A Question of Love

by Angeline Fortin

  “It wouldn’t be proper.” Eve shook her head, but added before Abby might interrupt, “Besides, I have nothing else here. Wearing nothing at all is most definitely not a step I am ready to take.”

  Abby joined in her light laughter.

  “I am sorry that William is dead,” Evelyn insisted uncertain whether she was being truthful with herself. “But he treated me so poorly and I wasn’t more than a possession to him and for that I just can’t be sad that he’s gone. And worse, I still feel locked up in the mental prison of the behaviors he forced on me. More than anything, I want to find my former self and let her free again.”

  “You will find her, dear, I know you will.”

  “Is everything all right, my love?” Richard asked of his wife when she finally returned to their room.

  Abby slipped into his embrace and leaned her head against his chest. “I hope so.” She explained to him briefly in generalities out of respect for her friend and made mention of Eve and Francis’ previous meeting.

  “I am glad to know that this wasn’t a complete aberration of my brother’s normal good behavior.” Richard shook his head. “I had thought for a moment he had completely lost his head.”

  “He might have, and Eve may have as well.” Abby tilted back her head and smiled up at her husband. She had thought only this afternoon that something was about to happen and she had been right. Francis had it within his grasp now to overcome the legacy left by his marriage, to find love such as she shared with her Richard. For both him and Eve, it was as if a gift was being held out for them to embrace or deny. A gift which had the power to change both their lives for the better if they had the courage to put their respective pasts aside and reach out for it.

  If they had the guts, she might win her bet and receive a prize better than a mere fifty pounds. “It is going to be an interesting week’s end, I think!”

  Chapter 14

  “Good morning, MacKintosh, old chap. Where did you get off to so early last evening?” Jack greeted Francis as he entered the private family breakfast room.

  The other guests staying for the house party were gathered in the main dining room, but Francis had no interest in any of the guests save one. After ascertaining that Eve had been absent from that public room, he had chosen to escape to this smaller area to break his fast in peace. Abby had informed him that the whole house was abuzz with gossip about the dance he had shared with Eve and the scene that had followed on the terrace. So far the story put him in the wrong, for which he was grateful. Such gossip attached to Eve would be intolerable.

  “Good morning, Merrill. Come in and sit…”

  Francis paused in greeting Jack as his butler, Godfrey, passed by the door carrying a large floral bouquet. In fact, it looked very similar to the one he had sent one of the footmen all the way into Edinburgh to procure for Eve early this morning. “Godfrey,” he called. “What are you doing with those?”

  The aged butler moved to the doorway holding the vase awkwardly at an arm’s length out in front of him. “These flowers have been returned, my lord.”

  “Returned?” Francis echoed.

  “Yes, my lord, the lady intended has returned the bouquet,” the butler rephrased stiffly.

  “She what!?”

  “The flowers were returned by Lady Shaftesbury, my lord,” the now uncomfortable butler repeated for the third time to the disbelieving lord.

  “She sent them back?” Jack echoed then snorted with laughter. “I cannot say I am surprised. I swear to you, that Lady Shaftesbury is cold as ice. Didn’t I tell you?”

  “Evelyn cold? No, my friend,” Francis shook his head as a myriad of memories flowed through his mind. “Cold, she is not.” He leaned back in his chair and hooked his hands together behind his head looking very satisfied with himself. “If you only knew, Merrill. There is fire in that woman. Spit and fire.”

  Jack shook his head in surprise. Spit and fire in the countess? He had seen nothing in two long months of courtship that could be even liberally interpreted as warmth. She was politely distant from others, frosty to him. He had heard rumors that she had slapped another gentleman the previous evening as well. He eyed his friend suspiciously. Francis? “Well, she obviously doesn’t want your attention.” Jack nodded to the flowers. Any more than she wants mine, he thought. “You should stay away from her, you know.”

  “I know, I know. Everyone in this family has gone out of their way this morning to tell me so, and I shall resolve to do so.” The notion was a logical one. His Eden certainly wasn’t the type for a romantic lovers’ tryst. But could he truly let her go? Knowing that his chance, maybe his only chance, at happiness was at stake? Such a thought was as optimistic as any he had ever had in his life. Indeed, was he truly thinking that one woman – a woman! – might actually be his opportunity at a happy life? His wife had given him a taste of marriage that should have soured him completely, and had for many a year. Eden had been the only one who had ever buoyed Francis with this feeling of optimism. Of anticipation. He hated to give it up.

  Jack filled a plate of eggs and haggis and sat down again at the table. “Since you have now met my prospect, tell me what you think.”

  Francis tore his thoughts away from Eden and frowned in confusion. “But I haven’t met the countess yet. Is she here?”

  “Amusing, old man, one might almost think you didn’t know who she was.” Jack glared mockingly at his friend. “I’ve been trying to break through her ice for weeks and yet there you were almost kissing her on the dance floor just moments after meeting her.”

  Francis shook his head and looked apprehensively at his friend. “You mean… ?”

  “Aye, that’s what I mean.”

  “She is your heiress? She is the countess?” Francis was not pleased. In fact, the emotion roiling through him could only be defined as jealousy. He had never felt it before, but knew it immediately from the sour taste it left in his mouth. The very thought of Eve in the arms of another, in the bed of another, set his very blood afire. “My Eden is your countess?”

  “You really didn’t know?” The realization brought a harsh laugh to Jack’s lips. “Lady Evelyn Ashley-Cooper,” Jack nodded. “Aye, the Countess of Shaftesbury. MacKintosh, I told you all about her,” he reminded. His raised brows indicated a reminder that Francis was to help him reel the heiress in.

  “I know you did, but…” The stories Jack had told him about the countess that had been amusing a day before now raised his ire. To think he had encouraged Jack in this pursuit! That Jack might actually wed with his Eden! Envy and anger rolled through Francis, though he managed to bite out calmly, “I did not know she was the one.”

  “Given your flirtation just moments after meeting her, I gathered that you were unaware, but I would have thought Richard might have told you.” Jack munched on his haggis and sent another baleful glare at his lifelong friend. “I must say, it was most disconcerting to see you whisking her off to the dance floor when I haven’t been able to achieve so much as a walk through the park with her. How did you do it?”

  “I did not just meet her last night, Jack.”

  “You haven’t been to town since she’s been here,” Haddington pointed out. “What other opportunity might you have had?”

  “I met her in London many years ago.” Francis stared off in remembrance of the bonny lass she had been. A lass who had grown into an extraordinary woman. “When I was visiting my grandmother. She was just a young lass then, so full of vinegar.”

  “Lady Shaftesbury? Full of vinegar?” Jack snorted into his coffee. “I cannot even imagine! Seems time has changed her.”

  “It seems it has.”

  “You like her well enough then, yes?” Haddington returned to the topic at hand. “I assume you approve of the match then?”

  “What!?” His mind rebelled against the thought. Life had gotten in their way once before. How could he allow it to do so again? Still, how could he stop her from her own potential of happiness? He could not�
� should not! But the word emerged harshly from his lips, “Nay!”

  “You don’t think she’d make a good choice for a wife?”

  She’d make the best choice possible if one had to marry, but Francis couldn’t bear the thought of her wedding Jack. Just the thought that he had finally found her again and Jack wanted to take her away…! Revulsion burned in his gut at the very idea. He refused to stand back and allow that to happen. “Ye cannae hav’ her!”

  Jack was amused by his friend’s outburst. He spoke as if Jack meant to steal his prize mare. “Truly?” Merrill crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back in his chair with an amused chuckle. “And what is it you mean to do wi’ her, if I may be so bold as to ask? Marry her yourself?”

  Francis could not stop the appalled grimace that soured his expression.

  “You see my point, do you not? Lady Shaftesbury certainly does not appear to be mistress material, you know.” Jack pointed out needlessly the very thought that Francis had been pondering all night.

  “Aye, I know.” MacKintosh looked deeply wounded. He couldn’t have her, not in any way that would be fair to her. Not in any way that could be considered respectable, but still he could not give her over to his friend either; could not bear to see her in the arms of another. Images flowed through his imagination that nearly made him sick. He could not have it happen! “You willnae take her, will you?”

  “Nay. If it displeases you so, the thought of my pursuing her.” Years of friendship prompted Jack to offer, however with the countess’ cold and unreceptive demeanor, he’d be better off to continue his search elsewhere. Time was running out for him and he felt it might take years to convince the countess to accept his suit. He could afford to appear magnanimous. “If you wish, I will look elsewhere for a wife.”

  “Aye, I wish… I wish…” Francis knew he should leave Eve be, but could he really stay away? No. He knew he could not. He would offer her his friendship, he decided. If he could not have her in his bed, he might still at least have the pleasure of her company. The years had changed her greatly, but Francis was certain the lass he had known so briefly was still there.

  Those same years had been unkind to him. They had changed him from a jovial youth to an embittered man. He felt as if he hadn’t laughed in years. Yet, just being in her company for moments had raised his spirits to a level they had not achieved in quite some time. In just the last twelve hours, Francis had felt the greatest of emotions. Emotions he had thought himself incapable of.

  He was almost certain now that Eve was the only one who could save him from the bitterness that was starting to rule and ruin his life.

  Chapter 15

  Later that morning, Evelyn strolled arm in arm through the gardens with her friend, Moira MacKenzie, the final member of the quartet who had also attended boarding school with Evelyn, Kitty and Abby. As she listened with half an ear as her chum gushed about the ball and her dance partners of the previous evening, Eve couldn’t help but chronicle her own evening.

  Francis MacKintosh! The name had plagued her all night.

  Eve was yet wallowing in the humiliation of her behavior. Behavior that was well beyond her norm, despite Abby’s calming conversation. She hadn’t even been able to recognize herself in that series of rash behaviors. She had gotten so carried away last night. She had almost kissed him in public! She had actually slapped him in public! It was horrifying.

  She hadn’t even let him explain that he was divorced! A divorce was scandalous, of course. It surprised her that she hadn’t heard anything about this before. Divorce at their level of society usually brought repercussions through an entire family and yet Sean and Colin were marrying very well and the ball had been well attended. Eve considered it surprising that the MacKintosh family had not become social pariahs. She had been willing to face a life of solitude to gain her freedom from William, yet perhaps in Scotland a divorce didn’t necessarily bring such a stigma. Or at least not to the husband.

  However, if she were being truthful, she would admit the fault for her humiliation was her own. It had taken all her determination to don her cloak of cold civility and face everyone that morning, to ignore the gossip. Francis had not helped at all, sending that ridiculously large bouquet with his apologies for his lack of gallantry the night before.

  His lack? What about hers? Eve could not fathom what had possessed her. It was as though something had been pulling her toward him. Silly, but true. She should never have danced with him. She was a respectable widow; proper and mannerly. Eve was starting to think that it was safer that way.

  She was trying desperately not to dwell on the turmoil that the night’s embarrassment had brought and, as a distraction from the earl and a night of restless sleep, Moira was a miracle worker. This week’s end house party the MacKintoshs were hosting in the days following the ball was the first time they had seen one another in nearly nine years and they were anxious to catch up.

  Moira was yet unwed, living in her family home, an ancient keep called Old Klebreck Tower near Loch Carron in the remote highlands of Scotland. Her father, Jamie MacKenzie, was the Earl of Seaforth and her maternal grandfather Neill Mercea, the 22nd Marquis of Landsdowne. One of the oldest titles in the land. As their only heir since the death of her brother, Moira was under constant pressure to wed and produce a future heir for the combined fortune that would fall to her.

  Other than that single responsibility, Moira was, by her own admission, extremely spoiled, even more so than Evelyn and Kitty had ever been living under the rule of New York Society. In her six and twenty years, ‘no’ was a word Moira rarely heard. She was headstrong and a bit temperamental, but vivacious and so lovely with her vivid auburn locks and voluptuous figure that she attracted attention whenever she managed to get into a social atmosphere. Life, she claimed, with two old men did not lead to many outings beyond the local physician. So, hereto, was Moira without chaperone other than her great-aunt Edith who napped constantly. It gave them much opportunity to catch up with one another.

  Moira was relating to her in a humorous fashion her most recent attempts to find a husband of whom her father and grandfather would approve. “His name is Philip Ahearn, he is the nephew of the bishop of Carron. I daresay he is the first eligible bachelor to make his way to our area in quite some time.” She squeezed Evelyn’s arm and leaned over to confide, “When new gentlemen are met so rarely, I suppose I cannot be too choosy. Unfortunately, Papa and Pops have not yet had that same realization. I haven’t been to Edinburgh in years, much less to London. I have no idea how I am to make an acceptable match under these circumstances!”

  “Perhaps I could persuade them to let me sponsor you for a Season in London,” Evelyn offered. “I am sure you could make a good match there. And I would love to have you stay with me. It would be nice to have someone to talk to again.”

  Moira grinned in her direction. “I think it would be like old times, do you not?”

  “It would,” she replied returning the smile. “I think I shall write to your father this very afternoon and ask him if you can return to Edinburgh with me at the end of the party.”

  “Brilliant!” Moira agreed. “We will have ever so much fun together, Evie! I do so want to get married. It’s time I move on…”

  “Ladies!” Evelyn and Moira turned to see Glenrothes striding toward them, the morning sun shining on his dark, uncovered hair. Although his tie was neatly done, he was coatless and had left his waistcoat unbuttoned on the chilly April morning. His white shirt stood in stark contrast to his dark complexion and emphasized the width of his shoulders, his riding pants and boots hugging his muscular legs. Although completely taken aback by his utter lack of manner and dress, Evelyn was more undone by the raw masculinity she beheld. She caught her breath at the sight of him.

  Apparently she was not the only one overcome.

  “My Lord, those MacKintosh lads are divine looking,” Moira sighed under her breath. “Ach! But isn’t that a gorgeous man?”

>   Evelyn cut her friend a sharp glance, not at all appreciative of Moira’s reaction. Not because it was so close to her own or unwarranted, but because… well, she wasn’t sure why, but she just didn’t like it. “He’s mine,” she whispered forcibly.

  Moira raised a brow at her friend’s tone. “I’d be jealous too if he were mine.”

  “He’s not mine,” Evelyn returned harshly, embarrassed that her thought had emerged vocally. “Oh! Stop it!”

  Her discomfiture caused her to snap coldly at the earl as he stopped before them. “My lord, I’m sure that even in Scotland the same rules of etiquette apply as in other civilized areas.”

  “What are you talking about?” he asked in confusion. When he had seen the ladies out walking through the windows of his breakfast room, Francis had decided to take the first steps toward friendship with his Eden by joining them on their walk. An apology was in order and he had meant to deliver it first, but when faced with her pique, he couldn’t help but return to the lightness that her snapping eyes provoked in his soul.

  “A gentleman never approaches a lady to converse unless she first indicates that she desires his presence,” she recited as if quoting from one of the dozens of etiquette books she’d read in her life. “And he certainly does not do so in a state of undress.”

  “Undress?” Francis grinned without shame, spreading his arms wide to peruse his attire dramatically before looking back up at her, aware that her eyes had followed his and were now filled with a sensual awareness that had him rethinking his decision to bend to friendship. “Aye, I know that, Lady Shaftesbury. However, seeing as this is an informal setting of family and friends at a country home, I thought allowances could be made.”

  “Proper behavior dictates that…”

  “And it is my own house, of course. Evelyn, my lass,” Francis interrupted – another breach of etiquette, of course, to interrupt a lady – and moved between the two ladies, offering an arm to each. “Do you actually know every rule there is?”