by Brenda Joyce
Evelyn inhaled. They had so much common ground, she thought. “I do not know the state of our home, Lady Paget—we fled France four years ago. Friends did tell us it remained intact, but that was before Robespierre.”
Lady Paget looked utterly sympathetic now—Evelyn had been attempting to curry favor. “I will pray that your home still stands. How can I help you, Countess? Gerard said that the matter that brought you here is an urgent one.”
Evelyn smiled pleasantly, though inwardly, she was on pins and needles. Deception had never been a part of her life, and lying was not in her nature. She preferred to stay as close to the truth as possible. “I am in a bind,” she said softly. “I was hoping you could relay a letter for me.”
Lady Paget started. “Who is the letter for?”
Evelyn took the sealed letter from her purse, her heart skipping. “Your brother.”
Lady Paget’s eyes widened. It was a moment before she asked, “Which brother, may I ask?”
“Mr. Jack Greystone.” And Evelyn knew she was now blushing, ever so slightly, for her cheeks were warm. She knew she must be careful. She did not want Lady Paget to suspect that there was anything untoward between the two of them.
Julianne was now staring closely, and with surprise. “You have a letter for Jack?” She fell silent and Evelyn knew her mind was racing. Then she said, “How do you know my brother, Lady D’Orsay? What do you want with him?”
Evelyn had expected the question. “He helped me, my husband and our daughter flee France, four years ago. We had arranged for a Belgian seaman to evacuate us, but he simply failed to wait for us to arrive on the day we had scheduled for our departure. Mr. Greystone happened to be in the harbor that night. Our contact sent us to him, and he agreed to transport us. I am in his debt, of course.”
Her brows high, her eyes wide, Julianne said, “I see. But that was quite some time ago. Are you trying to repay that debt?”
Evelyn smiled. The rest of her explanation was difficult. “Not exactly. Actually, Mr. Greystone doesn’t recall helping me and my family flee France.”
Julianne’s brows lifted. “Really?”
Evelyn thought her color might be higher. “I am a Cornishwoman, Lady Paget. I understand that you were born and raised in Cornwall, as well. I have been around the free trade since I was a child, and recently, with my husband’s passing, I have decided I need the services of a smuggler.”
Julianne simply stared, a slight smile on her face, and Evelyn knew she was trying to decipher what was truly going on.
“My husband left some terribly sentimental family heirlooms at our home in France. Now that he is gone I must retrieve them. I had hoped your brother would do so for me.”
Julianne stood up, still smiling politely. “I am sorry—I am rather lost. You are sending my brother a letter to ask for his help—but it sounds as if you have already spoken with him, as you said he does not recall you.”
Evelyn also stood, her heart racing. “I have actually already asked him for his aid. He refused me.”
Julianne’s smile vanished. Her eyes were wide. “Really?” she said again—oddly.
“I believe we had a misunderstanding,” Evelyn said swiftly. “And of course, being as I am so indebted to him for saving our lives, it is bothering me immensely.”
Julianne stared for another awkward moment. “Lady D’Orsay,” she finally said, “my brother would never forget a woman as remarkable as you.”
Evelyn stiffened.
“I’m sorry—I do not mean to dispute your tale. But I know Jack. We are very close. He is most definitely a ladies’ man—with a terribly appreciative eye for beauty. If he evacuated you from France, he would never forget it.” She was firm.
Evelyn was rigid with tension. “He did forget,” she whispered truthfully. “He failed to recognize me.”
Julianne kept staring intently. “No,” she said now. “I am sorry. I do not believe it for a second.”
Was she about to have a dispute with her hostess over her brother’s character and memory? Evelyn quickly said, “Maybe I am mistaken, then. But in any case, I have been terribly unsettled since that encounter. Because I am in his debt. My letter is actually one of apology.”
“So now you must apologize? For what?”
Evelyn knew what to say—she had expected such a question. Trembling, she walked away from Julianne, glancing outside at the gardens. “I am apologizing because I am in his debt, he is right—it is too dangerous in France now—and I do not like misunderstandings.” She was as firm as possible.
“I am confused,” Lady Paget declared. “Jack would love to help a woman like yourself! He would love to be your hero!”
Evelyn had to turn and look at her. She seemed incredulous. “My brother adores danger. He cannot live without it,” Julianne continued. “It does not make sense that he would tell you that such a quest was too dangerous! I almost feel that we are discussing two very different men.”
Evelyn realized that her hostess was very suspicious now. “I’m sorry,” Evelyn whispered in a strained voice. “But that is exactly what he said, that it was far too dangerous, and not worth the risk! That is why he refused—and he is right, of course!”
“Is he?” Julianne’s red brows lifted. “It was far more dangerous to be in France four years ago—when he helped you and your family flee. As you know, my husband is half-French, and we follow the events in France very closely. I’m sorry, but I am so curious now. You are defending Jack, strangely, or so it seems to me.”
Very uncomfortable now, not wanting to argue, Evelyn said, “It was a misunderstanding, my lady. It is actually as simple as that.”
Julianne studied her, clearly trying to decide what to believe.
“Will you deliver this letter to him?” Evelyn finally asked, hoping she did not appear anxious. “I do not mind if you even wish to read it.”
She started. “I would never do such a thing!” Then, she said, “When was the last time that you saw Jack?”
Evelyn was startled. Why would Lady Paget ask such a question? “I saw him last week,” she replied.
Julianne Paget’s gaze widened. “I see. I hope it does not seem as if I am prying, Countess, but I am also wondering, was that the only time you have seen him since you left France?”
My God—what was Lady Paget thinking! That they were having a love affair? What else could she be thinking! “Yes,” she managed. “Lady Paget, I am in mourning.”
“My questions were rude, and I apologize. But you must admit, this entire story is a bit bizarre. I am sensing that there is more here than you are revealing. And I am not accusing you of deceit, my dear. It is just that I know Jack so well, and I only wish to help.” To make her point, she patted Evelyn’s arm.
“So you will forward my letter, then?”
Lady Paget stared closely. When she did not speak, Evelyn felt her tension increase. Julianne said softly, “Jack made advances, didn’t he?”
Evelyn choked.
Julianne now sighed. “My brother undoubtedly owes you the apology. I know him so well, Lady D’Orsay.” She took Evelyn’s hand. “He is a gentleman when he wishes to be one, and he would know better than to pursue you when you are in mourning, but he probably was undone by your appearance! You surely set him back on his ear—and of course, he must have left in some anger.” She sighed again. “Now, this entire misunderstanding makes sense. He simply has a weakness for women. I am certain he will apologize to you profusely when he next sees you.” She smiled then—as if she intended to make certain of it.
Evelyn knew she was in dangerous waters now. Her mind raced frantically. This was a terrible conclusion for her hostess to draw. If Jack Greystone heard of it, he would certainly become angry. “He did not make advances, Lady Paget. He was—” she hesitated, breathing hard “—the perfect gentleman.”
Julianne squeezed her hand. “You are being so lenient, so kind. How old is your daughter, my dear?”
Evelyn started. “S
he is eight.”
“My daughter will be two years old in March. She is such a joy for both me and my husband.”
Evelyn could not believe it—but Lady Paget was changing the subject! “I feel the same way about Aimee. She is the best thing that has ever happened to me,” she managed, relieved.
“She must miss her father,” Lady Paget said.
“Of course she does,” Evelyn said.
“Why are you so worried?” Lady Paget asked sympathetically. “Why are you dismayed?”
Evelyn took a deep breath. “Your brother does not owe me an apology. Please. You have drawn the wrong conclusion!”
Lady Paget stared, very skeptically. “I take it you do not wish for me to interfere?”
“No, I do not. I wish to make amends, and I believe my letter might do so.”
“Are you defending him because you still have a desire for him to go to France and retrieve your husband’s possessions?”
This woman was so clever! “If he said it was too dangerous—” Evelyn began, but Lady Paget interrupted her.
“It is not too dangerous. It would be easy enough for Jack to sail to Nantes—or Quiberon Bay—and journey inland. How far is your home from the beachhead at Nantes?”
Evelyn started. “It is a forty-five-minute carriage ride, if the roads are good.”
“As I said, this would not be a difficult mission for him—not that there isn’t danger, of course. I think he will come around, Lady D’Orsay. As I said, he is very appreciative of the ladies.... You must send your letter, bide your time and then approach him again.”
Evelyn could not believe that Julianne had seen through her plan—or that she was so optimistic. And was she on Evelyn’s side? “You have been so kind.”
“I am kind by nature,” Lady Paget said. “And although we have only just become acquainted, your story is intriguing—and I like you already. My dear, when you are ready for a confidante, I am here.”
“Thank you,” Evelyn said. “But there really isn’t much more to say.”
Julianne smiled, her gaze openly skeptical. “Somehow, I doubt that.” She went to a silver bell and rang it.
Lady Paget obviously knew that there was more to the affair than Evelyn was letting on. “Will you get my letter to him?”
Julianne smiled. “Of course I will. Now, Gerard said you have just arrived in town. Where are you staying?”
“I have yet to take an accommodation,” Evelyn said, relieved that Julianne would deliver her letter to Jack and that she had survived the strenuous interview—for that was precisely what it had been.
Julianne sat down beside her and patted her hand. “How perfect! For you must stay here at Bedford House, so we can become better acquainted.”
Evelyn started. “That is even kinder,” she began. “But I cannot possibly impose.”
“Nonsense. For Jack makes surprise visits—and don’t you want to be here when he does so next?”
* * *
EVELYN LAY IN the luxurious four-poster bed, staring up at the pink pleats in the canopy over her head, as bright morning sunlight spilled into her bedroom. She could barely believe she was awakening in the Earl of Bedford’s home.
As she huddled under the down covers, she thought about how Julianne Paget had invited her into her home. Now that she was a guest, Lady Paget had been nothing but kind, and she hadn’t mentioned her brother or Evelyn’s letter again. It was as if the awkward interview of the day before had never taken place. But Evelyn knew better than to fool herself. Lady Paget was very interested in Evelyn’s relationship with Jack, and she would probably continue to pry.
But last night had been so pleasant. She had taken such an elegant supper with Lady Paget, her husband and the Dowager Countess. A fantastic table had been laid out for the four of them, and half a dozen delicious courses had been served. Lady Paget had been resplendent in crimson satin, and the Dowager Countess had worn dark green silk with emeralds. A large staff had danced attendance upon them. The conversation had ranged from the comings and goings amongst the ton, an impending engagement, a recent political appointment, to the war.
And no one had seemed the least surprised by her sudden appearance in town—or at Bedford House. Her relationship with Jack had not been discussed, and Evelyn did not even know if Julianne had mentioned it to her husband or her mother-in-law. She had been welcomed at every turn. And, as it turned out, the Dowager Countess had known Henri very well, once upon a time. She spoke of him fondly, wished she had been able to attend the wedding, which a friend had described in great detail, and was distraught to have learned of his passing.
Dominic Paget had been more reserved, though exceedingly polite, and by the time supper had ended, Evelyn realized that her host and hostess were madly in love with one another. It was not just the shared glances and smiles. It was the absolute ease with which they coexisted, as if they were of the same heart, soul and mind.
It had most definitely been a love match, Evelyn thought, intrigued.
She sighed, reluctant to get out of the warm bed. If she were at Roselynd, Aimee would be waking her up as she crawled into bed with her. A pang went through her. She missed her daughter terribly. She could not linger in town.
But what if Jack showed up at Bedford House? She became aware of so much tension within her. How would they ever have a chance to discuss her letter—how would she apologize—without alarming and alerting Julianne? They would need some privacy if she was to successfully persuade Jack to help her now. And she hoped that Julianne had not written to Jack—accusing him of impropriety and inflaming the situation!
A knock sounded on her door. Evelyn quickly got up, putting on a wrapper, and went to answer it. A maid stood there with a breakfast tray, and Julianne Paget was behind her.
“Good morning,” Lady Paget said. “You have slept in, and I imagine you were exhausted. Did you sleep well?”
As the maid deposited the tray on a beautiful rosewood table, Evelyn smiled. “I confess that I fell asleep the moment I lay down. I doubt I moved even once the entire night. Lady Paget, do come in.” She wondered at the intrusion.
Julianne smiled. “You may call me Julianne, if you wish, but then I will call you Evelyn, so be forewarned.”
Evelyn smiled as Julianne thanked the maid and poured two cups of tea. “Besides,” she said, “I am an early riser, and I have been hoping to spend some more time with you.” She handed her a cup.
Evelyn accepted it with some apprehension. She felt certain another interview was about to occur. However, she sipped the tea and sighed—the brew was strong and delicious. “I can’t thank you enough for welcoming me into your home as you have.”
“It is my pleasure,” Julianne said, taking a seat at the table. “You should spend a few days in town, now that you are here. I can introduce you around.”
Evelyn sat down across from her. “I really can’t linger, although I so appreciate the invitation,” she said. “It has been a difficult month, with Henri so recently passing. I miss Aimee and I am not comfortable leaving her alone.”
“I cannot imagine what you are going through,” Julianne said. “I love Dominic so. If he passed, I would not survive.”
Evelyn met her gray gaze and thought about how she was adjusting to Henri’s death. But she had not had the kind of relationship that Julianne and her husband apparently had. Otherwise, she would have never allowed—and enjoyed—Jack Greystone’s kiss. “Henri was a good husband—and he was my friend,” she said. “But now, I must think of my daughter and her future.”
“You are a very strong woman. There was a time when I was afraid I would never see Dom again. He was in France during the first La Vendée rebellion. But thank God, he came home.”
Evelyn started, realizing that some of the rumors she had heard were, apparently, true. And she did not know why she confided in her, but she did. “Henri was a wonderful man, and I was so fortunate to be his wife. But he was ailing for the past few years, even before we
left France.” She hesitated. “He was a great deal older than I was. He would have been fifty, this July, had he lived. I have known since the fall that he was dying. It was not a surprise.”
Julianne’s gaze was wide. “I am so sorry. But you mentioned this somewhat, yesterday. How difficult this past year must have been.”
Evelyn nodded. “Now I am imposing upon you.”
“You are not imposing, and it is obvious that you cared a great deal for your husband.”
“I was an orphan when we met. My aunt and uncle raised me—somewhat reluctantly. I had no future to look forward to, not really—I had no dowry. But Henri gave me every opportunity when he gave me his name. I was so very fortunate, and then he gave me Aimee.”
“He loved you,” Julianne said, and it was not a question. “I imagine he loved you very much.”
Evelyn nodded. “He loved me very much.”
“I am sorry for your loss, but you are young, and you have your daughter to care for, as you have said.” Julianne smiled, but her regard was searching. “You must bring her, the next time you come to London. She can meet Jacquelyn, my daughter, and maybe my sister will have had her child by the time you return. She is due in May.”
Evelyn smiled and sipped her tea, realizing that she liked Julianne Paget—she seemed like a genuinely kind woman. It would be so lovely to bring Aimee to London with her for another visit. But an image of Jack Greystone invaded her mind. He had to agree to help her, otherwise, she would not be able to care for her daughter, much less take an expensive trip to town. “How exciting for your sister.”
“She wishes to meet you,” Julianne said. “I sent her a note yesterday.”
Evelyn was alarmed.
Julianne set her teacup down. “My dear, I am hoping to become friends. You appear so worried. You will like Amelia, I am certain.”
“You are being so kind again,” Evelyn said, not wanting to reopen the debate of yesterday. “Yet you know I am in the midst of a vast misunderstanding with your brother.”
“I imagine it will soon be resolved. I sent your letter by messenger yesterday, Evelyn. Jack should receive it tonight—if he is at home.”
