Adele did not flinch from Evelyn’s heated glare. “It is for the best, Evie. You know it is true, you just do not wish to admit it to yourself.”
The room was quiet. “I would like to be alone now, please,” said Evelyn. She closed her eyes and did not look up from the blankets.
“I will be just down the hall if you need anything at all, My Lady,” Bess said. Before she departed she poured Evelyn a glass of wine and set it within reach on her bedside table. “Shall I open the windows before I go? It’s a warm fall day; perhaps the last of the good weather with winter coming on.”
“Yes, Please.”
Bess moved around the room, throwing open the windows to let in the brisk fall air. The breeze, smelling of apples and leaves, cooled the sweat from Evelyn’s skin. She longed to be outside, out of her bedroom where there was nothing to distract her from her thoughts. Adele had not moved from the bed.
“I do not think this is a good idea,” Adele said, rising from the bed. She went to her chair and moved her embroidery hoop. From beneath it she pulled a letter, crumpled but unopened. “But here. From The Duke. It came yesterday by one of his footmen who would only deliver it to me; heaven knows why he trusted me with it. Best your brother does not know you have a private correspondence with Pemberton. I think he would be incensed.”
The note was unmarked. Evelyn took it, fingers shaking from weakness and anticipation. “Thank you, Adele.”
“I could still throw it into the fire if you wish.” Adele smiled, wider when she saw Evelyn return it.
“You have done enough, I think,” said Evelyn, but there was no heat in it.
Adele hugged Evelyn, kissed her firmly on the cheek, and left. Evelyn held the note in both hands to still her shaking, partially because she was nervous, and partially due to her injury. She rested her head back against the pillows until her heartbeat slowed. Then she unfolded the message and began to read. It was short and unaffected.
Dear Lady Evelyn Evering,
I hope this letter finds you well, or at least in a state improved from the one I last saw you in. I regret the necessity of leaving Evermont while you were still abed, but I am certain you will understand the reason for it. My actions the day of the hunt and prior to it were improper and lacking the respect due my dearest friend’s sister. I apologize for my behavior and assure you it will be the last of such forwardness you will have to suffer.
My prayers for your swift recovery.
Sincerely,
Pemberton.
Evelyn tore the note to shreds and flung them away from herself. Disregarding her mood, they floated to the bed and the ground with no great haste and settled around her, a reminder as irritating as their source.
~.~
Chapter Two
It was a week later before Evelyn was allowed out of her bed. The doctor had told her she would be fine three days prior to that, but Adele, never trusting the man’s judgement, had refused to let Evelyn out of bed. For her part, Evelyn felt recovered, if not entirely, well enough to move about the house. At times, a wave of dizziness would threaten and she would be forced to sit before she swooned, and there was a constant mild ache in her head. All of this was preferable to another minute trapped in her bedroom.
The day was idyllic. Autumn had taken over and turned the leaves to butter yellow and flame-bright red. Apples in Evermont’s small orchard hung heavy on the trees like an old matron’s jewels. Evelyn, Adele, Frederic, and Lord Ashwood were gathered on the lawn, playing shuttlecock. Frederic, ever lazy, performed a half-hearted swing that launched the shuttlecock a mere three feet in front of him before falling to the ground. Adele, his teammate, groaned.
“Are you even trying, Frederic?” she complained. “They are beating us soundly!”
“Evelyn is not much better than I,” he argued. “She can hardly swing without falling over!”
“Oh yes, compare yourself to your sick sister. No wonder we are losing, you have no sense of pride!” Adele swatted at him with her racket. Frederic showed a surprising amount of agility and dodged out of reach.
“No. No I do not, and I am not ashamed to say.” Frederic plopped down onto the grass and tossed his racket to the side. “I am content to watch you scurry about.”
She stuck out her tongue in response to his lascivious grin. “Fine then, I do not need you.”
To prove her point she smacked the shuttlecock into the air and sent Lord Ashwood running after it. For an old man, he was athletic and managed to return the volley back to Adele. Evelyn and Frederic watched the two more coordinated players exchange a volley of ten hits before Evelyn hopped in and bopped the shuttlecock over to Lord Ashwood.
“Nice shot, Lady Evelyn!” he exclaimed, beaming at her. It was hard to remain aloof to the man when he was nothing but kind and admiring toward her.
“Two against one is not fair at all,” Adele protested. “Is this how The Marquess of Evermont treats his guests? British hospitality, I do say.”
Frederic, who had reclined back onto the grass with his hands behind his head, called out to her, “A bit of exercise is good for a woman’s shape.”
Adele gave the shuttlecock a vicious hit. “Does my shape need improving upon?”
Frederic’s reply, a noncommittal grunt, earned him a racket to his stomach. He leapt from the ground and gave chase to Adele, who squealed and ran about in circles with her dress hitched up around her ankles. Lord Ashwood, breathing hard from his exertions, watched the antics from Evelyn’s side of the net.
“Ah, to be young and in love,” he said, wistful.
Evelyn, who was thinking much the same, was saved from replying by an ear-piercing squeak from Adele. Frederic had caught her at last. With his arms around her waist, he spun her in a circle until they both fell over into the grass, laughing until they cried. Would she ever have that? She looked at the man beside her. He did not seem the sort to give chase until overtaken by laughter. An image of The Duke surfaced, but she stamped it back down and with sudden boldness, took Lord Ashwood by the hand.
“Will you join me for billiards, Lord Ashwood?” she asked.
He seemed absurdly pleased with the gesture, looking down at her hand in his. “It would be my pleasure.” He closed his other hand over hers and patted it gently.
Self-conscious, Evelyn dropped his hand and led the way into the house. She rubbed her fingers on the inside of her palm. There was no lingering sensation of heat or that anxious knot at the base of her spine she had gotten when… no, do not think of him. Let Lord Ashwood in. She was trying, truly, but it was like being given a slow pony when expecting a destrier.
Adele and Frederic joined them in the gaming parlor, having recovered their senses, and they played teams until the women grew tired of the game. Evelyn and Adele retreated to the comfortable window cushion.
“You two are growing closer,” Adele said, nodding at Lord Ashwood. “I am pleased to see it. Does he make you happy, Evie?”
Evelyn watched Lord Ashwood slap a companionable hand on Frederic’s back. Their heads were bent in conversation she wished she could hear.
“Hmm?” Evelyn asked. “I suppose he does.”
“I know you think The Duke would have made you happier, but I know otherwise. I have seen the women he has left behind, thinking they would be the ones to win him at last. They are not happy now, and that is understating the matter.”
She did not want to think about his other women, nor about the man at all. “Why are you an actress, Adele?”
If the woman found the question rude, she hid it well. Adele straightened her back and glanced at the men. They were still conversing.
“It was not my intention, of course.” Adele’s gaze was far-away and pained. “My family was emigré –fleeing the revolution.”
Adele was silent for so long Evelyn began to think that was all she would say.
“They did not survive long in London. I lived with an aunt and then when she passed, her estate went to a distant cousin,
who had no use for a child, or should I say his wife had no use for a child-and was unaware of her growing….well, just growing. It was not my first choice, you see, to be an actress. When the cousin installed me in the theater, I’m sure he had designs, but a woman there took me in, and instructed me. She was wonderful and as I grew she thought I had perhaps some potential there.”
“And you did,” Evelyn said. “You are a brilliant actress; Frederic says you are the darling of London.”
With some of her usual cheer restored, Adele smirked. Modesty did not suit her. “So I am. And all is well, now. I do know what others say of me but Evie, I have only loved your brother. Truly.”
Evelyn reached across the chaise to hug Adele. “And you love him well. I would be best pleased to see you marry him.”
“Evelyn!” Frederic interrupted. His rudeness had not been impeded by his recent soberness. “Come here!”
Curious more than obedient, Evelyn obliged.
“Lord Ashwood has beaten me.” Frederic was pouting.
“Congratulations, Lord Ashwood,” Evelyn said, pleased. “Do you find, as I do, that defeating my brother is a pleasure unlike any other?”
“I do indeed, Lady Evelyn.”
“Bah,” Frederic said. “That is not why I called you over, to tease me.”
“Oh? What then?”
“Please tell her,” said Frederic.
Lord Ashwood cleared his throat. “I am planning to hold a ball at my estate, in celebration of Martinmas. It would please me beyond words to have you attend, and your brother and Miss Bouchard, of course. My sister will play hostess. She has been after me for some time to host a ball.”
Adele, always excited for an occasion to dress up, clapped her hands like a child. “What a splendid idea!”
“I would be delighted to attend, Lord Ashwood.” Evelyn was, in fact, eager for an excuse to travel from Evermont. She felt too much had happened here of late for the place to sit comfortably with her.
“Lovely, lovely,” said Lord Ashwood.
Frederic nodded in approval. It was the right decision.
~.~
“I think I have made a mistake.” Evelyn’s voice was muffled by the pillow she had buried her face in. Adele and Bess were in attendance in her bedroom, late that evening.
“You have not made a mistake,” Bess said. “His servants have nothing but kind things to say of Lord Ashwood. He is a good master and a generous man. They say he treats the lowest of staff as if they were old friends and does not engage in any of the more questionable pursuits the younger gentlemen find impossible to resist.”
There was no doubt who Bess meant by that.
“I thought you liked the man,” said Adele, holding up one of Evelyn’s dresses before her in the mirror. It trailed over the petite woman’s feet, nearly five inches too long. “This is a chance for you to be seen together and make your intention known.”
Evelyn peeked one eyebrow up in response. “That will never fit you. And I do like the man, I find him a most enjoyable companion.”
“But you do not love him?” Bess asked.
“She does not need to love him yet.” Adele held up a pair of pearl earrings to her lobes and studied the effect in the mirror. “That will come later. If they are friends now, it is enough. You cannot refuse his proposal if he asks, Evie.”
Adele’s words were true, but cutting. If she refused a proposal from someone like Lord Ashwood she would have little chance of ever receiving another one from any other man.
“I do not think I will ever love in the way that you love Frederic.”
“Maybe so, “Adele said. “But there are many kinds of love.”
“A woman cannot hope for it all,” said Bess. “Love, security, passion, which of these is the most important to you? What will you give up to manage it? Most women are lucky to find two out of three.”
The questions were Evelyn’s own, given voice and thrown back at her. Adele tutted, seeming to read Evelyn’s thoughts in her uncanny way.
“You will not have that ‘passion’,” she said. “Must I give you the specifics of the reasons I list for not pursuing The Duke, nor allowing him to pursue you? If you knew the true measure of the man, you would not long for him so.”
Curiosity warred with sense. Curiosity won. “Yes. Pray tell Me.” Evelyn said, simply.
Adele sighed. Bess, ever proper, excused herself. Evelyn wondered if she did not already know what Adele would say, given the way servants gossiped.
“I do not try to dissuade you because I hope you are left bereft of love, sweet Evie. Listen, then, and on your head be it.” Adele settled herself on the bed beside Evelyn. “He is responsible for the death of three London women.”
Evelyn blanched. She had thought of a thousand possibilities when considering Adele’s warning her off of The Duke, but murder had never been one of them.
“I do not believe you.”
“It is true,” Adele insisted. “He did not push the knife in, but the deaths are on his conscience all the same.”
“Explain yourself, Adele, or I will assume you are trying to frighten me with ghoulish tales better left to your French novels.”
“Fine. One was murdered by her husband when her affair was discovered. The second was found dead in the streets; she had died from an addiction she was introduced to by The Duke. The third… ” Adele’s voice caught. “ She was stabbed by cut throats. She was my friend”
Evelyn was horrified “Why have I never heard of this?” Coincidence was one thing, and may account for a single of those incidents, but three? “Why is Frederic friends with the man, if these stories are true?”
“They were not members of Ton, these women that died,” said Adele, with bitterness. “And Frederic believes The Duke’s side of things, that these were all accidents, some bad misfortune that follows him. Frederic cannot see that The Duke makes his own misfortune.”
“And you do not agree, with Frederic?”
“I think that three women have wound up dead after falling in love with The Duke of Pemberton. He carries on, untouchable. I do not want to see you as the fourth.”
“Then it is not my heart, but my very life that you fear for with The Duke?” Evelyn asked shocked.
“It is both,” Adele said. “He does nothing but toy with women. They throw themselves after him, and he feigns interest or affection, and then moves on. They wallow, or die, and he does not mourn them. He is heartless, Evie. I truly believe it so.”
Evelyn could not. The Duke had been callous and infuriating when she had first met him, but she had seen a change in the man. Still she recalled the cold and impersonal note he had written her. The way he had left her when she was ill…
“Will you help me choose a dress for the ball?” Evelyn asked finally. Her voice was thick with emotion but she refused to acknowledge it.
Adele smiled, relieved. “I would love to, ma chére. You will be a vision, and Lord Ashwood will be entranced.”
~.~
Chapter Three
“A box has arrived for you, Lady Evelyn,” the footman said. He had a flat box wrapped in a red ribbon tucked beneath his arm.
Evelyn, alone in the entry hall, took the package from the man. He left the way he had come, down the servants’ hallway, and she went up to her room before opening it. Something about the red ribbon unsettled her. The box was splattered with rain drops. Lord Ashwood had gone home to bring news of the ball to his sister, leaving Evermont quiet and eerie in the grey weather. Safe in her bedroom, Evelyn sat down on the bed with the box in front of her. She could not find a note, and the box was plain but for the ribbon. She tugged at the long end of it and the silk unraveled, falling to the sides of the box.
She lifted the lid and peeled back the protective fabric. A dress was folded inside. The fabric was fine silk dyed a deep blood red. When she pulled the dress from the box to inspect it further, a note slid out onto the floor. In familiar handwriting it said:
The dres
s maker will arrive at three.
Evelyn frowned down at the note. The last time she had destroyed The Duke’s message it had not been so dramatic as she hoped, she threw this one into the fire. Did he expect her to accept such a gift? He was lucky it had not been Frederic who had received the box at the door. Standing in front of the mirror, she held the dress up in front of herself. It was far lovelier than anything she owned, being new and cut to the latest style. The fabric alone must have cost more than three of her dresses.
It was an inappropriate, extravagant gift and she should throw it into the fire with the note. She would have, if it would not be a crime to destroy such a dress. Evelyn hugged the gown and pressed it to herself, indulging in a moment of fancy.
“What is that?” Adele asked, standing in the doorway. Evelyn had left her bedroom door open in her eagerness to unwrap the present. “Did you go shopping without me? Little wretch!”
Feeling guilty, Evelyn tossed the dress onto her bed as if it were nothing at all to her. Adele, ever too-sharp, arched an incredulous eyebrow.
“I did not go shopping,” Evelyn said. Unable to meet Adele’s eyes, she folded the dress into a tidy square and laid it back in the box. She set the lid on and retied the ribbon.
“Is it from Lord Ashwood?” Adele’s tone said she did not believe it was. “That was kind of him. It does not seem to be his color.”
Evelyn enjoyed having a friend, but at times she wished for a less nosy one. This was one of those times.
“No, it is not from Lord Ashwood,” Evelyn said.
Adele groaned in dramatic fashion. “From Pemberton, then. That fool. Your brother, oblivious until now, cannot miss the meaning of such a gift. Indeed, no one can miss the meaning of such a dress.”
“Frederic did not see it, and I will not tell him,” said Evelyn. “I do not intend to wear it.”
“No? But it seems a shame to waste it, for it is not the dress’s fault that the buyer is a bloody cur,” Adele said with a grin.
The Duke’s Wicked Wager - Lady Evelyn Evering: A Regency Romance Novel (Heart of a Gentleman Book 2) Page 9
