wanted to unravel each and every one of them. She wasn’t always the rude, spoiled girl he thought she was.
Regardless of how much he liked her, it didn’t matter. At the end of the day, Jonathan Winters was still a valet, a servant, and she was far above his reach.
After a few more minutes of doting on the kittens, Evangeline rose from her crouching position.
“My feet still hurt quite a bit. The grass stings,” she said with a sigh. “Jonathan?”
“Yes, my lady?”
“Could you carry me?”
“Yes. Of course.”
It was the perfect opportunity to tease her, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. Without another word, Evangeline wrapped her arms around his neck, and he lifted her off her feet.
Senseless Sensibilities Page 7
