Kate Noble (10 page)

There was Mr. Fitzwilliam, squeezed in a blue coat and buff trousers. She had danced the quadrille with him, Evangeline remembered, and he had flushed so dreadfully she thought he would expire from the exertion. His face was just as red now, as he attempted to tell a story that cast himself as the rescuer of a child in the street. Mr. Thornley, Captain Sterling, and Sir Quayle all wore sedate coats of deep mauve. They did their best to avoid standing too close to one another, although they rolled their eyes in time with each other to Fitzwilliam’s story. Then they proceeded to try and best him with tales of their own exploits, interrupting each other as they did so. A good half dozen other gentlemen tried to stand out in the throng by offering to fetch a pillow, or detailing their exploits at St. James’s Court, every last one a peacock strutting for the female’s attention.

Evangeline smiled, laughed, and played the gracious and demure young lady to perfection. But on the inside, she was a bundle of nerves. She desperately wished Gail would come downstairs and act as a relief from all of these young men trying to catch her eye. If only Romilla wasn’t shut up in the study with father, she could come and deflect some of the more over-eager lads that crowded Evangeline’s shoulders. Romilla had the good sense to invite Miss Nesbitt to sit with them today, so at least there were some chaperonage in the room, and thus the semblance of propriety. But Evangeline could hardly claim to know Miss Nesbitt well, and she desperately wanted the support of a familiar face.

One particular face floated across her mind. Dark hair and green eyes that shone in the moonlight, a strong countenance that made her stomach flutter with anxiety. Would he call today? Lord Fontaine had asked permission to call upon her and her father, but would he? If he did, moreover, would she be happy to see him? Evangeline’s mind was unsettled on the matter. After all, she knew him less than she knew Miss Nesbitt.

At that moment, the familiar stutter of a throat clearing interrupted Evangeline’s reverie. Her mind snapped back to the present, and she realized that several pairs of eyes had come to rest quizzically upon her in the intervening moments. One of which was the butler, Morrison.

Giving the room her brightest smile, she excused herself from the crowd. They continued chatting along without her, but Evangeline knew full well that she was still the object of much attention.

“Another bouquet for you, miss,” Morrison said in his most imperious tones, handing her the flowers. Then, lower, “And a note.”

She smelled the blooms—quite the least traditional flowers she had yet received, so very exotic! They looked just like the vines she showed…

It took all Evangeline had to appear outwardly cool as she took the plain card. On it was printed only a name:
Viscount Fontaine
. But underneath in a scrawl of pencil, was written:
Meet me in thirty minutes. You know where.

She did know where. Oh, so very reckless to be meeting the man again without any chaperone! The war of Evangeline’s propriety and her curiosity was hard fought, but quickly resolved. Where was the harm in a brief meeting, wherein Evangeline would be sure to scold him lightly for his forward manner, followed by an invitation to stay and chat—chaperoned, in the drawing room, of course.

She looked up. Morrison stood straight as an arrow, expecting her reply.

“Tell him I shall be delighted.”

“
WHAT
do you mean, you are the man who compromised my daughter last night?” Sir Geoffrey said, his face impassive, his arms relaxed on the desk. Max could see how this man was able to move up through the spider web of politics. He could freeze you in your tracks with a look and conduct an interrogation without emotion, even when it was his own daughter in question. This was a man he wanted on his side, for he would be a very sharp adversary.

Unfortunately, Max’s doorside proclamation had declared him the enemy. He had been ushered into the room in all politeness and asked very genteelly if he should care to take a seat. Sir Geoffrey had ordered a low, uncomfortable wooden chair brought forth and placed in the center of the room. Max had little choice but to accept it. Romilla had positioned herself on a sofa, not saying a word, just watching with piercing eyes and a rigid posture of which few headmistresses could boast. The hands in her lap were gripped so tightly the knuckles turned white. Max had a feeling she was forcing herself to not jump up and hit him over the head with a handy piece of statuary.

“I mean to say, sir, that I am the reason you are up in arms. I am the man your daughter was found with in the conservatory.” Max confessed in measured words, looking Sir Geoffrey straight in the eye. Well, as straight as he could, from such an awkwardly low chair.

This was met with astounded silence. Then—

“What on earth…” was all that could break free from Lady Alton’s mouth before her husband held up one hand to silence her. He kept his eyes focused on Max.

“Would you care to, uh, explain the circumstances of how you came to be in the conservatory with my daughter?” Sir Geoffrey said, as he took a seat behind his desk in the large leather chair and steepled his fingers. It was probably a very comfortable chair, Max thought briefly.

“Well, sir, I was in attendance at your absolutely delightful ball”—Max made a point of looking to Romilla with this compliment; her eyes simply narrowed—“and I was following a servant through a door that I thought led to the kitchens, never mind why, and I found myself in your indoor garden. A very beautiful place, sir, I congratulate you on it. I wandered around for a bit, and was about to leave when your daughter entered—”

“And then you gave her the punch?” Sir Geoffrey interrupted.

“Punch? No sir, I certainly didn’t punch her!”

“Then when…” Sir Geoffrey let the question die. “Please,” he said, waving his hand, “continue.”

Max took a deep breath.

“Your daughter and I chatted for some time and then we were interrupted by, I believe, your housekeeper. I must say she is a most amiable female.”

“My housekeeper?”

“No, your daughter. Although I’m sure your housekeeper is very pleasant.”

“Ah. So, let me understand this. You were ‘chatting’ in the conservatory with my youngest girl…” Sir Geoffrey summarized.

“No sir.”

“But you just said you were,” Romilla said, her brow furrowed.

“It wasn’t your youngest daughter,” Max stated firmly, “’twas your eldest, Evangeline.”

A muffled shriek escaped Romilla’s lips, caught by a covered hand. Sir Geoffrey was no less surprised, but hid it better.

“Evangeline? You were alone in the conservatory with
Evangeline
?”

“Well, yes, of course, Evangeline. Who did you think I was speaking about?” Max declared, rising out of his seat. He simply could not take sitting any longer.

“Lord Fontaine, I have recently come to the conclusion that I haven’t the faintest idea what you’re talking about and why you’re confessing to it, but I will have the whole of the story
now
. You say you went to the conservatory alone. You met my daughter, my eldest daughter Evangeline, there. You talked. What else?”

“And we were interrupted, discovered, by your housekeeper,” Max said.

Sir Geoffrey looked closely at him. Max felt as if his skin was being peeled away and the man could see right through him.

He stood stiffly, watching as Sir Geoffrey crossed the room to his wife, and they spoke in low voices. Romilla nodded, and then excused herself from the room, keeping her eyes forward and her chin up as she passed Max. When the doors shut with a firm click, Sir Geoffrey turned back to his quarry.

“What else?” Sir Geoffrey asked, his voice deceptively calm.

“What…else, sir?” Max replied, keeping his voice as cool as he could manage.

“Yes, what else happened between you and my Evangeline? You came here to confess to something, I know not what, but I can tell you that if nothing damaging had transpired between you and my daughter, you wouldn’t feel so burdened to speak.”

“I feel burdened to speak, sir, because being found alone with a man is damaging to any young lady’s reputation, no matter the behavior of the gentleman. When I walked into the house today, hoping to call upon you and your daughter, I could not help but overhear your conversation with your wife. I did not want Miss Alton to be in disgrace for something that was in no way her fault,” Max declared vehemently.

“An excellent argument,” Sir Geoffrey conceded, “but I know as well as you that something else happened.”

“Sir, whatever occurred between your daughter and I was innocent, and therefore, does not bear on this conversation.” It was only a kiss after all. One little kiss, it was nothing.

Sir Geoffrey paused and gave Max such a look—a cold, intense stare, unblinking, unwavering, attempting to break Max down into a pile of dust. Max simply met the gaze. Sir Geoffrey’s eyebrow twitched up, in…could it be a twinge of respect?

“We shall see.” The older gentleman spoke in clipped tones.

Both men took a moment to breathe. Max watched as Sir Geoffrey checked his pockets, patted them down, and pulled out a cigar. He held it to his nose and took a deep breath.

Sir Geoffrey noticed Max’s attention. “I would ask if you would care if I lit a cigar, but my wife will be back any moment, and I know her answer to that question.”

Max’s mouth quirked of its own accord, and the two gentlemen shared understanding looks, forgetting for a moment the reason they were in this room together.

Max had to break the silence.

“Sir, before your wife returns, I should like to discuss a certain matter with you.”

“And what matter would this be?”

“Marriage.”

If Sir Geoffrey had been permitted to light a cigar, he would have surely choked on it. As it was, his face turned an impressively mottled purple.

“Does marriage
need
to be discussed?” he asked angrily.

“No! No, sir! But I should like to discuss it all the same.”

“Why?”

“Because I should like to marry your daughter.”

Sir Geoffrey lifted a hand to his head, as if it had suddenly begun to pound.

“Quickly, if you don’t mind,” Max added.

“Honestly,” Sir Geoffrey growled, “right now I’m not inclined to let either of my daughters out of their rooms until Kingdom Come!”

A terse knock cut off any rant Sir Geoffrey may have been persuing, and Romilla entered, followed closely by Mrs. Bibb. The good-natured and efficient housekeeper was worrying the edge of her apron, the only outward sign of her nervousness at being summoned abruptly to the master’s library.

“Mrs. Bibb,” Sir Geoffrey said calmly, his voice pitched to soothe frayed nerves, as he sat on the edge of his large mahogany desk. “Do you recognize this man?”

Mrs. Bibb turned to look at Max, who had positioned himself against the far wall. Max knew the instant recognition hit.

“Ah. I’m afraid I do, sir,” she said, turning her eyes to Sir Geoffrey, her hand never leaving her apron. A nod from Sir Geoffrey told her to continue.

“He, ah, he was with Miss Evangeline in the conservatory, when I, ah, had to fetch her last evening,” she stated.

Sir Geoffrey’s jaw hardened—this was the question he had been dreading.

“And what were they doing in the conservatory?”

“Doing, sir?”

“Were they talking, or perhaps walking about?”

“No sir,” she replied.

“Then what were they doing there together?”

For the first time Mrs. Bibb broke eye contact with Sir Geoffrey and looked at her hands.

“They were kissing, sir.”

A small sound came from Romilla as she put her hand over her mouth, her eyes burning fire. Max’s jaw worked something fierce. Sir Geoffrey’s countenance, however, remained impassive.

“Why didn’t you tell us before, Mrs. Bibb?” Romilla asked from her position on the couch.

“I’m sorry, ma’am, I truly am,” Mrs. Bibb replied, misery in her voice, “but I’m afraid I forgot, with, er, with other things goin’ on last night.”

Sir Geoffrey nodded. Romilla simply looked hard at Max, as if she were calculating a long sum of numbers.

“Mrs. Bibb, one more question before you go, I know you must be busy,” Sir Geoffrey said, bringing her attention back to him. She nodded slowly.

“Did you mention to anyone how you found Miss Evangeline and this, er, gentleman?”

“No sir!” Mrs. Bibb replied indignantly. “I’d never spread tales about Miss Evangeline, yer Lordship!”

Sir Geoffrey gave a great sigh of relief. He was about to dismiss Mrs. Bibb and this whole awful affair, when…

“Except that…” Mrs. Bibb said softly.

Sir Geoffrey, Romilla, and Max all stiffened.

“It’s just that, I might have been scoldin’ Miss Evie a bit as we’re walkin’. And we did pass one of the newer maids in the hallway. And, er, there was the issue with the dress.”

Romilla’s head snapped up. “Her sleeve! I saw it—it was torn and hanging past her shoulder.” She turned accusatory eyes on Max.