by Cheryl Holt
“There’s nothing wrong with that,” Florella said. “It beats plodding away in some country village where no one notices you and you die of boredom. Wouldn’t you like to stand out for a change? Don’t tell me you haven’t thought of it.”
“Of course I’ve thought of it, but to actually do it! The prospect is terrifying.”
“Why would it be? What if you’re remarkable and all of London falls in love with you?”
Evangeline chuckled. “My whole life, I was scolded for my talent and grandiose ambitions. I was deluged with horror stories about girls who brazenly ran off to London. They always ended up wrecked and ruined.”
“Not me. My path went in the precise direction I dreamed. Besides”—Florella flashed a perceptive grin—“you’re wrecked and ruined anyway, and it occurred before you ever made it to London.”
“Too true.”
Evangeline flushed with shame.
In a moment of weakness, she’d confessed her liaison to Florella, but Florella had already been apprised. By Bryce. Luckily, Florella hadn’t been shocked. She was used to women leading scandalous lives and having affairs. She was in the middle of one herself with Bryce.
“I have an idea for you,” Florella said.
“What is it?”
“I asked a friend to listen to you sing.”
“You didn’t!”
“I did. If he likes you, you’ll have work right away. And if you build up a following—which I’m sure you’ll manage—your situation will improve very quickly.”
“Meaning what?”
“He owns a gentleman’s club so, occasionally, it can be a bit wild”—Florella waved a hand as if describing a pretty flower or hat—“but the customers are rich and top-lofty, and if they like you, anything is possible.”
“I don’t know,” Evangeline said again.
“Why not try it?” Florella pressed. “What have you got to lose?”
“My reputation? My morals? My dignity?”
“You lost those when you crawled into bed with Aaron.”
“Oh.”
They stared for a minute, and Evangeline realized she was too weary to make such an important decision. She yearned to go somewhere quiet, to rest and regroup, but where would that be? To Rose at Summerfield? What if Evangeline traveled to the estate and Rose wasn’t there? Then what?
Evangeline would be alone in a strange place, her funds swiftly dwindling.
Wasn’t it better to find a job in London? Florella was a friend, and she’d arranged an audition. Shouldn’t Evangeline be grateful? Shouldn’t she agree?
Still though, it seemed wrong. She was tired and worn down by events. She was about to refuse, when Florella gulped the last of her tea and said, “Let’s go.”
“Where?” Evangeline inquired.
“To sing for my acquaintance. He’s dying to meet you. No time like the present, is there?”
Evangeline dithered and debated, but Florella was so excited.
“All right,” Evangeline murmured. “What could it hurt?”
“My feeling exactly.”
“He might not even like me.”
“I don’t believe we’ll have to worry about that.”
Florella took Evangeline’s arm and led her outside to their carriage.
* * * *
“What in God’s name were you thinking?”
Aaron glared at his father and retorted, “I could ask you the same. You’re the one who sent Claudia and Priscilla to Fox Run. What did you suppose would happen when they arrived?”
“I supposed that the appearance of your fiancée would yank you back to your senses.”
“It didn’t.”
“So I hear,” Lord Sidwell snapped.
Aaron was in London, at his father’s house—though why he bothered was a mystery. Each successive visit was more contentious.
They were in the drawing room, having a whiskey before Lord Sidwell traipsed off to his nightly entertainments. For once, Lord Sidwell was not glad to see Aaron, and Aaron wasn’t glad to see his father.
He was brooding over Evangeline, over the mistakes he’d made, the choices he faced. The entire journey to London, he’d talked to Bryce, probing his memories of Evangeline when she was a little girl.
With Bryce suddenly popping up as Evangeline’s brother, there were even more problems created.
“You humiliated Priscilla,” his father complained, “insulted Claudia, gave Ignatius a thrashing—”
“He deserved it.”
“In front of his mother. She’ll probably harangue about it forever.”
“Don’t listen to her.”
“She claims you wish to have him removed from his post as vicar.”
“I’ve had enough of him—and Gertrude. They’ve prevailed on us one too many times, and Iggy has none of the traits required to be a minister. He has to go.”
“And then—after you’ve offended practically everyone we know—you stumble to London and immediately begin nagging at me about your doxy.”
At the slight to Evangeline, Aaron bristled. “If you call her a doxy again, I’ll beat you to a pulp. If you’d like to risk it, we could write to Iggy and ask how it feels.”
Lord Sidwell was aghast. “You’ll beat me? Your own father?”
“Her name is Evangeline. Or you can use Miss Etherton if you prefer.”
“Let me tell you something, Aaron—”
“No, let me tell you something, Father.”
Aaron had reached his limit. He’d spent his life, ignoring his father’s faults, ignoring the punishments Lord Sidwell had inflicted on Lucas, making excuses and convincing himself that his father had to be respected and obeyed.
But did he?
Aaron was exhausted from trying to please his father, which was nigh on impossible. Lucas had always said so. Lucas had always seen their father as he really was. Only Aaron had been blind. Only Aaron had refused to accept the truth.
He shoved himself to his feet. “I shouldn’t have stopped by.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. Of course you should have. This is your home.”
“No. I shouldn’t be here. I’ll stay at my club.”
“You absolutely will not.”
“I will, and after you hear me out, you’ll want me to leave.”
“What now? Don’t you dare upset me more than you have already.”
“The past few days, I’ve had a lot of time to reflect.”
“So have I,” Lord Sidwell replied, “and I’m wondering why I had children. Why should I care if there’s an heir to this bloody estate? After I’m dead, how can it matter?”
“I agree, so I’m not marrying Priscilla.”
“You…what? You are marrying her! You are!”
“No. At Fox Run, I was confronted yet again with her genuine nature, and I simply can’t proceed.” He shrugged. “I’d say I’m sorry, but I’m not.”
“You will wed her!” Lord Sidwell thundered. “You will, or I swear, you will be disinherited. You and your brother both! I will cut you out of my life and my will.”
“That’s fine with me, Father, and Lucas won’t mind either. Besides, wasn’t he previously disinherited? And as for myself, Fox Run is profitable, so it’s an idle threat.”
“You will not mention your scapegrace brother to me!” Lord Sidwell raged. “You will not be impertinent!”
“You’re correct; I shouldn’t be, so I’ll just be going.”
Aaron spun away, and Lord Sidwell’s shouting ceased. His voice became cajoling.
“Aaron, wait,” Lord Sidwell said. “Let’s not quarrel.”
“We’re not quarreling.”
“We have to talk. You’re not thinking clearly. I believe Miss Etherton has driven you mad.”
“No, I’ve always been insane, and I was pushed there by your vanities and posturing. She had nothing to do with it.”
Panic flared in Lord Sidwell’s eyes. “Aaron, listen to me. If you don’t marry Priscilla, how w
ill we repay the dowry? The money’s gone.”
“Whose fault is that, Father?”
Lord Sidwell had the grace to look chagrinned. Still, he puffed himself up. “If you cry off, Claudia will sue. She’ll drag you through the courts. Your name will be ruined.”
“This will come as a shock to you, Father, but we’re not held in much esteem by anybody.”
“You will not denigrate our ancestors,” Lord Sidwell fumed.
“I’m not denigrating them. I’m merely telling you what people say. We’re not that highly regarded, so if Claudia wants to ruin my name, she won’t have to try very hard.”
“You’ll be shunned. You’ll be a pariah.”
“I don’t care.”
“You’ll destroy my life.”
“Poor you,” Aaron sarcastically mused. “Instead, you’d like to destroy my life by shackling me to Priscilla.”
“I’ve explained to you about having a bride like her. You’ll live separately. You’ll never have to see her. It will all work out.”
“Yes, I suppose it could happen that way, except for one teeny, tiny thing.”
“What is that?” Lord Sidwell asked.
“I won’t accept such a dreary existence.”
Aaron started out, and Lord Sidwell frantically called, “Aaron! Let’s discuss this.”
“No, I have urgent business to attend.” Aaron had to find Evangeline, had to catch up with Bryce to learn if there was news from Florella.
“What could be more urgent than your wedding to Priscilla?”
“How about my wedding to Evangeline?”
Aaron’s question fell between them so dramatically that Aaron might have shot off a gun.
“You will honor your betrothal to Priscilla!” His father was bellowing again.
Aaron sighed. He was weary and fatigued and couldn’t abide his father for one more second. Respect be damned. Courtesy be damned. He was beside himself with worry for Evangeline, and he’d had enough of Lord Sidwell and his tirades.
Aaron was eager for something else, something better.
“You know what, Father? The greatest idea just occurred to me.”
“What is it?”
“You claim Priscilla will be a terrific bride.”
“She will. There’s no finer girl for this family.”
“If that’s your opinion, why don’t you marry her? You’re a bachelor, and you’re an earl already. She wouldn’t have to wait to become a countess. I bet she’d jump at the chance.”
“Me? Marry Priscilla?”
“Why not? You wouldn’t have to fret about the dowry. You’d be free of your financial obligation to Claudia, and I’ll be free of Priscilla—and you. Goodbye.”
He walked out, and though his father screamed and yelled, Aaron kept on.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
“Thank you for allowing me to perform for you.”
“You’re welcome.”
Evangeline smiled at the man seated in front of her. His name was Mr. Rafferty. She was up on a small stage, having just finished her audition. She’d done her best, but she didn’t know what he thought. He simply studied her with a very critical eye, as if assessing her for many purposes besides singing.
As Florella had pointed out, it was a gentleman’s club, and Evangeline didn’t suppose it was a place she ought to seek employment. Florella had lived in London a long time, and she was used to a relaxed world where moral rules didn’t apply.
The club was quite large, and there were dozens of tables for card playing, imbibing, and socializing. In the back, there were other smaller rooms, where high-stakes wagering was allowed. On a busy night, she imagined it would be loud and raucous. There were shelves filled with liquor decanters, so customers would likely become very inebriated. Could she tolerate it?
No.
The artwork on the walls unnerved her the most. There were paintings of nude women such as one might see in a bordello. The canvases were brightly colored, and the females posed in them seemed to glare at Evangeline and ask, Why are you here? You don’t belong.
She couldn’t agree more. Miss Peabody had to be rolling in her grave.
Mr. Rafferty came over and offered his hand to Evangeline to help her climb down.
“Could you start this weekend?” he inquired.
“So soon?”
“Florella was correct about you. You’re amazing. You have a grand future in London.”
“You’re very kind.” Evangeline’s mind was reeling. How did she politely refuse without offending him? “I should speak to Florella. I’m not sure as to the salary I should request or the logistics of your shows.”
“Yes, by all means, speak with Florella, but she’s a mercenary. Don’t think you can demand a fortune. She knows what I pay, and I won’t raise the amount. Not even for someone of your caliber.”
“Oh, certainly not,” Evangeline hastily concurred. “I wouldn’t expect any special treatment.”
His lewd gaze meandered down her torso. “I’d have to purchase some clothes for you.”
Evangeline laughed, but with chagrin. “I apologize. My wardrobe is a bit drab.”
“Yes, and my customers will expect gowns that are a tad more revealing. It will be an extra expense. I’ll advance you the funds, but we’ll have to take the cost out of your earnings. Florella can explain how it works.” He paused and studied her even more intently. “Florella said you were new to London.” “Yes, it’s my first visit to the city.”
“So…you don’t have any kin or acquaintances. You’re all alone? There’s no one to worry if you come home late?”
“No, no one at all. I’m staying with Florella—until I settle in. Then I’ll be on my own.”
“Florella is a gem, isn’t she?” His meticulous scrutiny had her squirming, and he chuckled. “We’ll have many roles for you to fill.”
“I hope so.”
“We’ll discuss them all after you’ve talked to Florella. We’ll decide where you’ll fit in the best.”
“I’ll stop by again tomorrow. How about the same time?” she said, when in reality, she never planned to return.
“Yes, that fine.”
Evangeline stepped away. He was hovering a little too close, and his nearness bothered her. Actually, everything about the establishment bothered her. Even though it was the middle of the day, there were several male customers scattered at the tables. They were drinking heavily and had listened to her performance. They were watching her in a fashion she couldn’t abide—just as Mr. Rafferty kept watching her.
He seemed to be evaluating her for illicit purposes, but as Evangeline considered the possibility, she shoved it away. Florella was a friend, and she wouldn’t have arranged a disreputable position for Evangeline. Would she?
“Is Florella back yet?” she asked him.
“No, but I expect her shortly.”
After introducing Evangeline, Florella had scooted out, claiming she hadn’t wanted her presence to distract from Evangeline’s singing. The theater where she worked was down the street, and she’d walked there, promising to be back in an hour.
“I’ll wait for her in the foyer,” Evangeline said. “If that’s all right?”
He nodded and gave a slight bow, his disturbing eyes never leaving her as a maid escorted Evangeline out. She was holding Evangeline’s cloak and bonnet.
Evangeline was anxious over the entire situation and wouldn’t tarry inside. She’d stand out on the sidewalk, which wasn’t the wisest idea either, but then it was three o’clock in the afternoon. What could happen?
But when they arrived in the foyer, the maid opened the door a crack so Evangeline could peek out. It was pouring rain, the street awash with a deluge. Would Florella be delayed? How long would Evangeline be trapped?
Her consternation must have shown because the maid said, “If you’d rather not dawdle here in the entrance, we have a nice parlor you could use.”
Evangeline dithered, peeked out again. “I gue
ss I should.”
The maid led her down a dark hall and ushered her into a cozy salon. There was wine and cheese on a tray, a fire burning in the grate, a sofa in front of it.
The maid gestured for her to sit, and Evangeline smiled.
“This is lovely,” Evangeline told her.
“Make yourself comfortable. I’ll come for you the moment Miss Bernard returns.”
“You’re very kind.”
The maid laid Evangeline’s cloak and bonnet on a chair in the corner, then she left. Evangeline went to the table to grab a bite of cheese when—to her astonishment—it sounded as if the maid locked the door.
Evangeline frowned, positive she was mistaken. Tentatively, she tiptoed over and spun the knob, being greatly shocked when her worst fear was realized. She rattled the knob, pulled on it to be sure, but it was definitely locked. How bizarre.
She knocked and said, “Hello?”
She pressed her ear to the wood and listened for motion or footsteps, but there were none.
“What the devil?” she grumbled. She knocked again and called more loudly, “Hello? Hello? Is anyone there? I’ve been locked in.”
Yet there was no answer, and no one hurried over to let her out.
* * * *
Florella leapt out of her carriage, dashed through the rain, and banged on the door at Lord Sidwell’s town house.
She probably shouldn’t have stopped, and if Lord Sidwell strolled by and saw her, there’d be hell to pay. But she’d heard Aaron was in London. Bryce had traveled with him, but she hadn’t crossed paths with either man, and she had to speak to one of them immediately.
She didn’t know what else to do.
She’d delivered Evangeline to her audition, then had popped up the street to the theater where she was currently performing. She’d informed them her holiday had ended early, and she could get back to work.
When she’d returned to the club, Evangeline was gone. Rafferty claimed she’d dazzled him and had been offered a position—which she’d accepted. Then she’d departed, telling him she’d watch for Florella out on the sidewalk.
But Evangeline hadn’t been there, and it had been pouring, so Florella couldn’t imagine she would have stood out in the rain. As to Rafferty’s story, Florella couldn’t decide what she believed. She’d questioned him, but he’d been so bloody evasive.
