Kate Noble (17 page)

Max exhaled. Holt had thankfully anticipated his needs and considered Miss Evangeline’s comfort. He could speak far more intimately with Evangeline seated together on the couch without fearing Romilla’s censure if she happened in, and Will in turn had removed Gail. Now all Max had to do was actually speak.

“
WHAT’S
going on?” Gail said very softly, so only Will could hear. They were at the far side of the drawing room now, near the large marble fireplace. At the pace Will was walking, they would reach the other end of the chamber around nightfall. Gail had to pull him to match her natural gait.

“Don’t fret, Miss Gail.” Will patted her hand, refusing to move any faster. “I believe Lord Fontaine merely wanted to speak to his fiancée on his own. You’re surprised I called Miss Alton his fiancée? Don’t worry—Fontaine tells me everything, I tell him everything, and neither of us tell anyone else. It’s a system that’s worked flawlessly for two decades.”

“Flawlessly?” Gail questioned. “So I cannot count on you to relate any stories of Lord Fontaine’s youthful indiscretions I can feed to my sister?”

Will smothered a chuckle, keeping his voice low. “Only if he deserves it.”

Gail smiled and condescended to rest a little weight on Will’s arm. She liked Mr. Holt—he was always pleasant, always smiling, but never in a leering or awkward way. He was a naturally happy person, and he was generous with his joy. Gail had difficulty understanding the bonds of friendship that held him to such a cynical individual as Max Fontaine. Gail listened down the length of the drawing room. She could barely hear the murmuring coming from the couch and certainly couldn’t make out what was being said—but she saw it at the same time that Will did.

“Why does your sister have a piece of card in her hand?” He couldn’t help but ask. “Is she reading something? A poem perhaps?”

“Very likely,” Gail lied. “Evangeline is fond of poetry.”

“
SO
,
I uh, wanted to ask you, sir…” Evangeline started, glancing down at the crumpled piece of card she had pulled out of her pocket. “What is your favorite color?”

Max could only gape for a moment.

“My, ah, favorite color?” Max repeated, going a bit red in the face.

“I’m sorry.” Her blush matched his. “That’s a silly question, isn’t it?”

“No, it’s not a silly question—green. My favorite color is green.”

Their first opportunity for unfettered conversation, and this is her chosen topic? His favorite color? This was not the beginning he hoped for.

“Oh,” Evangeline replied. “Well. Um. My favorite color is violet. But I like all colors. In case you were wondering.”

Evangeline looked down at the card again, affording Max a chance to peek at its contents. On it, he saw neat, even hand covering the card in the tiniest writing imaginable.

She had all these questions to ask him? What happened to the sweet, charming girl from the garden? Max nearly rolled his eyes, but something stopped their rotation.

Her hand was shaking.

“Tell me”—she cleared her throat—“what was the last book—”

“Miss Evangeline, I know you don’t know much about me,” Max interrupted gently, as he reached out and plucked the card from her grasp, “and I know equally little about you. But I do know that I have been longing for the opportunity to speak alone with you for a week now, and I simply hope that we can sit, enjoy each other’s company, and talk.”

Evangeline flushed profusely, too much a female not to be softened by Max’s pretty words.

“Talk? What, ah…what do you wish to talk about?” Evangeline stammered.

“You. Me. Each other. Us,” Max said, his nerves unknotting as Evangeline’s frame slowly relaxed.

“Your choice of topics is vast and far-reaching, to say the least.” She smiled.

“Well, I have a feeling you are far more interesting than I—”

“That cannot be true,” Evangeline said, laughing.

“We’ll compare,” Max declared. “What was it like growing up constantly abroad?”

And with that, Max and Evangeline embarked upon their first unrestricted and authentic conversation.

WILL
had long since conceded to move at Gail’s pace—it was a battle he wasn’t going to win. They were on their fourth lap of the drawing room; nearly twenty minutes of uninterrupted time had elapsed since Gail had first seen Evie pull out her card of questions. It had since disappeared from view, which was all to the good, in her opinion. But that didn’t mean things were going well.

“Why is she so uneasy?” Gail murmured. “She is the clever one with gentlemen. I’ve never seen her so awkward.”

Will snuck a peek at the progress his friend and his friend’s fiancée were making.

“Maybe because it’s never mattered so much before,” he whispered back.

For indeed, the flow of conversation, instead of being natural and easy, more closely resembled a gasping sputter. It started as a rush of words, either from Max or Evangeline, and often both at the same time, followed by a solid minute of silence. Both would look away during this time, searching the room for the next topic of conversation. Occasionally, Max’s eyes would choose Gail to fall upon, and she caught him more than once watching her and Will circling the room. But then, he’d just as quickly shift his gaze elsewhere, and eventually one or the other’s eyes would alight on some random object, which would spark a question, and another furious burst of talk would occur. And so it went.

Whenever Will and Gail circled close enough to eavesdrop with a degree of accuracy, they slowed down. But unfortunately, the seated couple always seemed to be in one of their silent stretches, and thus nothing was learned. Until…

“So you next traveled to Portugal then?” Gail overheard Max say. No doubt his eye had fallen on a Portuguese silk shawl draped over the chair.

“Yes, Lisbon,” Evangeline replied.

“And did you enjoy it?”

“Oh yes,” Evangeline said in a rush. Then she added, “However, I don’t think I’m well suited to long travel.”

“How do you mean?” Max questioned, the smallest hint of strain in his voice.

“Well, every time I go to a new place, I miss the old one desperately. And however much I enjoy the beauty of the new city or the friends we’ve made, I never feel…” Evangeline searched for the right word. “Settled.” She looked to the side a moment, tracing the small flower pattern of the couch. “We were in the south of France once, traveling through a village with a beautiful cathedral. There was a man there, an artist, painting a canvas. He had dozens of them, all of the cathedral, all in different lights, different angles, different seasons. And I thought, how nice would it be to be able to sit in one place long enough to see it change. To paint the seasons. That’s one of the reasons I’m so pleased to be back in England. We’re finally here to stay.”

“Oh,” Max replied, sounding a little deflated. Gail and Will had stopped moving altogether now and had removed to a sideboard where they could listen in, unobtrusively. Will had the oddest, softest look on his face, but said nothing to Gail’s questioning tug.

“But, at least you’ve had the experiences!” Max said, with perhaps more cheer than necessary. “I envy all the places you’ve been, all the wonderful things you’ve had the chance to learn.”

Evangeline gave a smile, a bit strained to Gail’s eye, but chuckled nonetheless. “Yes, of course! I should not begrudge the opportunities I’ve had for a moment. I loved the cities, the countryside landscapes, the music, oh, the art—the people especially, the new dances we were introduced to, the fashions.”

“And the languages,” Max finished, but Evangeline shook her head merrily.

“I’m afraid I’m hopeless when it comes to languages. English is my only fluency. My French is atrocious—broken at best, and we spent nearly two years there.”

“Really?” Max suddenly got a mischievous look in his eye and cocked a lopsided grin. Gail knew that grin—it was dangerous. “So, if I said,
Vous etes la creature la plus belle dans le monde
, you would have no idea what I’m saying?”

Evangeline shook her head again, soft blonde curls dancing about her face. “What does it mean?”

“You truly don’t speak any other languages?” he inquired playfully. “What if I said,
Quiero besar cada pulgada de su carne rosa
?”

Evangeline smiled, giving a small shrug.

Gail nearly choked.

Max had just said he wanted to kiss every inch of her sister’s pink flesh, in what was, she grudgingly admitted, perfect Spanish. Before he had spoken in equally perfect French. Gail looked to Will to see if had understood either phrase. She could see he hadn’t, but he was intent on Gail’s obvious reaction.

“What about,” he mused wickedly,
“Eu penso que nós devemos gastar menos tempo que falamos e mais tempo no jardim.”

Max had switched to Portuguese. While Evangeline blushed very prettily at a presumed compliment, Gail was red for an entirely different reason.

“Tu fondres pour moi quard je…”

“Stop!” Evangeline giggled.

“Yes. Please stop,” Gail said, much more strongly.

Max looked up abruptly.

Gail fumed. She could only feel triumphant at the look of dawning horror on Max’s face. How dare he? How
dare
—

“Gail, come tell me what he said.” Evangeline turned to her sister, holding out a hand for Gail to come and join them. She was smiling. Max was not.

She should tell her, Gail thought. She should tell Evie exactly what Max had said, and then they both could kick this low, irksome creature out of their lives for good. Her words had worked this magic—and havoc—before. Why not now?

But she stopped herself. Evangeline, kind, nervous Evangeline, was flush with the relief of being able to laugh and smile with her fiancé.

Fiancé. No matter what, they were stuck with him.

And Evangeline had asked her to be kind. To try.

Gail glanced at Max. His eyes were not asking her to be kind. They begged. Pleaded. Laid himself at the mercy of his enemy.

“He said,” Gail replied finally, “that you are the most beautiful creature he has ever seen.”

“Oh!” Evangeline gasped, and turned to Max, clasping his hands to her bosom. “Lord Fontaine, that’s lovely. Thank you.”

Max responded with a relieved smile, but under that he turned his attention to Gail, and when their eyes caught, and held, Gail was certain she could read his thoughts.

Sure
, he thought.
Just bloody lovely.

“
I’M
desperate to know—what
did
you say to Miss Alton?” Will drawled as he sipped a weak punch. Almack’s was all aglitter tonight, the Season in full swing. The long main gallery was bedecked in its customary finery: Crystal chandeliers dripped from the ceiling, marble columns flanked the walls in such a stately and military way, one felt certain that to break a rule here would merit a court-martial from all good society. The Patronesses, whose favor was necessary to gain admittance, were seated in a group at one end, holding court. Gentlemen dressed in formal knee breeches, hung about the edges of the throng in masses of black, pointing out the available girls on the marriage mart. Those young ladies were from the best families and had turned out in their finest white, ivory, ecru, eggshell, and if they were very daring, palest blue, evening dresses. Their mamas were distinguished by their darker colors and more calculating looks, as compared to the wide-eyed, wondrous faces of the daughters.

Max and Will stood at the very edge of the floor, watching the group of young, privileged couples finish dancing a country reel. Will was smiling into his punch. Max was not.

“What makes you think I said anything other than what Miss Gail reported?” Max replied, trying for bored tones, but failing abominably, much to Will’s snickering pleasure.

“Oh, she hid your true meaning, make no mistake.”

Max just grunted.

“Fontaine, you’re very stupid, you realize.”

“I beg your pardon?” Max intoned.

“They’ve lived their lives abroad! Chances are one of them picked up a phrase of French here and there!” Will replied.

“And Spanish? And Portuguese?” Max asked fervently. Then, sullen, he grumbled, “How many languages does she speak, anyway?”

Will shrugged. “I don’t know. I didn’t ask her. I doubt more than those.”

“Well, let’s hope you’re right. Any more languages, and I’ll run out of covert ways to whisper naughty things in Miss Evangeline’s ear.”

“I knew you were saying more than you ought this morning,” Will muttered, his eyes on the glass of punch in his hand.

Max simply shot him a look out of the corner of his eye, smiled wryly, and checked his pocket watch.

“They are late,” he declared.

“They are not,” Will countered. “Look.”

Will nodded toward the grand staircase, which led down into the gallery. At the top was a line of people waiting to be announced. Max looked up just in time to hear the announcer’s booming voice say:

“Sir Alton, Lady Alton, Miss Evangeline Alton, and Miss Abigail Alton.”

HERE
we are, come and get us
, Gail thought as she walked carefully down the massive staircase. Evangeline, of course, managed to float down the stairs with her easy grace, but Gail had to work very hard to keep her knees from wobbling and her feet from tripping. She was surprised at her nerves, given the number of balls and outings in society they had attended in the past week, but still, this was Almack’s. This was the crucible of the Ton’s activity. If Gail proved to be an embarrassment here, she was done for.

As they reached the base of the stairs, the hush that had occurred when their names were announced was quickly covered by a few whispers, a few titters. But mostly, everyone had resumed normal conversation. A vast improvement over the course of the week, Gail noted, and was not above smiling a little at their social acceptance. More than once that day, she overheard Romilla thanking God aloud that Lady Jersey was a fan of Barivian chocolates. Their admittance into Almack’s had established their good name.

Their stepmother turned to Gail and Evangeline, quickly extracting the latter from a group of admirers, who had gathered with astonishing speed, and addressed her charges in businesslike tones.

“Girls, if you would follow me—we must pay our compliments to the Patronesses.” Romilla patted Sir Geoffrey on the arm, who no doubt took that as his signal to leave everything to his wife and headed off in search of some refreshments and possibly a member of Parliament or two that he could wrangle into conversation. Romilla settled herself in between Gail and Evangeline, and together the three of them cut a swath through the masses of people—smiling and nodding politely as they did so, but intent on their destination.

“Now remember, leave the talking to me, and for the love of heaven, Gail, don’t fidget!” Romilla whispered fervently as they approached the sofas where the queens of Society held court. “You’ll worry the fingers off your gloves! Remember, you are lovely and proper and…”

“Lady Alton, what are you whispering to those girls?” came an imperious voice from a low red velvet couch. “Orders, no doubt, on how to simper properly and not give away a hint of intelligence!”

From the middle of the sofas, next to Lady Jersey, sat Lady Charlbury—resplendent in a gown of black jet, and wearing a mask of stern disapproval. She had a twinkle in her eye as she looked to Gail. Thankfully, she was without her cats for the evening.

“Lady Charlbury!” Gail could not help but exclaim. An elbow from Romilla had her remember her manners, and she curtsied. “It is such a pleasure to see you again.”

“Yes,” Romilla said, as she and Evangeline dipped into matching curtsies, “I had no idea you attended Almack’s. What a pleasant surprise!”

“Oh, my good friend Lady Jersey drags me out of the house on occasion,” Lady Jersey and the Altons acknowledged each other, as Lady Charlbury continued. “I daresay I worry about Old Tom dreadfully while I’m out, but someone has to keep an eye on these young things here. The notion of decency has fallen so low these days I hardly know what’s what!”

“How is Old Tom?” Gail asked Lady Charlbury, who responded in warm tones. “He’s up to his old tricks. Got into my face powder the other day, sneezed for hours. You must come and visit us again.”

Gail smiled and moved to join her. However, before Lady Charlbury could wrangle Gail into another long, feline-centric conversation, Lady Jersey interceded.

“I’m sure Lady Charlbury will look forward to your visit, Miss Gail, but for now, you cannot make me believe young ladies prefer the society of two old matrons to the gentlemen here—who are eager to dance a waltz or two, I daresay.” Evangeline blushed prettily, and Gail gave up hope of getting out of dancing by allowing Lady Charlbury to monopolize her. “Go and join them, and have a marvelous evening.”

And with that the Altons were dismissed. Romilla escorted the girls back to the throng of gentlemen awaiting their return and was herself quickly distracted by some friend or other calling for her attention. Once she left, Evangeline whispered quick words to Gail.

“Why, that was easy!”

Gail blushed. “In truth I thought our interview would have been much worse. The way Romilla went on, I expected the Spanish Inquisition.”

“Gail, you were marvelous. As soon as I saw Lady Charlbury, I knew heaven was smiling on us. But the best part of all—we were granted permission to waltz!”

“That is the best news I’ve heard all night,” Max spoke as he came up behind Evangeline and Gail. He and Will made their bows, Max immediately offering his arm to the elder sister.

He looked like black fire tonight, Gail thought, veiling her eyes to hide how much she approved of his appearance. Indeed, Gail had to take a moment and remind herself he was a pompous ass. His dress was sober in comparison to many of the jades and fops there that evening, but his green eyes sparked and crackled in the candlelight. His black coat and breeches matched his dark hair, while the stiff white of his cravat contrasted sharply, like a ghost in shadow. His shoulders filled the cloth without the use of padding, as did his strong thighs. Must be from so much riding, Gail’s brain mused on its own tangent.

“Miss Gail…Miss Gail?” Will was saying in her ear, and she blushed guiltily at having been caught on such an unseemly train of thought. Max and Evangeline had long since moved off to join the dancers on the floor. A quadrille was playing, and Gail saw that Evangeline and Max moved smoothly together. They were turning more than one pair of heads with their handsomeness.

Will offered Gail his arm. Ashamed to realize her mind was still dwelling where it ought not to be, she forced her attention back to her escort, and smiled.

“Would you care to join the dancers, Miss Gail?” Will asked, leading her to the floor.

“Happily, but Mr. Holt, I should warn you, I rely on you to keep me from total disgrace. When I trod your toes, please do your best not to yelp too loudly,” Gail replied with good humor, causing a bark of laughter from Will, as they too joined in the dance.

“
QUITE
the pair, the young Viscount Fontaine and Miss Evangeline Alton,” Lady Jersey remarked to Lady Charlbury, while keeping a hawk-like gaze on the dancing.

Having closed the doors to any late arrivals, and having been greeted most prettily by everyone in attendance, Lady Jersey took pleasure in pointing out all the connections forming on the dance floor to her dear friend. The evening was progressing splendidly, and Lady Jersey had much to gossip about, mostly regarding people Lady Charlbury didn’t know or didn’t care for. Her mind was drifting happily to her Old Tom, when her ears suddenly perked up at the mention of the Altons.

“Beg pardon, my dear? Lord Fontaine and Miss Alton?”

“Yes, Eleanor! Didn’t you see them dancing earlier?” Lady Jersey saw that indeed Lady Charlbury had not seen, and so elaborated. “I’ll have you know I
always
thought those rumors were rubbish. He stood up with her two turns in a row—then of course he had to surrender her to the other young bucks in waiting, but from where I sit, they move very well together. Proper, respectful, and with grace.”

“Proper, respectful dancing doesn’t exactly speak of deep feeling,” Lady Charlbury grunted.

“And indeed it shouldn’t. At least not at Almack’s,” Lady Jersey answered, secure in her own rightness.

Lady Charlbury, on the other hand, remained skeptical. She knew Lady Jersey’s mind quite well. As devout as she was to the rules of society, she still liked to see people matched together, and she had in her mind that Lord Fontaine and Miss Alton made a likely couple. And indeed, Lady Charlbury grudgingly thought, they probably did, given their constant company. It was by all accounts a good match. But for her part, Lady Charlbury did not see the attraction. Something was missing. Evangeline Alton was fast becoming the beauty of the Season—to that there was no question. But she just didn’t see a spark evident between them.

As Lady Charlbury scanned the crowd, she noticed Lord Ommersley, whom she had never much cared for, barreling his way across the room toward Miss Gail Alton.

“Tell me, Sarah dear,” Lady Charlbury ventured to her friend, who had spun off on a tangent about Barivian royalty, or some such boring thing, “what do you think of the younger Miss Alton?”

Lady Jersey took a moment to remember the face. When it struck her, she said, “Tall, quiet. Pretty, though nothing compared to her sister, which is unfortunate for her, I suppose. But she seems nice enough in spite of it. Sometimes younger sisters can be so hateful to the elder.”

“You don’t think she has a sense of wit? Or perhaps superior intelligence to recommend her?” Lady Charlbury ventured.

“La! Eleanor, you have taken to that girl simply because she asked after your cat!” Lady Jersey laughed. “No, my dear, I have seen no demonstrations of wit, although, in fairness, I have only had them call once, and the Misses Alton were barely given a chance to speak. She struck me then as she does now—a little awkward and overshadowed by her lovely sister.”

“I will inform you now, my dear,” Lady Charlbury said, “that my opinion differs from yours greatly.”

“Well, it’s lucky our opinions always differ,” Lady Jersey said, smiling coyly. “Else I should be wounded by your dissension.”

NO
one would suspect Gail of being championed as a great wit of engaging personality by Lady Charlbury. She was, at that moment, where she often found herself: alone against the wall. Not that she minded! Of course not—Mr. Holt had been so obliging, dancing with her, fetching her tea, and simply being a completely amiable gentleman that she was surprised to find so many hours had passed. Of course, she couldn’t dance solely with Mr. Holt, so after the first, she braved the dance floor with a surprising number of gentlemen. Her steps had been very careful and deliberate, and so she managed to dance without causing a major catastrophe.

Never had she so many partners, and nearly all the gentlemen enjoyed her company, as she did theirs. Although Mr. Leight would not be blamed if he never asked her to dance again. His toes might not survive it. Oh, she was actually having a good time! But the heat of the room and her extremely careful dancing were so wearying, that she begged Evangeline to take her next dance with Mr. Holt so she could sit and breathe for a moment. They obliged her, and Gail was left to her thoughts, as she had long desired to be.

She wanted to remember this moment. To remember the size of the hall, the beautiful gowns and dashing gentlemen, the men who had asked for her next, and the terrible, terrible refreshments. She wanted to be able to recall it all when she wrote in her little diary, and she needed to sit a moment and sketch it out. What a joy to be able to write of marginal social triumphs instead of complete disasters.