by Cheryl Holt
“My feeling exactly,” Evangeline concurred.
“So…let’s go.”
“Yes, let’s do, but on the way, I have to stop in the village.”
“What for?”
“I have to inform Vicar Bosworth that I’m breaking my engagement.”
“Oh.”
“Yes, oh,” Evangeline said.
“Well then”—Florella forced a smile—“we’d best get a move on.”
“I’ll be out on the road, past the gate.”
Florella picked up Evangeline’s bag and left with it. Evangeline put on her cloak and bonnet, then tiptoed down the servants’ stairs and went outside. No one saw her. She might have been invisible. She might have been a ghost flitting by, unnoticed and unremarked.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
“Hello, Miss Etherton.”
“Hello, Vicar Bosworth.”
“How kind of you to stop by.”
Evangeline hovered in the doorway to his library. He was seated at his desk, glaring at her as if daring her to enter.
She shuddered, briefly reflecting that—had her path gone in a different direction—this would have been her fate. The notion was terrifying, and if there was one aspect to the debacle that provided any solace, it was the fact that she would never be Mrs. Ignatius Bosworth.
“May I come in?” she tentatively asked, feeling afraid of him, as if she was a stranger begging for a handout.
He gestured to the chair across, and she hurried over and slid onto it.
“How is your cold?” he inquired.
“My…cold?” She was so disoriented by events that she didn’t know to what he referred.
“Yes, your cold. It’s all I’ve heard all week. You were too ill to socialize.”
“Ah…I’m much better.”
“Thank goodness,” he sarcastically said.
She’d understood that the conversation would be difficult but, apparently, it would be even more horrid than she’d assumed. He continued to glare, not furnishing an opening for small talk that would have eased them toward more thorny topics.
There was no hope for it. She’d have to simply blurt it out, but she didn’t imagine he’d mind very much. His mother would certainly celebrate.
“I have to tell you something,” she murmured.
“Speak up,” he snapped. “I can’t hear you.”
“I have to tell you something,” she repeated more loudly.
“Let’s have it, Miss Etherton.” When she couldn’t spit it out, he mockingly chided, “Come now, where’s your spirit? Is the flamboyant Miss Etherton at a loss for words?”
“No, it’s a sad day for me, so it’s hard to start. I can’t figure out how.”
“Why is that? Could it be that you realize how you’ll shame yourself?”
A sinking sensation crept over her, as if there was a cliff approaching and she couldn’t avoid it. She was about to fall into a very deep hole.
“What do you mean?”
“You’ve been staying at Fox Run, Miss Etherton. The manor is filled with servants, and as anyone can apprise you, servants know all. Can you actually presume there are any genuine secrets in such a place?”
Gad, had he learned of her affair too? From how he was glowering, he definitely seemed to be aware of it. Or was it another infraction entirely?
She straightened, mustered her courage, and announced, “I can’t marry you, Vicar Bosworth.”
To her surprise, he exhibited no reaction whatsoever. Not shock. Not outrage. Not even a mild curiosity.
A sly smile creased his lips. “Is that right?”
“Yes. I’m very grateful to you and your mother for inviting me here and extending your hospitality.”
“Oh, Mother is nothing if not gracious.”
“Yes, she was wonderful,” Evangeline fibbed. She had her goddess statue in her pocket, and she slipped her hand to it and rubbed her fingers across the smooth ivory.
“What is it that has led you to this decision?” He appeared snide and spiteful. “I suppose I’m entitled to know.”
“We don’t suit at all.”
“We don’t suit?”
“No. Surely you agree. You don’t really like me, and you don’t approve of my character or habits.”
She thought he might at least feign a bit of courtesy, but he said, “You’re correct. There is very little about you that would make you an appropriate wife for a man of my calling and station.”
“I’m sorry you feel that way.”
“Are you? For I must say that you don’t look sorry.”
“I am.” She shrugged, not inclined to argue the point.
“When did you come to this conclusion?”
The moment I met you! “I’ve been pondering it for a while.”
“Have you?” His gaze was condemning and a tad cruel.
“Actually, I wasn’t sick this past week. I lied to you about my health. I simply needed a break so I could consider my options.”
“Your options,” he nastily mused. “And the number one choice just happened to be a severing of our betrothal?”
“Not the number one choice. Not at all.”
“Tell me, Miss Etherton, what were some of the other choices you were contemplating?”
“I apologize, Vicar, but I’m very upset this afternoon, and I guess I’m not being clear.”
“Trust me, you’re being extremely clear.” Suddenly, he pushed back his chair, leaping to his feet so abruptly that it tipped over and clanged to the floor. He slapped his palms on the wood of the desk, leaned nearer, and hissed, “Harlot!”
At his use of the harsh term, she was startled, and she sputtered, “What?”
“Harlot!” he seethed. “You dare show your face in my home? You dare come here after you have lain—like a common whore—with my cousin? You dare speak to me—me! a man of the cloth—as if I am an ordinary person of no stature? You dare foul the air under my roof?”
With each remark, he was rounding the desk, lumbering toward her. His fury was frightening to witness, and as she peered up at him, he looked mad.
He stopped in front of her and bent down so they were eye to eye. “Did you enjoy yourself, Miss Etherton? When you were fornicating with my cousin, when you were deceiving and betraying me, was it worth it? Did the two of you laugh and talk about me? Were you humored to assume I would never find out?”
She was too astonished to realize she should deny the affair, and she insisted, “No, no, it wasn’t like that.”
“Wasn’t it? You have squandered your good name and your chastity, and for what? A few minutes of pleasure? Why would you? What is left to you now? Is there anything?”
“No, there’s nothing.”
“Precisely, Miss Etherton, which is why I’m trying to figure out your motivation. Were you in love? Is that what you assert? That love excuses your behavior?”
“I thought I was in love,” she shamed herself by admitting.
“And my cousin must have pretended he’d marry you and install you as Countess of Sidwell someday.”
“No, he never said that.”
“Were you so overcome by lust you couldn’t resist?”
“No!”
“I’m betting your paltry attempts were amusing to his fiancée. How is Miss Cummings, by the way? I’m told she’s visiting.”
He smirked, his condescending leer making her squirm, making her afraid. She wanted to leave, but wasn’t sure how.
“I’m sorry, Vicar Bosworth,” she said again. She wouldn’t justify her conduct, for there was no justification, and as he’d pointed out, she’d squandered everything. And for what?
“You’re sorry,” he spat in reply.
“I am. I truly, truly am.”
“To think I let Lord Sidwell convince me to bring you here. To think I agreed to have someone of your low character. To think you’ve been allowed to drink tea with my mother!”
Before she grasped what he intended, he raised his arm an
d slapped her. She’d never been hit in her life, and the blow astounded her. She was paralyzed by fear, and while she needed to run out, she was too stunned to move.
“Harlot!” he accused, and he slapped her again.
The second clout was more vicious. It landed squarely on her cheek, and the force of it was so powerful it knocked her off the chair and onto the rug.
She’d had her hand in her pocket, clutching her statute, and as she reached out to catch herself, the statue skittered across the floor.
“What is this?” the vicar fumed as he marched over and snatched it up. He studied it, then scoffed. “Pagan idolatry? Is that what this is? You worship idols? You fornicate and worship idols?”
His voice thundered through the house, rattling the rafters, and she pushed herself to her feet and held out her hand like a supplicant.
“It belonged to my mother,” she claimed. “Please let me have it.”
“Get out, Miss Etherton. Get out! Your very presence offends me.”
“It was my mother’s!”
He stuck it into the pocket of his vest, and he stood there, glowering, disdain rolling off him in waves.
“Please?” she begged a final time, distraught over the prospect of losing it.
“Get out!” he bellowed. “I’m sick to death of you.”
The door opened behind her, and she glanced around to see his mother.
“You’ve been asked to leave,” Mrs. Bosworth said. “Go—before we call the servants and have them throw you out.”
Evangeline hovered, desperate to heal the wounds she’d inflicted, or at least calm their hatred, but from their reproachful stares, it was obvious there was naught she could do.
Her cheek was hot, pounding from where he’d hit her. She laid a palm on it and dashed for the door. Mrs. Bosworth partially blocked her way so Evangeline had to brush against her as she passed.
“Whore!” Mrs. Bosworth hissed.
Evangeline raced out.
* * * *
“Where are you going?”
At the question cast down the stairs from up above, Aaron peered up at Claudia who glared at him over the banister railing. He was in the foyer, stuffing his arms in the sleeves of his coat and ready to hurry out and mount his horse that was saddled and awaiting him in the driveway.
“I have an appointment in the village, Claudia,” he told her.
“We’re departing in half an hour.”
“You’ll have to go without me.”
She sniffed with affront and stomped down, her heels clacking with precision as he watched her come. He steeled himself, bracing so he didn’t shout at her, so he didn’t tell her to sod off.
Generally, he was courteous and civil, particularly with someone of Claudia’s station. But for once he was so on edge that he truly felt—should she provide the smallest excuse—he might toss her out bodily.
She approached until they were toe-to-toe and demanded, “Is Miss Etherton gone?”
“Yes, she’s gone.”
“Then why can’t you travel with us?”
“Because I don’t wish to. I’m not your slave, and I’ve been entirely too accommodating.”
She searched his eyes for prevarication or deceit and, of course, there was plenty. It was impossible to hide it all.
“If she’s no longer in residence,” Claudia said, “there’s no reason for you to tarry.”
“No, there’s not, but I plan to anyway.”
“You told me last night at supper that you would be returning with us to the city.”
“Yes, I did.”
“You swore it to me!”
“Well, I changed my mind.”
He spun away and headed to the door, and she barked, “Aaron!”
He whipped around. “What?”
“Don’t you dare walk out of here.”
He took a deep breath, struggling for composure, for sanity, then he marched back to her. He was much taller than she was, and he towered over her.
“Madam,” he seethed, “this is my home and my foyer. Don’t you ever raise your voice in it to me ever again.”
“You will not leave!” She was so angry she was trembling. “You will ride to London with us as promised!”
“You barged in without invitation.” He stuck a finger in her face and rattled off her transgressions. “You have interfered in my personal affairs, insulted my guests, and enraged me to the point of madness. Now, I am not riding to London with you this morning, and I suggest—for your own good—that you not boss me about it. Have I made myself clear, Mrs. Cummings?”
For a moment, he thought she might slap him. But she stepped away and said, “Yes, Lord Run, you’ve made yourself very clear.”
“The boys in the stable will have your carriage ready. I assume you and your daughter can get in it without my assistance?”
“Yes, we can.”
“Marvelous.”
“Will you…will you join us in London?”
“I should be there tomorrow.”
He whirled away, and though she called to him again, he continued on. Behind him, Priscilla was on the stairs saying, “Mother, what is it? What’s happening?”
“Go to your room, Priscilla.”
“Is Aaron leaving? Why?”
Aaron raced down to the driveway, the butler closing the door so he couldn’t hear anymore. Not that he needed to. He’d heard enough from those two to last ten lifetimes.
He was in a frenzy, bursting with grief and ire. How could so much catastrophe be crammed into twenty-four short hours? Just the previous day, he’d been wildly in love, gloriously happy about his future with Evangeline.
Then, with Claudia’s carriage rolling in, it had all unraveled. Aaron’s dreams had been dashed, his fantastical plans exposed for the naïve nonsense they were.
After his hideous conversation with Evangeline, he’d spent the rest of the torturous afternoon fretting and stewing, anxious to figure out how it had all been destroyed.
As Claudia had requested, he’d shown up in the dining room at supper to inform her he would follow through with the wedding. Wouldn’t he? Was there any other possible ending?
He’d tossed and turned all night, wondering what to do, but the only conclusion that appeared was for him to sever his engagement and marry a woman he’d known for four weeks.
He couldn’t imagine doing something so reckless, but he couldn’t imagine not doing it either. He’d survived the grueling interval by remembering he’d get to talk to Evangeline in the morning.
But when he’d gone to her bedchamber, he’d been stunned to find she’d left. She’d promised she wouldn’t. She’d sworn to him! Yet she’d left anyway.
He’d been questioning the staff, trying to ascertain when she was last observed in the manor. No one had seen her exit the property, and a housemaid—the dour Mrs. Turner—mentioned that Miss Etherton had been spotted at the vicarage the prior afternoon. So he was stopping there first.
He couldn’t picture her seeking assistance from Cousin Iggy—and Iggy was hardly the type to offer it—so why would she have been there? Had she cried off? Was she telling him goodbye?
Florella had fled Fox Run too, apparently having been ordered to vacate by Priscilla, and he suspected Evangeline might be with Florella, but he wasn’t sure.
Would she cast her lot with Florella? And where would Florella take her? To London? To live there? Or would Evangeline continue on? To where?
Aaron was so vain and self-centered that he hadn’t bothered to learn much about her and was aware of just two friends: Amelia Hubbard and Rose Ralston, who was Aaron’s cousin and James Talbot’s bride.
Would Evangeline go to one of them? James’s estate was on the Scottish border. Was that Evangeline’s plan? Would she travel so far by herself? Where would she have gotten the money for the journey? If instead she hoped to go to Amelia Hubbard, how would she have discovered Miss Hubbard’s location? Aaron didn’t think anyone knew Miss Hubbard’s wherea
bouts.
When Aaron finished his visit to Iggy, he would pen a dozen frantic letters—to James Talbot, to Lucas—and would send them out by messengers riding his fastest horses. He wanted them watching for her.
In a matter of minutes, he arrived in the village, and he reined in at the vicarage and tied his horse. Then he dashed to the front door and pounded on it. There was no answer, so he blustered in just as a startled housemaid was walking into the vestibule.
“Where is my cousin?” he demanded, and she motioned toward the rear of the house, which likely indicated Iggy was in his library.
Aaron pushed by her and marched down the hall, delighted by his cousin’s astonished expression as Aaron strutted into the library unannounced. Iggy was seated at his desk, and he sat back in his chair, his lips pursed in an unbecoming pout.
“Cousin Aaron,” Iggy tightly said, “this is a surprise. What brings you by?”
“I’ll come right to the point.”
“Please do.”
“I’m looking for Miss Etherton. Is she here?”
“No. Why would she be?”
“I was told she stopped by yesterday.”
Iggy nodded curtly. “She did.”
“She didn’t spend the night?”
“That wouldn’t have been appropriate.”
“Why was she here?”
“I don’t see how that is any of your affair.”
“I’m making it my affair. What did she want?”
Gertrude entered and inquired, “Is he bothering you, Ignatius?”
“No, Mother.”
Aaron glared at her. “This is a private conversation, Gertrude.”
“Nonsense. If it concerns Ignatius, it concerns me.”
Aaron was undeterred. “If you’ll excuse us?”
“I won’t,” Gertrude huffed. “You can’t barge in and presume to—”
Before she could complete her sentence, Aaron was across the room. He seized her arm and escorted her out, then slammed the door in her face. He went back to the desk, his fury escalating with each passing second.
“I’m out of patience, Iggy, so I suggest you answer me. Why was Miss Etherton here?”
Iggy shook his head with disgust. “You have an enormous amount of gall to be asking about her.”
