Kate Noble (16 page)

“It’s…Barivians are rather…sheltered…in their views of ladies and propriety. It is a country untouched by the outside world, we should not wish to shock them with our liberal, cosmopolitan ways. Wives, and er, daughters, need to be above reproach.”

Romilla took this in. They needed Roffstaam. England needed Barivia. She could hold her tongue when necessary, but…

“Abigail,” she said grimly.

Sir Geoffrey fought a frown. “And I am concerned about the situation with Evangeline and Lord Fontaine. It is most inconvenient, especially now.”

“What should we do? Do you think we should speed up the wedding? Or perhaps send the girls to the country for the duration of the Count’s visit?” Romilla worried her lower lip.

“No, I don’t think we should do either,” Sir Geoffrey replied. “If we rush the wedding, its reason will reach Roffstaam’s ears all too quickly by my enemies in Parliament.”

“And if we send the girls away, it will turn the rumors that are now sparks into full flames,” Romilla finished.

“We must maintain present course. But make certain nothing else untoward occurs.”

Romilla suddenly started. “The girls! Oh, I must get back!” She ran out of the room without a second glance, not even pausing to close the library doors.

She hurried to the drawing room, a scant look at the clock in the hall telling her she had been away from her charges for nearly forty minutes. Forty minutes! She dreaded to think what havoc could have been wreaked—or worse, what if there was no conversation? Evangeline seemed uncharacteristically dull of late, and they only had Lord Fontaine’s word to bind him.

Romilla slowed to a brisk trot. As she rounded the corner to the drawing room, she was confronted with a sight she had never considered.

The four of them—Evangeline, Lord Fontaine, his friend Mr. Holt, and Gail were sitting quite amiably, laughing, talking of nothing in particular. Having a respectable, enjoyable morning.

What on earth was she supposed to do with that?

“
YOU
are the luckiest bastard on the face of the earth.” Will lit a pipe once the door to the carriage closed. They had stayed at Number Seven for a few hours; it was well past noon once they took their leave. Other gentlemen who had spent last night dancing with Evangeline were arriving, ready to further their acquaintance with her and her sister. Both Will and Max had been reluctant to leave once they saw the mass of men vying for Evangeline’s attention, but they were shooed out the door by Romilla, who claimed they had a hundred things to do that afternoon but insisted on their returning the next day and staying for dinner. Romilla had seemed newly distracted since the phantom stray dog had been unleashed, but she was nothing if not kind and escorted the gentlemen to the door.

Max could not help but scoff at Will’s pronouncement. “Luckiest? That was the first time I’ve been able to say more than three words to her since…”

“Since being caught in a compromising position? But that’s exactly what I mean. You are looking for a bride—any bride, just so you can save your fortune. And what falls in your lap? Only the most beautiful and pleasant creature Britain has ever produced! Lucky. Bastard.”

“You don’t think she’s a little…” He searched for the right word. “
Boring
?”

Will looked at Max as if he had just swallowed a cricket bat. “Boring? Are you mad? She is incredible! She may be reserved, but over time, I suspect that will fade away. Her manners are impeccable, the sweetest nature—and a face like that could never be boring.”

“Yes, I adore being spoken to about the latest fashions and hairstyles,” Max replied sarcastically.

“That’s what young ladies are told is polite conversation.” Will shrugged.

“There is still the stepmother to contend with. And the sister,” Max argued.

Will shook his head. “You’re not marrying the stepmother. And as for the sister, I think you sold her a good deal short. Not bothersome at all. In fact, I found her to be quite pleasing.”

“You liked her?” Max frowned.

“Of course! She may be shy, and the lesser in beauty—”

“She’s not without beauty,” Max protested, perhaps a bit too vehemently.

“True,” Will agreed, an eyebrow in the air. “I never claimed otherwise. Also, she’s quick. Miss Gail was the one who planned for our chaperone to be occupied, after all.”

“Yes,” Max drawled. “She is rather effective at creating small disasters.” And doing a far better job of ridding them of the stepmother than he could have managed, he grudgingly admitted to himself.

Will simply smiled and continued on. “Pleasing smile, pleasing brown eyes. What’s not to like?”

“Gold,” Max said before he could stop himself.

“Beg pardon?”

“Her eyes—never mind. Good, I’m glad the two of you got along. You will be spending a great deal of time with the Br…er, Miss Gail.”

Will sent his friend a devilish smile. “You say that as if it would be a hardship.”

Max’s jaw began working with fervor. Never in his life would he have expected Miss Gail Alton to be described as both shy and pleasing. He had half a mind to inform Will that Gail was the chit who threw him in the lake, but knowing his best friend, that would only make him like her more. “You really liked the sister?”

Will grinned. “Who knows? Maybe someday we’ll be brothers-in-law.”

An image flashed in front of Max’s eyes: that smile Gail had given Will when he presented her with the scone. It was dazzling. And it had been directed at his friend.

For some reason, that thought set Max’s teeth on edge more than anything else.

“
THAT
was absolutely brilliant!” Evangeline exclaimed in hushed tones, as she and Gail walked across Berkeley Square, Romilla six steps ahead as always. “You are the cleverest sister anyone could ask for!”

Gail blushed, but kept her eyes on Romilla’s back, making certain she wasn’t eavesdropping. It had been a surprisingly nice morning. Pleasant, companionable. And more confusing than Gail wished.

Max had been a gentleman: kind, inquiring, accommodating. It was difficult to alter her original impression of a boorish, overbearing lout to include this new dynamic. And his friend Mr. Holt had been such enjoyable company as well! Surely someone that nice could not be friend to someone who was not equally honorable?

“Gail? What are you thinking?” Evangeline inquired.

“Simply that…that Mr. Holt was quite nice,” Gail managed to stutter out.

Evangeline blushed. “He was, wasn’t he? Not to mention handsome and intelligent. I adored the way he described his home in Bristol. Right next to Lord Fontaine’s! It must be beautiful there,” she sighed wistfully. “Mr. Holt is possibly the most charming man I’ve ever met!”

“He, uh, seemed to bring out the best qualities in Lord Fontaine, as well,” Gail ventured, but only received a soft “hmm” as a reply.

“How are we to get rid of Romilla when they come to call tomorrow?” Evangeline said after a few moments.

“No idea—phantom stray cat?”

“Hurry up, girls!” Romilla said, not even turning her head around or pausing in her step. “We mustn’t be late for Lady Jersey. Remember, leave all conversation to me, unless she asks you a direct question.”

Evangeline suddenly grabbed Gail’s arm. “The questions!” she whispered. “The list I prepared for Lord Fontaine! I was so nervous, I forgot to ask them!”

Gail desperately shushed her sister, but luckily, Romilla seemed blissfully unaware of what they were saying in hushed tones.

“You wrote them just in case there was nothing to talk about.” Gail reflected. “Obviously the morning was going too well to need to employ them.”

“But I should like to know the answers.”

“I shouldn’t worry. You will learn the answers eventually, in the course of normal conversation.”

“One hopes I’ll know them before my wedding,” Evangeline worried.

“Evangeline! Pinch your cheeks. Gail, straighten your gloves.”

They had stopped before Number Thirty-Eight, the residence of Lady Jersey, directly across the square from their home—a huge, marbled house with iron gates and bright daffodils growing in flanking pots.

“We’re here.”

AS
it happened, neither Gail and Evangeline, nor Max and Will, had to invent some sort of elaborate scheme for the occupation of Romilla. She was much too busy preparing for the dinner party with Count Roffstaam to worry about the girls—as long as they were in Number Seven and together.

A boon had been granted—Lady Jersey had happily arranged for Evangeline and Gail to receive their Almack’s vouchers. In thankful reciprocation, Lady Jersey, a vocal enthusiast of Barivian chocolates, had been one of the honored guests invited to the dinner party for the ambassador. Whether or not this proffered invitation had been any inducement to the giving of the vouchers was undetermined. To mention the possibility that a trade had occurred was highly indelicate. Even Gail knew that much.

Romilla spent the week readying her troops for the invasion. This would be a much smaller affair than the girls’ coming out ball—but in many ways, it was far more important. Flowers had to be ordered, the courses arranged—a French cook was engaged for the sole purpose of making the pastries—another for sauces. Invitations had to be printed, and the seating arrangements between the Whigs and the Tories were a nightmare. The silver was still in good shape, since the ball was not a week past, but Romilla insisted on a repolishing of all the utensils, mirrors, candlesticks, and bric-a-brac that could possibly be viewed by their foreign guests. Entertainment had to be arranged. Romilla, naturally, had Evangeline practicing her pianoforte whenever possible, but was debating whether to engage a top soprano to sing an aria or two after the meal. Rooms that would never be seen, never even have their doors opened, were aired out, new linens were purchased, and, of course, gowns were arranged for herself and the girls. Not to mention the social rounds she had to make! Romilla was terribly busy, indeed.

Therefore, when they were unnecessary, Evangeline and Gail were left to themselves to entertain their callers.

Max and Will were the most frequent, having claimed tea at half past ten as their own. It was amazing how quickly everyone adjusted themselves to Romilla’s busy schedule—she woke at dawn, no matter what time she went to bed, and therefore she considered anyone who lounged all morning sleeping as a hopeless layabout.

Max and Will would arrive at exactly teatime, with some flowers or a trinket in hand—always presented to Romilla, not the daughters. Occasionally they passed Sir Geoffrey on his way out the door, off to some important meeting of State. He would plant a perfunctory kiss on top of each of his daughter’s heads, and squeeze his wife’s shoulder before disappearing for the length of the day. Romilla stayed with the young people for approximately twenty minutes before she downed the last of her tea and ran off to her next imperative domestic task. She always left the drawing room doors open, and always made certain a maid or two was nearby in case of, well, in case of anything. When the girls left the house they were always chaperoned to the point of frustration, but at home in the mornings, after those twenty minutes, Evangeline, her secret betrothed, her sister, and his friend were left to their own devices.

Surprisingly, those devices were unaccountably tame. No one made a mad dash to the conservatory; no one spoke in low voices words only lovers said. They were far more likely to begin playing a game of whist than they were to embark upon a forbidden kiss.

And it was driving Max crazy.

It was Wednesday, and that evening the girls were to attend their first dance at the great hall at Almack’s. Evangeline’s enthusiasm was so catching that the gentlemen were reluctant to dampen it with their knowledge of Almack’s weak punch and pallid music. Even Gail seemed to be interested in their expedition to the famous public gallery, following the conversation with interest, smiles, and even venturing the occasional question.

And therein lay the problem.

For the past week, Max had danced attendance every morning on Evangeline. He was prompt, courteous, and every inch the gentleman. And every morning, Gail was there.

How was he supposed to court his intended if her sister listened in on every word? She sat there, her golden eyes following the players like a tennis match, rarely speaking, never betraying her thoughts by showing an expression. She would smile sometimes, though, Max reflected. On the rare occasion when her attention would drift (generally when the gentlemen started talking at length about the latest neck cloth style), Gail would turn to look out the window. After a few moments, she would tuck a strand of rich brown hair behind her ear and smile privately to herself, lost and happy in her own thoughts, causing Max to pause in his own. Where did she go? What made her smile like that?

Yes, Max found it very difficult to focus on Evangeline with Gail at hand.

Worse though, was that Max felt like he hadn’t actually spoken to Evangeline since that intoxicating night in the conservatory. Oh, they had been members of the same conversation, and even exchanged a few sentences, but they were of the “how is your father” and “did you enjoy the musicale last evening” variety. What he wanted was that feeling of closeness that had enveloped them that night—to catch her sighs and know their meaning.

Oh, he was well acquainted with her preferences in hair ribbons, but he knew nothing of her private thoughts, of her disposition toward marriage, home life, the Whig party—he barely knew anything of her personal history!

As they discussed Almack’s, regaling the girls with carefully chosen, carefully edited stories of the various bits of scandal that had occurred there (lighter fare—that Lady Jersey had indeed denied the Duke of Wellington admission for arriving after the doors were closed, as opposed to the various cuckoldings and bastards conceived in its shadowed corners), Max decided that he had had enough. Romilla had run off nearly a half hour before, mentioning something about napkin rings. No one was going to interrupt him if he stepped beyond what they wanted him to do.

It was now or never.

Max moved from his wing-backed chair to the comfortable sofa where Evangeline sat next to Gail. It took Evangeline a moment to realize he was there, so intent was she on her conversation with Will, but when she turned to look at him, it was with some surprise.

He hadn’t been this close to her since that night. He’d seen her every day since, but now he was sitting next to her, and impulsively took her hand in his. If possible, Evangeline’s eyes grew wider, caught like a rabbit. He watched as she took a deep steadying breath, reined in her composure, and smiled at him.

“Miss Evangeline, would you do me the honor of a turn about the room? I feel I could use the exercise,” Max said directly into her enormous blue eyes. And for a moment, he didn’t see an openmouthed Gail looking over her sister’s shoulder.

“Um, ah…” Evangeline hemmed, her gaze scanned the room and finally came to rest on his fingers surrounding hers. For a split second, Max feared she would pull away, when Will cleared his throat.

“Fontaine, you’ll have to wait your turn,” Will spoke up. “I fear a leg cramp myself. Miss Gail, would you care to join me?” Will stood and held out his hand. Gail had no choice but to take it.