She clutched her gifts to her chest, tears streaming down her face. “The notebook and pencils are generous gifts, but why?”
****
Remorse seized him, and he took out his handkerchief to wipe away her tears.
How do I explain what happened? His history with Newgate spanned too many years, yet they had no excuse to use her as an object to air their grievances. For a week she had ignored and refused to talk to him. Continued bad weather had denied him the chance to escape from her sad smiles and accusatory glares. Combined with the ominous threat from Lord Atwood and the barrage of hostility from Lord Newgate, confinement forced him to wrestle with the issues he had hoped to flee.
As he set about correcting his mistake—collecting bits of paper, asking Cook for some of her dried flowers, and learning how to sew—Lady Atwood had proved to be a sympathetic listener. Unlike her husband, she had not insisted he marry her niece, but instead she helped him to realize what he would lose by denying his attraction to her. Yet in the end, she granted him permission to leave, saying she would smooth things over with her husband to give him the freedom he had long desired. Because of her kindness and encouragement, indecision no longer haunted him, and the two warring factions ceased their battle. He had accepted his desires.
Moments earlier, when Lady Diane handed him the completed journal and sent him down to the library, she gave him some final words of advice. “If you do want her, you must make her believe she came up with the idea. Our dear Evie loves a challenge, and if it requires a plan to surmount an obstacle, so much the better.”
When at last he responded, it was with this advice in mind. “I should never have let Newgate rile me into hurting you. It was wrong of me, and I beg your forgiveness. You are not a bone to be chewed over, but a prize to be wooed and won.”
She scooted closer to him and placed a hand on his thigh, her tapered fingers heating his thigh through his thin breeches.
“What are you saying?”
He stared at her hand for several dumb seconds, unable to credit his plan was working, but the closeness of her body and her willingness to touch him provided ample evidence to support it. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath before answering. “I am saying that when the right man comes along, he will treat you as the treasure you are, and you will have no doubt as to his regard for you.”
He suppressed an amused smile as he watched her eyes flicker and her mouth purse as she attempted to poke holes into his words or use them for her advantage. My Evie, when did you become so easy to read? He almost laughed aloud when her shrewd expression, no doubt from whatever calculations were spinning in her busy head, turned into a feigned mask of innocence. “You mean he will be attentive?”
When she inched closer to him, he retreated. Swallowing hard, he replied, “Er, yes. I suppose he will be.”
She rustled across the chaise lounge, and he allowed his eyes to dart to and fro the nearer she approached. “He will be considerate and bring me flowers.”
Or a handmade notebook and drawing pencils, you delightful little menace. “Possibly, yes.”
His shoulders bumped the back of the lounge, and he knew from the quick flash of triumph in her blue eyes she celebrated her success in outfoxing him.
“He will put my safety and well-being ahead of his own desires.”
Always. I will forever be your champion and will never let you down. “Al-always.” He congratulated himself on his brilliant performance.
She knelt on the cushions, bracing one hand on the back of the lounge to steady herself. Their faces were but a whisper apart, and his nervousness was no longer an act. His desire for her was overwhelming, and he did some quick calculations of his own. If he leaned in an inch, he could taste the sweetness of her lips again, but doing so would jeopardize his plan. For it to work, he needed patience—time to encourage her to acknowledge their connection. The temptation of her mouth hovering over his drove him mad.
“He will welcome me as his partner, letting me love him, knowing I will always keep his heart safe with my tender care, and we will grow old together secure in the knowledge we complete each other, each of us becoming better for knowing the other?”
Dots of perspiration broke out on his forehead. Somewhere between his discouraging her from considering him as a viable suitor and congratulating himself on the success of his acting, this little blonde-haired sprite had taken the reins and turned it to her own advantage. She was cunning, and far too dangerous by half. “Yes!” Where did that come from? I haven’t squeaked like a soprano since before Harrow. He coughed and when he spoke again, his rich baritone rumbled low. “A gentleman such as you have described would be worthy of your admiration and love.”
They stared at each other for endless moments, and he didn’t exhale until she sank to resume her seat on the far end of the lounge. She straightened her skirts and folded her hands in her lap. “I might need to wait a long time for such a gentleman. They don’t grow on trees, now, do they?”
He pulled his collar away from his neck, finding it too tight of a sudden. “I’d better be going, my lady. There is much for me to do before I leave.”
A flash of panic crossed her face, but she smoothed over her expression and pretended nonchalance. “Leave? Are you going somewhere?”
Away from the ripe temptation of her body, he was ready to take control of this conversation and steer it toward safer waters. “My trip to town yesterday yielded more than your pencils, my lady. I met a coachman willing to drive in this weather. He’s agreed to take me to Southampton on the day after tomorrow.”
She picked up her discarded book, opened it, and held it before her nose. Her guise of indifference at his imminent departure would have been more plausible had the book not been upside down. A broad smile broke out on his face, and he did not stop it. She was so busy pretending to ignore him that she did not notice.
She waved an absentminded hand in his direction. “Godspeed on your journey, Mr. Coombes. Do write when you have settled into your new life.” She looked up and smiled. “My best wishes for a happy life.”
He curbed his grin and frowned. “The same to you, my lady.” He bowed and left the library but did not close the door all the way. Peering through the opening, he saw her slouch back onto the chaise lounge and throw the book on the floor.
“Leaving? We’ll see, Mr. Coombes.”
He shut the door, careful not to make a sound, and chuckled, more than pleased with her response. Whistling a tuneless song, he took the stairs two at a time and raced to his room. It was time to pack.
Chapter 14
After a solid quarter of an hour spent stewing in anger, she was ready to take action. She recognized much of her plan revolved around appeasing her vanity, for in the space of one month, she had lost a fiancé and been told by a man she respected and cared for he was not the right man for her. Disappointment chafed like an ill-fitting gown, and she was desperate to be rid of it. He must see reason. I’m right about this, even if he doesn’t believe me. Despite the odds, and the fact his rejection had been firm, she raced to the door. “I’ll run up to my rooms and pack my bags while my maid is occupied—”
She silenced at once, for upon slipping through the library door, she spied the back of her aunt gliding down the hallway. I must proceed with caution. Lady Diane had uncanny hearing, a fact Evie had discovered several years ago when an escape attempt out the back servants’ entrance had gone awry. In her haste to leave the confines of the manor, her then fourteen-year-old self had not watched where she was going and had upended a tray of crystal. Her aunt, who had been reclining in her suite of rooms two floors above, heard the crash and rushed down to the kitchen, catching her in the act of escape. Ever since, Evie had had a keen awareness of her aunt’s powers to detect mischief.
Six years of maturation had honed her skills in the art of escape, and she could now exit and enter her London home without alerting anyone to her absence. She was confident in her abilities to pas
s unnoticed. With excruciating patience, she closed the door behind her, ever so careful not to let the door latch click into place. Her aunt did not turn around, though Evie knew she was not free yet. Gathering up her skirt so the whisper of fabric on marble did not alert her aunt to her presence, she raised a satin-clad, slippered foot and touched her toe to the hallway floor, watching her aunt all the while.
Lady Diane spun, almost as if she had been waiting for her to make a move, and faced her. “Evelyn, my dear?” Her welcoming smile turned quizzical the longer she regarded her. “Whatever are you doing?”
Drat! I’m not quiet enough. Maturation and multiple escape attempts did not compensate for her aunt’s acute hearing and general awareness of the household’s activities. Dropping her skirt, she straightened and clasped her hands in front of her, the pleasant yet vapid smile all debutantes master before their debut adorning her face. Lady Diane beckoned her nearer. “I would talk to you in private if you have the time.”
What Evie wanted to do was retire to her room and figure out how to outsmart Alfred, but her aunt linked her arm through her own and led her into her private sitting room, closing the door behind her. Evie looked around at the tasteful furnishings, much as she had done in her uncle’s library. On past visits, she had never spent much time in this room, much preferring to remain in her room instead of sitting in silence all morning with her mother and aunt.
The windows faced east, making it an ideal room for morning tasks like reading letters and writing to friends and acquaintances. If it had been sunny, she imagined the sun pouring through the windows and accentuating the yellow paper wall-hangings and illuminating the room with its cheery light. The well-appointed room put her at ease, and she wished she had discovered her aunt’s sanctuary earlier.
She wandered over to the window and admired the petite escritoire positioned there. Running her fingers over the cool, smooth wood, she willed her heart to slow as she came to terms with the implications of Mr. Coombes’s imminent departure. He is leaving.
After denying their attraction, she had, without realizing it, come to rely on him. He was more than a traveling companion; he was her friend, and his rejection wounded her, more than her broken engagement to Lord Newgate ever had. The self-doubt she’d experienced after receiving Lord Newgate’s letter was nothing compared to the consuming misery accompanying Mr. Coombes’s announcement that he was leaving. Her attachment to the humble solicitor was stronger than any she may have had for her one-time betrothed.
Some of her usual good humor returned, and she snorted at her own ignorance. I must have been daft to imagine Lord Newgate and I would suit. We are too similar, and he is too selfish. She was too, but his actions encouraged her own negative tendencies. Together, they were a spoiled, pampered pair, their relationship no more substantial than a puff of smoke. Lord Newgate was not the perfect man of her dreams, either, and his possessiveness upset her. When their courtship was new, she had mistaken his attachment and requests to stay away from other men as the protective instincts of a man in love. Now she saw it for what it was. He was possessive, and if they were to marry, she would be an object for him to use. If her uncle insisted she marry Lord Newgate, theirs wouldn’t be a marriage of love but of convenience
But would a life with Alfred be any better? There was an attraction, to be sure, but he was an unemployed solicitor with no title, no land, and no prospects. Yet he would not treat her as an object to own. He had proven she was important to him, and she knew he would keep her safe. Does it matter he has no title or land?
She gripped the solid edge of the escritoire until her knuckles whitened and her fingers ached. While she struggled with these two conflicting ideas, she missed the approaching footsteps of her aunt and jumped when she was pulled into a gentle embrace.
“It’s past time you and I had a little chat, hmm?” Lady Diane’s sympathetic gaze breached Evie’s tenuous hold on her emotions. She allowed her aunt to lead her to a plush settee next to the window. When she sat, tears filled her eyes, and she rested her head on the older woman’s shoulder, sobbing all over her aunt’s silk-clad shoulder. With comforting strokes to her hair and gentle murmurs of encouragement, Lady Diane soothed Evie’s broken spirits, and in spite of her inner turmoil, a quiet peace chased it away. Whatever occurred, her worries were safe with her aunt.
“I am so confused, Aunt Diane!”
The gentle stroking to her hair ceased. Her hiccupping sobs stilled, and she raised her head to stare into her aunt’s astonished eyes, knowing her own reflected the same incredulity. A nervous giggle escaped, and she hiccupped again.
“You can talk!” She removed her hand, too afraid to believe what her ears told her.
Closing her eyes, Evie licked her lips and opened her mouth, praying it hadn’t been a fluke. “I…can.”
Her aunt embraced her before holding her at arm’s length. “How astonishing! Is your curse broken?”
“I don’t know, Aunt. First Freddie, and now you. What if after all these years it is coming to an end?”
Her aunt was tactful enough to avoid mentioning her familiar usage of Mr. Coombes’s name. “You could be free, darling. The possibilities are endless.”
“I can go to parties and converse with the other guests. No more waiting to be noticed, or disappointment from being passed over.” The promise of liberation had her head swimming. “A gentleman could court me properly.” She blushed.
“Perhaps now would be a good time to ask what you intend to do about your young men?”
Nervousness overtook her, and she clasped her skirt in a tight grasp. “They are not my young men.”
“But they are, or one of them is, anyway.”
Sighing, she unballed her handkerchief and dabbed away the tears wetting her face. “For heaven’s sake! I am turning into a watering pot!”
“There aren’t many good reasons for a woman to cry, but you’ve earned one after this morning’s events.”
“What do you mean?” The kindness in her aunt’s eyes caused her careful control to slip, and she sniffled to stem the tide of tears.
“I know Mr. Coombes spoke to you.”
“Oh.” She squeezed the soggy cloth. “That.”
“He asked my permission to speak with you alone, and I granted it. The poor man was miserable after his disagreement with Lord Newgate and upset with himself for putting you in the middle. It broke my heart. I hope he caused you no further harm.”
“Not at all.” She turned her head to the side and stared at a blank spot on the wall. She swallowed to work past the troubling lump sticking in her throat. Countless times she had imagined what it would be like if her curse were to be broken. For one, she didn’t plan on being quiet except at mealtimes and when she slept. Now with the burden of silence lifted, she found herself at a loss for words.
“What is troubling you?”
“Mr. Coombes is leaving. After giving me this beautiful journal and a sweet apology, he plans to leave me in two days’ time.”
“Ah. I didn’t know what he would do.”
“What do you mean? You spoke with him?”
“Your Mr. Coombes and I spent several hours together yesterday and the day before, making the journal for you.”
“He is not my Mr. Coombes. He is eager to be away.”
“Maybe he is unsure of your regard for him. Men often will not act unless they are certain their suit will be well received.”
“I do care for him, but—” She stopped, unsure how to proceed without sounding snobbish.
“But?”
She rose, too anxious to sit still, and went to the window. With her forehead leaning on the glass, she whispered, “He has no title, no employment, no prospects. How would we live?”
“A title does not make a man, nor does wealth. Look to Lord Newgate for proof. He is titled, wealthy, and privileged, yet instead of taking advantage of his station, he wallows in greed and cruelty. I’d rather marry a pauper and be happy than spend a life
time in misery and regret.”
Evie slumped into the chair at the escritoire, plopped her elbows on the desktop, and cupped her chin in her hands. “How easy it is for you to cast away the trappings of society. To be sure, wealth can make a man a monster, but wealth has its uses. Aside from providing food, shelter, and clothing, it gives a sense of security in an often unsafe world. Right now, Mr. Coombes cannot even promise a roof to house us, let alone security and comfort.”
“You do your Mr. Coombes an injustice. In our short acquaintance, he has shown his devotion to you. Did he not come to your aid on several occasions?”
She recalled the countless ways he had protected her during their journey from London to Hasselworth, and tears stung her eyes.
“Did he not sacrifice his own plans to see you were safe, sheltered, and fed?”
Ashamed, she lowered her head. He had proven he’d care for her and keep her safe. What have I done to reassure him of the same? My actions have been selfish and small, while he has sacrificed everything to protect me and to see to my happiness. I do not deserve his regard, but, oh, how I long for it.
A gentle hand rested on her arm, and she looked up. “You are not alone, my dear, and you would not be alone if you chose to accept Mr. Coombes and not Lord Newgate. Your uncle and I, your parents, your new brother-in-law, we would all ensure you and Mr. Coombes would be provided for. As you so perceptively pointed out, money can do so much. It can buy a home for you. It can provide an income for your husband, but it cannot guarantee felicity in life. Your young man is conscientious, intelligent, and a hard worker. Given the opportunity, he would spend the rest of his days devoted to seeing you happy.”
She leaned into her aunt’s side and sniffled. “He is a wonderful man, isn’t he?”
Lady Diane kissed the top of her head. “He is, and instead of worrying whether or not Mr. Coombes can provide for you, maybe the question should be can he give you what you need?”
Silence Is Golden Page 11
