“Yes.” Now it was he who looked at his twin with surprise. “Precisely. Now that cooler heads have prevailed, I’ve reconsidered my original position.”
“Then we can host Joanna!” She clapped her hands. “How delightful. I’ll send a carriage to collect her straightaway.”
“No,” he snapped. “Absolutely not.”
By openly welcoming Joanna into his life and into his home, he’d be inadvertently extending the same invitation to Evie. And he wasn’t about to go through all the trouble of finding her a husband just to have her waltzing back into his life whenever the mood struck.
It was one thing to tell a child they couldn’t have candy and then put it up high on a shelf out of their reach. It was quite another to tell them it was forbidden and then dangle it right in front of their nose.
“Why?” Brynne inquired. “Joanna’s sister is here, and her cousin. I can think of no better time to welcome her to Hawkridge Manor.”
“Because…” As he couldn’t tell his twin the truth, he struggled to find another reasonable excuse for not welcoming Joanna to the estate with all haste. “Because she is working for the private detective Sterling hired to exonerate him of murder, and I wouldn’t want to distract her from such an important endeavor.”
“Surely she can spare a few days,” Brynne argued.
“Even if she could, do you really believe this to be the best environment in which to host a warm family reunion?” he asked with a sardonic tilt of his mouth. “The speculation and gossip incited by the sudden arrival of our father’s illegitimate daughter would be all anyone spoke of for the duration of the house party. I doubt very much that Joanna would care to be the recipient of such attention.”
Brynne frowned. “I hadn’t thought of that.”
“Once the Season commences and we’re all in London, I will make it a point to extend an invitation.”
“And if she’s left England by then?”
“We’ll send a letter.”
Brynne raised her tea to her lips, then paused. “Your reluctance to have Joanna come to Hawkridge Mason wouldn’t have anything to do with the other Miss Thorncroft, would it?”
“Nothing,” he lied. “Why do you ask?”
“No reason. Other than you’ve been exhibiting strange behavior ever since you and Evie arrived. If I didn’t know better…”
“If you didn’t know better?” he prompted when she trailed away.
“I might start to suspect that you really do have feelings for her.”
He pushed his chair away from the table. “We’re not discussing this again.”
“But–”
“Do not press me on this, Brynne. The matter has already been settled.” Standing, he pointed his finger at her. “And don’t think I wouldn’t find out about the heart soaps.”
“Those were all in good fun,” she said with an airy flick of her wrist. “You needn’t be so serious all of the time, West. It is going to give you indigestion.”
“I’ll be fine.” He glanced at Sterling.
Good God.
Was that drool dribbling out of the side of the duke’s mouth?
“What should we do with him?” Brynne asked, following his gaze.
“When will the Smethwicks and the Hodgesons be here?”
She rose to her feet. “In time for the breakfast, which is at half-past ten. You shall need to change out of your riding attire.”
Weston nodded. “I’d planned on it. As for Sterling…we’ll leave the poor sod him where he is for the time being. If he doesn’t wake in the next hour, I’ll send in a bucket. Meanwhile, we can direct the guests to the drawing room for coffee and tea.”
The twins quit the parlor, making sure to close the door behind them.
“One final thing,” he said absently as Brynne prepared to flit off to the solarium to ensure everything was being prepared to her exact specifications. “Sterling drank my last bottle of Glenavon scotch. Have you been in communication with Lord Campbell as of late? I know the two of you were close–”
The teacup his sister had carried with her out of the parlor fell to the ground with a loud crack and broke into pieces. On a gasp, she knelt and began to gather the shards until a maid rushed forward and took over the task.
“Are you all right?” Weston asked with concern. Taking Brynne by the elbow, he guided her to the foot of the staircase. “Did you cut yourself?”
Snatching her arm away, she curled it in tightly against her chest. “No, I…I am fine. The cup slipped. That’s all. To answer your question, I have not been in communication with Lachlan. Nor should I ever care to hear his name again.”
With that, she hurried away…leaving Weston to wonder if his wasn’t the only conflicted heart at Hawkridge Manor.
Chapter Fourteen
Lady Ellinwood’s gout had worsened overnight. An unfortunate turn of events for Evie’s great-aunt (the condition was rumored to be quite uncomfortable), and an unexpected reprieve for her cousin, as it allowed Rosemary to sneak out from beneath her grandmother’s thumb.
Taking full advantage of her cousin’s temporary freedom, Evie had spent the early hours of the morning scrubbing, combing, and yanking all of the bandoline out of Rosemary’s scalp. When she was finally finished, she was pleased to discover her cousin’s hair were as beautiful as she’d suspected it would be. Soft and glossy with golden undertones, loose curls framed a face wide-eyed with astonishment as Rosemary stared at her reflection in the mirror.
Going through her various assortments of creams and powders, Evie had added a light dusting of rouge to define her cousin’s cheekbones and a streak of kohl along her lash line to draw out the gray in her eyes. A thin layer of beeswax on the lips, and–
“I don’t recognize myself,” Rosemary breathed.
Inordinately pleased with the results she’d achieved, Evie met her cousin’s gaze in the mirror and grinned. “Just wait until we get you into a dress from this decade.”
When all was said and done, Rosemary no longer resembled a spinsterish wallflower. Instead, she absolutely shone in a gown of mint green silk with ruched sleeves and a scoop-necked bodice that flattered her bosom instead of hiding it, as if her natural curves were something to be ashamed of.
“You will have men fighting over you left and right,” Evie predicted.
“Oh, I sincerely hope not,” Rosemary said in dismay. “I wouldn’t know the first thing to say to them. Usually, no one ever tries to speak directly to me if they can help it. I think it’s because of Sir Reginald. For some reason, he makes people nervous.”
“I can only assume it is because they are accustomed to seeing woodland creatures in the woods, not peeking out from your reticule. But you shan’t have to worry about that presently, as Sir Reginald has remained at home. Here, put these on.” Evie handed her cousin a pair of white kid gloves that extended up past the wrist and ended in lace. “There. As far as talking to men is concerned, all you need to do is smile and nod at whatever they say.”
“That’s it?” Rosemary said doubtfully.
“That’s it,” Evie promised. Returning to her dressing table, she dabbed a circular brush into a pot of pigmented chalk and dusted it beneath her eyes to disguise the dark shadows that loomed there courtesy of her late-night chat with the Duke of Hanover. “Most men like nothing more than to discuss themselves and their favorite hobbies in great detail, and if you give them the opportunity to do so, they will fill an entire conversation with the proper way to tie a fly for trout fishing.”
“That sounds interesting. How do you tie a fly for trout fishing?”
“I haven’t the vaguest idea. I don’t actually listen to what they’re saying. I just pretend to.”
“And they never guess? That you’re just pretending?”
Evie slowly lowered the brush. “Most of them don’t, no.”
“What about the ones who do?”
“They’re rarely worth the trouble.” She fixed a smile on her face. “It�
�s almost time for the welcome breakfast. Why don’t you go, and save me a seat. There’s one last thing I want to fix with my hair, and then I will join you momentarily.”
“All right.” Off Rosemary flitted, leaving Evie alone. Even Posy was gone, having been taken on a walk by Hannah.
Turning her palms inward and pressing them on the edge of the dressing table, Evie met her own stare in the mirror. She’d needed every bit of her talent with creams and potions to disguise the lack of color in her face and the drab texture of her skin. Losing her heart to Weston, it seemed, did not agree with her. Like coming down with a cold, or having an allergic reaction to a sting. If the poets really wanted to capture what being in love was like, they could start by being honest about it.
As she saw him
Standing there
Her heart galloped
And her skin glistened
With red hives
All over her body
Let Elizabeth Barrett Browning write that and then see how many women wanted to fall in love.
Evie was willing to bet the number would shrink considerably.
After all, why would anyone want to feel as she did?
Hopeful and anxious.
Excited and tired.
Happy and afraid.
If any more emotions tried to fit inside of her, she might burst!
And there’d be no amount of rouge in the world to fix that mess.
Her one bright spot in a sky of clouds was that following her unusual interlude with Sterling, she had a better understanding of Weston. And she was going to use that newfound knowledge to her advantage. She needed to use it. Because Martha Smethwick was arriving today.
The woman Weston wanted to marry.
The woman he would marry, unless Evie convinced him that she was a better match.
Unless she convinced him that she was a better wife.
A better partner
A better lover.
Dissatisfied with the way she’d curled her hair (this morning, especially, she needed to look her very best as she was formally presented to the other guests, having skipped the receiving dinner the night before) she began to remove the pins in an attempt to loosen her coiffure, and had three of them clamped between her lips when the door unexpectedly slammed inward and Hannah rushed inside.
“Miss Thorncroft!” she cried.
“Mmmrpph?” Evie replied, startled by the intrusion. She spat out the pins. “Hannah, what is it?” She took in the streaks of dirt on Hannah’s apron, and mob cap sitting askew on the side of the maid’s head. “What on earth happened?”
“It was Drufus, Miss Thorncroft.” Tears welled in Hannah’s eyes as her hands knotted beneath her chin. “I didn’t know he was outside.”
“Who is Drufus?” Evie asked blankly. “One of the guests?” Her voice rose to a shrill, indignant pitch. “Did one of the guests do this to you?”
“No, Miss Thorncroft. Drufus is Lady Brynne’s hound.”
And Hannah had been walking Posy.
“Oh no,” Evie whispered as horrific images filled her head. Tiny and defenseless, the lamb wouldn’t have stood a chance against a large dog. “Oh, Hannah, don’t tell me–”
“What is going on in here?” Weston demanded as his large, rangy frame filled the doorway. He was dressed in gray trousers and a shirt that was only partially unbuttoned, his black hair damp and curling at the ends. “I thought I heard a shout.”
“It’s Posy,” Evie said, her eyes stinging as she met Weston’s gaze. There was a terrible wrenching in her chest, the same kind she’d felt when she had happened to glance out the window and saw four solemn-faced soldiers marching up with the drive…carrying a wooden casket between them. Before they reached the door, she knew. She knew what they were going to say. She knew who the casket contained. Just as she knew that her lamb, like her father, was gone.
And it was foolish to feel this way about a pet when she’d struggled to express her grief over a person. But she had loved Posy. In the same unfettered, careless way that she’d loved father. Careless not because she hadn’t cared. But because she’d taken every day with him for granted, as if his presence in her life would never falter. As if his time with her would never end. As if there was always going to be a tomorrow.
Then he’d died. Their tomorrow had ended. And with the exception of her sisters and her grandmother, she’d never allowed herself to love like that again. Until she and Weston had stumbled upon an orphaned lamb crying for its mother…and her heart, closed all these years without her even realizing it, had cracked wide open.
“What about Posy?” Weston strode into the bedchamber. Ignoring Hannah, he went straight to Evie and cupped her cheek, his gray gaze intently searching hers. “What is it, Evelyn?”
Later, she would recognize that it was the first time he’d used her Christian name. But in the moment, her misery was too great to notice such small details. “Hannah was taking her for a morning walk. And…and there was a dog. A hound.”
“Drufus.” The earl closed his eyes. “He’s a bloody nuisance, but mostly harmless. Except when he comes across small game. Evelyn…I am so very sorry.”
As a single tear trickled across her cheek, she burrowed her face into chest. “She was only a baby.”
“Actually–” Hannah began.
“I’ll find you another lamb.” Weston wrapped his arms around her, cocooning her in a sturdy, protective embrace. “We can go today. Right this minute. We’ll get two, if you like. Three even. We’ll fill the damned drawing room with lambs. Just…just don’t cry.”
“I don’t want another lamb,” she said, indignant that he would even dare suggest such a thing. “I want Posy.”
“Pardon me,” Hannah began, “but–”
“If I could bring her back for you, I would,” Weston said huskily, stroking her back. “But find comfort in knowing her last few days were filled with adoration and kindness and warm bottles.”
There was comfort to be found in that, but not enough to lighten the weight of all the anguish pressing on her shoulders. Distantly, she wondered how Posy’s death could cause such sorrow. But then, like water flowing down a mountain, so did grief run through everything.
The pain of loss had no beginning, no end. It could be suppressed, but never forgotten. And as she mourned the loss of a lamb, Evie instinctively sensed it wasn’t just Posy that she was grieving. And the Earl of Hawkridge wasn’t the only one who had staved off his suffering by surrounding himself in ice.
How hard she’d work to convince herself not to believe in love! She’d even tried to push Joanna into the same mindset, demanding that her sister marry a local suitor not because she loved him, but because she did not. And if something perilous had ever happened to Charles Gaines, there would be sadness, but no heartbreak.
It was why…it was why Evie had pursued Weston. To make herself a countess, and get her mother’s ring, yes. Those were the reasons she’d maintained on the surface. But the sudden loss of Posy forced her to dive deeper…and in those murky, turbulent waters, she faced the truth.
She had wanted Weston because she never truly thought she’d ever fall in love with him.
And now she wanted him because she had.
Even if it meant risking this terrible agony should he ever leave her.
“I should like a small memorial in Posy’s honor,” she said hollowly. “I know it probably sounds absurd, but a white stone, or a wooden marker–”
“Anything,” Weston said instantly.
Lifting her head, she managed to smile through her tears. He was showing such a sweet side of himself. She’d suspected he was capable of such tenderness. No man who carried a lamb nestled in his arms for an untold number of miles could be all strength and stone. But to have such gentleness directed straight at her…was there any doubt why her frozen heart had melted for this man?
“Miss Thorncroft,” said Hannah, hesitantly raising her arm in the air as Weston and Evie gazed into each o
ther’s eyes. “If I may…I have something to tell you…that is, I fear there may have been a misunderstanding…”
Evie stifled her irritation.
Couldn’t the maid see that she was trying to have a moment here?
“What?” she and Weston exclaimed in unison.
Hannah flushed. “Posy…Posy isn’t dead.”
Stunned, Evie whirled out of Weston’s arms. “She isn’t?”
“That is what I’ve been trying to tell you s-since Lord Hawkridge came in.” As the maid darted a quick peek at the earl, her cheeks turned even redder. “Drufus started to chase Posy but, thankfully, a footman managed to grab hold of him before he got to her.”
“Then where is she?” asked Weston, splaying his hand across the small of Evie’s back.
“I don’t know,” Hannah said helplessly. “That’s why I came to Miss Thorncroft right away. I chased Posy to the stables, but then lost sight of her in the bushes.”
The stables.
That was all Evie needed to hear.
She bolted out of the bedchamber, with Weston right behind her.
“But what about the breakfast?” When she nearly fell over her own skirts, Evie yanked them up past her knees. For once, she did not care what she looked like or what others might think of her. Her only concern was getting Posy back safe and sound. Drufus may have been apprehended, but there were any manner of other dangers that awaited a lamb wandering lost around the estate. She might be attacked by a hungry fox, or trampled by a horse, or drowned in the pond.
Evie couldn’t allow that to happen.
They couldn’t allow that to happen.
Because for once, she and Weston were in complete lock step.
“Hang the bloody breakfast,” he said grimly. “This is more important. And this way is faster.” Linking his fingers with hers in an ironclad grip, he pulled her to the left and they ran down a narrow servants’ corridor that led to a staircase, and the staircase to a door.
Squinting when she stumbled out into the bright morning sunlight, Evie clung to Weston’s hand as they raced across a lawn slick with silvery dew. She slipped, her flat slippers affording her no purchase on the wet grass, and she would have fallen had the earl not been there to catch her.
Entranced by the Earl Page 17
