by Candace Camp
“He is a lovely animal,” Eve offered. At Imogene’s puzzled glance, she realized that she had made yet another misstep. “I saw him through the upstairs window,” she hurried to explain.
Whatever was the matter with her? One would think she had never tiptoed through a delicate social conversation before. But she knew the answer to her question. It wasn’t just Talbot’s knowledge of her immature behavior that afternoon that unsettled her. It was the man himself, sitting there looking at her with those sky-blue eyes, filling up the space with his masculine presence, drawing her gaze to the handsome lines of his face.
“Thank you, Mrs. Hawthorne.” Fitz stepped in to pull the conversation away from Eve’s mistake. “Clearly you are a judge of horseflesh.”
“My late husband was an avid horseman,” Eve explained, feeling herself on firmer ground.
“Far too avid.” Imogene’s mouth drew up. “But then, one must not speak ill of the dead.”
“No.” Eve shot a hard look in her direction. “One must not.”
Eve herself had often enough decried Bruce’s obsession with horses. She had even burst into tears once when creditors were haunting their doorstep and Bruce had announced that he had bought another “prime bit of blood.” It was as if by throwing himself into his neck-or-nothing riding, he could make all his other inadequacies disappear. However, Eve was not about to allow her stepmother to criticize the man. Whatever his faults, he had been Eve’s husband and deserved her loyalty even beyond the grave.
Besides, Imogene’s criticism had less to do with Major Hawthorne, whom she had barely known, than with the fact that his death in an impecunious state had forced Eve into the Childe household.
“I must say, Mrs. Hawthorne, that you are hardly what I was expecting in the way of a chaperone,” Fitz said, steering the conversation onto a new path. “We had assumed that you were a woman of, ah, advanced years.”
Eve glanced at him, fear clenching her stomach again. Did he intend to use her age as an excuse not to take her back to Willowmere? “I-I am sorry, Mr. Talbot. But I assure you that I am quite capable, despite my appearance.”
“I assure you, I am not offering a criticism. I am quite pleasantly surprised.”
“Mrs. Hawthorne has been married and widowed for a number of years,” Mrs. Childe offered. “She is much older than she seems.”
Eve said nothing, merely gritted her teeth in a smile at her stepmother.
The conversation limped along for a few more minutes in this manner, and Eve began to relax. Surely if Mr. Talbot was going to expose her actions this afternoon, he would have done so by now. After a time, Imogene, obviously determined to be pleasant to the man who would be taking Eve away, asked Talbot to partake of supper with them.
“How very kind of you, ma’am.” Fitz smiled, and Eve noticed that even her rigid stepmother did not seem to be immune to the effects of his smile. “But alas, I have a number of things to see to. The carriage should arrive this evening, and I need to make arrangements for our trip back.” He turned toward Eve. “If it is not too difficult for you, Mrs. Hawthorne, I would like to leave tomorrow. What with the upcoming wedding, it is important that we return to Willowmere as soon as possible.”
Eve could not hold back the joyful smile that spread across her lips. “No, it will not be difficult. I am quite prepared to leave tomorrow.”
In truth, her bags had been packed for two days now. They could not leave too soon for her.
“Excellent. And now, if you will excuse me, I should be about my duties.” Talbot rose, executing a graceful, punctiliously correct bow to the ladies, and politely took his leave.
Imogene watched his retreating back until he reached the front door. “A most well-mannered gentleman. And such consideration from the earl. I hope, Eve, that you will remember to thank Stewkesbury properly.”
Eve ground her teeth but replied evenly, “I will say all that is proper.”
“It is a wonderful opportunity for you. An excellent family. You will be moving among the highest of the ton. Who knows, perhaps you will find another husband.” Imogene allowed a thin smile at that thought.
“I am not looking for a husband.”
“Every unmarried woman is looking for a husband. Of course, it will be difficult for a widow, given all the fresh young girls on the marriage market. Still, I am sure there must be a widower or older gentleman who needs a wife.”
“I will be chaperoning the earl’s cousins,” Eve pointed out. “It is their interests that must be foremost in my mind.”
“Of course, of course. But, as I am sure you are aware, this stint as their chaperone will last only a year or two, at best, before they marry. One must look to the future, after all.”
“I will.” Eve had found that it was simpler to go along with Imogene’s statements than to argue. Speaking her mind inevitably led to an argument and hurt feelings, with Eve having to apologize in order to keep peace in the household.
Eve started out of the room, thinking that she could take refuge in packing the last of her things. However, Imogene strolled along with her. Eve was not sure if the woman was feeling friendlier toward her now that she would soon be gone or if she was simply eager to get in her last bits of carping.
“You will need to remember not to put yourself forward,” Imogene told her. “A quiet, compliant nature is essential. No one wants a companion who puts herself forward or is loud or draws attention to herself. You smiled too broadly at Mr. Talbot this afternoon. I am sure he took note of it.”
Eve forced herself to unclench her fists. “Few people dislike a smile.”
“Too bold a smile indicates a forward woman, which is not what anyone looks for in a chaperone. It would be disastrous for you to engage in a flirtation with Mr. Talbot.”
Startled, Eve turned to her. Could she possibly know? Surely not. “I did not flirt with Mr. Talbot.”
“Perhaps not. But your smile was inviting. A man such as he is quick to take advantage of that.”
“I thought you liked Mr. Talbot.”
“Of course. He is the very model of a gentleman—so handsome, so charming, utterly genteel. But loath as I am to listen to rumors, I have heard things about Mr. Talbot.”
Eve’s curiosity sharpened. “What have you heard?”
Her stepmother pretended to abstain from gossip, but she was in constant correspondence with her cousin in London, who was one of the ton’s most notorious busybodies. As a result, Imogene often knew the scandals of the Season as thoroughly as anyone in the city.
“Well . . .” Imogene’s eyes took on the glimmer reserved for reporting other’s misdeeds. “It is said that Fitzhugh Talbot collects hearts like a miser hoards gold.”
“He is a handsome man. I am sure he is a good catch.”
“Of course. But he has no interest in marriage. He dances attendance on no eligible young female. It is said that he prefers a . . . woman of experience. His name has been linked to more than one widow and even to some married women. And of course, to women of a lower sort—though I suppose that is to be expected of most men.”
“Are you saying that because I am a widow, Mr. Talbot will make improper advances to me?”
Her stepmother shrugged eloquently. “That is why you must be careful about offering any form of encouragement, even a smile.”
“I did not smile at him in an inviting manner,” Eve retorted hotly. “And we were speaking about leaving tomorrow, not anything illicit!”
“Goodness, no.” The other woman let out a little titter. “As if I would suggest such a thing. Even though your upbringing was, perhaps, a little lax for the daughter of a man of the cloth, no one would accuse you of acting in a bold manner. However, Mr. Talbot does not know you as well as everyone around here does. He might misinterpret your . . . well, your rather indiscriminate friendliness. Your frequent lack of reserve.”
“I shall give Mr. Talbot no reason to think badly of me,” Eve said tightly.
“I am sur
Eve pressed her lips together. If only her stepmother knew how little being a widow had changed her lack of husbandly affection!
“You might not realize it,” Imogene went on. “And since your father is far too holy a man even to conceive of warning you about such a thing, it is incumbent upon me to do so. Have a care, Eve; you would not want to wind up as one of his string of conquests. That is all I have to say on the matter.”
They had reached the door to Eve’s room, and she turned to her stepmother, giving her a forced smile. “Thank you for your advice; I fully appreciate the spirit in which you give it. However, as you said, many people have false ideas about widows. An army officer’s wife learns a thing or two about living above reproach, as well as about being alone. I am quite capable of rejecting Mr. Talbot’s advances—or those of any other man.” She gave Imogene a perfunctory nod. “Now, if you will excuse me, I must make certain that I am ready to depart when Mr. Talbot arrives tomorrow.”
She slipped into her bedchamber and closed the door without giving Imogene a chance to utter a rejoinder. By tomorrow, her stepmother’s recriminations would not matter. Eve leaned back against the door and allowed a smile to return to her face. Tomorrow she would be gone.
Eve opened the enameled blue watch pinned to her dress. It was seven forty-five, five minutes later than the last time she had checked it. With a sigh, she closed it again.
Normally she did not wear the timepiece. It had a rather old-fashioned look that did not suit today’s styles. However, it had been her husband’s last gift to her, found tucked away among his belongings after his death. It had been inscribed on the inner cover with the words “For my beloved wife,” and she understood that Bruce must have bought it for her birthday, which followed only five days after his death. It was an expensive item, made of gold with fine blue enameling on the front and several small pearls framing a small oval painting of a bucolic scene. Normally she would have returned the watch for the money, as she had done many times before with the expensive gifts her improvident husband was wont to buy.
However, this time she could not bring herself to do so. It was Bruce’s parting gift to her, her last link to him. Theirs had not been a normal marriage, it was true, but she had loved Bruce, and she believed that he had loved her, too. So she kept the watch, though it remained in her jewelry box most of the time.
Today, however, she had decided to wear it. It looked quite nice pinned to her dark blue carriage dress, with its high neck and faintly military buttons. It gave her, she thought, a rather efficient, professional air, which would be useful in countering the impression she had made on Fitzhugh Talbot the day before. In any case, it was practical on a day like this, when they would be on the road the entire day, away from clocks.
Very practical, she thought drily, if she was going to keep nervously checking on the time like this. With an inward sigh, she folded her hands in her lap and settled herself to wait with patience.
She sneaked a glance at Imogene. Her stepmother was reading her Bible, her back as rigid as ever. Eve had never seen the woman slump. It was unkind of her, she knew, to regard that as a fault, but somehow it never failed to irritate her. Her father sat beside his wife, his hands folded in quiet contemplation. There was, as always, an air about him of faint distraction, as though his mind were somewhere else. Eve smiled faintly. No doubt he was thinking of his Sunday sermon or contemplating some matter of theological significance. A kind and loving man, he was rarely completely with anyone, even his family. Her mother had been the glue of their family, and since her death, Eve and her father had not been close. He was content to let Imogene take the lead, even in dealing with his daughter.
Eve wished that Julian were there; she would have liked to spend an extra few minutes with him. But Imogene’s rules were never to be broken, no matter what other circumstance might intrude—the boy’s lessons began immediately after breakfast, at seven-thirty sharp. So Eve had popped into his room to say her farewells to him before she went down to breakfast. Thinking about it, she felt again the pang of loss that she had felt as she hugged him close to her.
The sound of a carriage outside broke into her sad thoughts, and Eve stood up, going to the window. An elegant black carriage stood outside, drawn by four well-matched bays. Behind it rode Fitzhugh Talbot on his sleek black stallion.
“He is here.” Eve turned back and saw the expressive frown on Imogene’s face. With an inward sigh, Eve resumed her seat, schooling her face into polite reserve.
Fitzhugh Talbot strode into the room a few moments later, smiling with his easy charm and executing a perfectly correct bow. Eve felt once again that catch in her throat as his bright blue eyes met hers, and she was glad that she had made an effort to keep her face calm and remote. Otherwise, she suspected, she would have grinned back, her eyes lighting up. One had to work, she thought, not to respond to the man. No doubt her stepmother was right about his string of conquests back in London.
“Ah, Mrs. Hawthorne,” he said after greeting Reverend and Mrs. Childe politely. “I see that you are ready to leave. That is excellent. I fear we have rather a long journey ahead of us.” He turned toward Imogene. “I do hope you will forgive us for not staying to chat.”
“No, indeed. We quite understand, don’t we, dear?” She turned toward her husband.
“What? Oh. Oh, yes. Long trip, perfectly right.” The Reverend Childe favored them all with his vague smile. He turned to his daughter. “Good-bye, my dear. I shall miss you.”
He hugged her, giving her back a little pat. Eve returned the embrace. She knew he meant the words. She also knew that within twenty minutes he would be back in his study, engrossed in his musings, scarcely aware that she was gone.
Her stepmother did not believe in physical demonstrations of affection, so Eve was spared an embrace with her. A genteelly extended hand and an admonition to conduct herself properly were all that Mrs. Childe offered. Eve left on a wave of relief; she could feel her muscles relaxing as she walked from the house to the carriage. She knew that her life as a chaperone would be structured, of course. She would have to follow the rules of her employer, as well as enforce them upon her charges. She would be expected to be modest and quiet, to keep her thoughts to herself, in essence to fade into the background while still providing a constant presence.
But she would be making her own way, not living on the sufferance of her stepmother. She would not have to listen to Imogene lecture and scold. She would not be treated as if she were sixteen again. Most of all, she would be out in the world, not shut away in the country. There would be parties and plays and gaiety. And though she would be sitting on the edge of it, even that much seemed like an adventure.
A liveried servant sprang down to open the door and lower the step for her, but it was Mr. Talbot who offered his hand to help her up into the carriage.
“If you don’t mind, I thought that I would ride with you for the first leg of the journey and let the groom follow with my horse,” he told her.
Eve’s stomach clenched. Was he going to lecture her on her behavior of the day before? Or was he going to try to seduce her, as her stepmother had warned?
Something of what she felt must have shown on her face, for he smiled faintly and said, “I assure you I shall not intrude upon your privacy for the entire trip. I simply thought it might serve us well to spend a little while getting acquainted.”
“Yes, of course.” Eve’s cheeks flared pink now with embarrassment, and she hurriedly entered the carriage and sat down. As Talbot got in after her and closed the door, she turned toward him. “I was simply a little surprised. I did not mean any disapproval or—that is, I would not have expected to ride by myself. It is, after all, your carriage.”
His grin widened at her blushing confusion. “Well, actually, it is my brother’s. So neither of us has rights to it.”
Eve could not resist his smile. “No, I suppose not.”
The vehicle in which they sat was as luxurious as any in which Eve had ever ridden. The seat was upholstered in soft leather, well padded, and the squab behind her back was equally soft. A pocket beside her held a rolled-up lap robe should she grow cool, and the leather curtains were rolled up partway to let in air and light. It was quite roomy, with ample space between her seat and Mr. Talbot’s across from her. But despite all this, she could not feel quite comfortable.
For one thing, she was all too aware of Fitzhugh Talbot. The foot or so that lay between their knees seemed hardly any distance. He was too handsome, too masculine. His mere presence seemed to fill the carriage. Eve was not accustomed to traveling alone in a carriage with a man; the only times she had done so had been with her husband or her father. With a stranger, it was altogether different. Such a small space seemed intimate, connected. Or perhaps it only felt that way because the man she was traveling with was this particular man. There was something about him that made a woman feel . . . well, she was not sure what. Uncertain, perhaps, and very, very aware of him.
She had heard of him, of course. Though at first his name had meant nothing to her other than that he was related to the earl, after her stepmother’s revelation of his preference for “experienced” women, she had begun to remember bits and pieces that she had heard over the years. Eve had not lived in London or been a part of the ton, after her marriage, for they resided wherever Bruce’s regiment had been quartered, but she had retained many friends among the ton and had corresponded with them regularly. So she had heard tales of the young men about the city, including Stewkesbury’s brother—wealthy, aristocratic, and bored, they lived a life of ease and, all too often, dissipation. Talbot was, at best, a flirt. And if Imogene’s gossip was correct, he was firmly settled into a promiscuous life, with no intention of marrying. He was, in short, the sort of man who flirted with everyone and seduced widows and married women, leaving a trail of broken hearts behind him.
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