A Gentleman Always Remembers

by Candace Camp

  He began to stroll idly through the room, and Eve paced alongside him, feeling he needed a friendly ear.

  “It’s not just that, though,” he went on thoughtfully. “It’s knowing that now you are responsible for another human being, that the heart and happiness and well-being of the one you love most in the world are in your hands.” Royce turned to her, his brows drawing together. “It’s all so fragile. What if I make a mistake? What if I disappoint her? Fail her? What if she is unhappy at Iverley Hall? Or with me?”

  Eve reached out and laid a hand on his forearm. “Sir Royce, I have not known either you or Mary long, but I can tell by your words that you have a good heart. Even if you stumble, even if you err, as everyone does, I can tell you this: Mary Bascombe is not a fragile flower to wilt at the first disappointment. She is a strong woman; she won’t break. Nor will she suffer in silence, I dare say. If she disagrees with you, if you hurt her, she will say so.”

  He chuckled. “You can rest assured of that.”

  “Then she will not let things go far astray before she tries to rectify them. She won’t let you let her down. And neither will you. You love each other, I know. Do you trust each other?”

  He nodded. “I’d trust Mary with my life, and she’d say the same for me.”

  “Then whatever bumps come along, they will not overset you.”

  He looked at her for a long moment, then smiled. “Your husband was a lucky man to have a wife such as you, Mrs. Hawthorne. Thank you.” Royce patted her hand. “You have returned me to the land of reason.”

  Eve laughed, letting her hand drop again to her side and turning to walk with him out of the ballroom. “Sir Royce, I do not think you had a long journey to make.”

  Eve parted from Royce near the stairs. She stood for a moment, pondering whether she should go upstairs and check on the Bascombes or go to the kitchen to make sure that all was in order there. She glanced over at the long table in the hallway, where the butler set the mail each day, separated out for each person. As usual, there were a few letters for the earl, but a square white envelope sat apart from that pile, and Eve saw with some surprise that it was addressed to her.

  She picked it up, noting that her name was printed in clumsy letters. It must be from Jules, she thought, smiling as she thought of her half-brother. He had not yet mastered the art of cursive handwriting. She broke the seal of red wax and opened the letter. In bold, block letters that seemed to jump off the page, she read:

  YOU DON’T BELONG HERE

  LEAVE

  Eve stood for a long moment, simply staring at the paper. Quickly she closed it and glanced around her almost guiltily. Who could have done this? Why?

  She opened the note and read it again, letting the words sink in. They were written in broad strokes, straight up and down, like the hand of an uneducated person or a child. But surely no child would do such a thing.

  She looked at the front of the letter. Aside from the address beneath her name, there was nothing to indicate that it had been mailed—no stamp, not even any wear and tear. She had assumed it had come in the mail because it had been on the table, but it could have been placed there anytime that morning. Someone local must have done it—and after all, why would a person from somewhere else tell her to leave?

  There was no threat, but the thick black letters, and the obvious malevolence that lay behind them, frightened her a little. She felt suddenly vulnerable, exposed. At first she wondered if it could be from one of the servants. But she could not remember doing anything that might have offended any of them. It was far more likely, she realized, that the writer had simply disguised his handwriting.

  Could it be from someone here in the house? Eve’s heart twisted at the thought. The girls had been more than kind to her, and even the earl seemed friendly enough. Her lips twitched into a smile at the notion of the elegant earl scrawling out this missive, then sneaking in to lay it on the table.

  No. There was only one person who disliked her: Lady Sabrina. Eve could envision Sabrina penning a nasty little note. Still . . . it seemed absurd that she could have taken such an antipathy to Eve after meeting her only one brief time.

  Perhaps one of the girls had done it in jest. There was a definite sense of mischief about Lily and Camellia. It was possible they might think it great fun to scare the new chaperone even if they liked her. The note seemed a bit excessive, but Eve could not help but remember the sort of books Lily enjoyed reading, with imperiled heroines and ghosts and clanking chains.

  Eve wondered what she should do. She quailed at the thought of taking the note to the earl. Really, when she thought about it, it was such a trifling thing. It would be embarrassing even to show it to Stewkesbury. Fitz, of course, was approachable, but she did not want to go running to him for help. He might take it the wrong way, think she was trying to throw out lures to him. Her cheeks pinkened at the thought.

  Besides, if she had offended one of the servants, it would only make them resent her more if she involved Fitz or the earl. Nor did she want to get Lily and Camellia into trouble. If they had done it, it could have been nothing but a jest. And if it was Lady Sabrina, however absurd that seemed, she had done it out of spite; there wasn’t really any danger to Eve in the note.

  The best thing, she decided, was to pretend that nothing untoward had happened. Whoever was behind it, the only reason could have been to cause Eve distress. If she remained cool and unconcerned, it would spoil all their fun. The more she thought about it, the clearer it became. Not even mentioning the note was the way to ruin their trick.

  At that moment, there was a knock on the front door, and Eve jumped involuntarily. She turned toward the door, but Paul was there before her, coming from the drawing room.

  Vivian swept in, followed by her maid, who carried in her arms a long bundle, wrapped around with a sheet. Vivian handed the footman her bonnet and gloves as she looked across the entryway toward her friend. “Eve, there you are. Just who I wanted to see. How is everything proceeding?”

  “I checked the ballroom. I was trying to decide whether to check in the kitchens.” Eve hastily stuffed the folded note into the pocket of her skirt.

  Vivian nodded. “I’ll do that. You show Pauline to your room. I’ll join you there in a moment.”

  Without wasting another word, Vivian headed off down the hall toward the kitchens. With a shrug, Eve turned and led the maid up the stairs to her room. She eyed with some curiosity the bundle the woman carried, but she said nothing. Inside her bedchamber Pauline laid the bundle down on the bed and folded back the sheet covering it. Inside lay an elegant gown of Nile green silk and pale gold tissue. Carefully, the maid picked it up and laid it aside on the bed, revealing another dress beneath it. The bottom dress was a confection of pale blue satin and white lace, with a square neckline and short puffed sleeves.

  “How lovely.” Eve reached over and smoothed out a wrinkle on the bodice, straightening the sleeves. “But why did Vivian bring her dresses here?”

  “She says she’s planning on dressing here, ma’am. On account of her helping you arrange the flowers and seeing to things.”

  “I see.”

  “That’s why she brought me, so I could help her dress and do her hair.” Pauline cast a considering glance at Eve. “I could do your hair, too, if you’d like. Her ladyship said you might need help, what with all the maids here busy with the party.”

  “Mm.” Eve suspected that it was to facilitate this last offer that Vivian had decided to dress for the wedding here. “And why did Lady Vivian bring two dresses? Is she planning to change after the wedding?”

  “Oh, no, ma’am. I wouldn’t think so.”

  “It seems odd that she would bring two gowns, don’t you think?”

  “I wouldn’t know about that, ma’am.” The maid was suddenly quite busy shaking out the dresses and smoothing the wrinkles. “Her ladyship does as she pleases.”

  “Always.”

  Eve turned away, knowing that she would ge
t nothing further from the maid. Pauline had been with Vivian for years and was utterly loyal.

  So Eve waited until Vivian came into the room a few minutes later and asked, “Why did you bring two dresses, Vivian?”

  Vivian turned her vivid green eyes on her friend. “Why, the blue one is for you. I realized that you must have been wearing mourning the last year or two and that you might not have an up-to-date gown that would be suitable for the celebration.”

  “What I have will be fine, I am sure.”

  Vivian sighed. “Honestly, Eve, must you be so painfully proud? I would like to think that if I had been stuck in the country and hadn’t bought a dress in London for two years and you offered me one of your gowns in the latest fashion, I would be pleased to accept it.”

  “Easy enough for you to say since you will never be in such a situation,” Eve retorted.

  “I cannot see why it is such a terrible thing to offer a friend a gown that one bought and instantly regretted. It is too pale a blue for me, and I doubt I shall ever wear it. The only other person I know whom it would suit is Sabrina, and I refuse to give her one of my gowns—not that she would accept it, for she would never admit that I had purchased something attractive. I do hope you are not telling me the same thing.”

  Eve rolled her eyes. “Of course not. It is a gorgeous dress, and you know it.”

  “Yes, I do, and it would look perfect on you. But if you prefer to let it rot at the back of my closet because you are too proud to accept a gift from a friend, then at least let me lend it to you for this one occasion.”

  “I have a dress.”

  Vivian wrinkled her nose. “Not one that isn’t gray or brown or dark blue, if what I have seen this week is any indication.”

  “Vivian . . . I am a chaperone. I am supposed to be unnoticed.”

  “I don’t see why. No doubt you should not outshine your charges, but both Lily and Camellia are pretty girls. They can withstand the competition. And they are quite goodhearted; they will not mind if you look pretty.”

  “I know that. They have already offered me the use of their sister Rose’s clothes. They told me she left a whole trunk of dresses here because she had too much to take them all back to America.” Eve made a face. “Do I look like such a ragamuffin that everyone is offering me clothes?”

  “Of course not. The Bascombes are doubtless sensitive about such things because of the state of their clothes when they arrived. What few frocks they had were years out of style. Charlotte and I had to outfit them completely. Being kind and generous girls, no doubt they want to help others.”

  “I do not mean to thwart their generosity, and there are a few of the day dresses that I might wear, but most of Rose’s gowns are too young for a woman of my age and position.”

  “Your age!” Vivian’s brows soared upward. “My dear girl, you are only six months older than I. Are you saying that I dress in a style too young for my advanced years?”

  “Don’t be absurd.” Eve grimaced. “I had forgotten how very accomplished you are at twisting one’s words to suit your purpose. Vivian . . . my dearest, sweetest friend . . .” She went to Vivian and took both her hands in hers. “There is a world of difference in how the world looks at you and me. You are the daughter of a duke, a leading light of the ton, and still one of the most eligible women in all Britain. Whatever you wear or do or say is instantly fashionable, and everyone tries to imitate it. I, on the other hand, am a vicar’s daughter, a widow, and a chaperone. If I tried to dress as you do, I would be censured.”

  “You are the one who is being absurd. You are still young, and you have served two years of mourning. That should be more than enough for even the highest stickler. And you are not some chaperone who has been hired to sit in the background and provide a nominal presence to satisfy the requirements of society. You are doing a friend a favor. You are helping me sponsor these girls in their Season. I need to make sure they are ready for their debuts, or else my own social credit will be damaged.”

  “Oh, really, Viv . . .”

  “And—” Vivian rolled on inexorably. “The earl needs the same sort of person for his cousins’ sake. He needs someone who can participate in the social scene with them, not sit against the wall. You must help guide their conversations and gloss over whatever missteps they take. Turn Camellia’s offer of shooting lessons, for instance, into a merry little tale concerning all of us participating in it at a house party here. You understand what I mean.”

  “Yes, of course.”

  “Well, to do that, you cannot be sitting behind everyone else, wearing gray and pretending not to exist. You must be yourself.”

  “And to do that, I must wear your dress?” Eve cocked an amused eyebrow. She could feel herself slipping, and she knew that Vivian would sense it as well. It was no doubt terribly weak of her, but she could not help picturing herself in that vision of ice-blue satin and white lace.

  “Let me ask you this: Do you really expect the girls to take fashion advice from a dowd?”

  Eve’s eyes widened. “A dowd!”

  “Well, you seem to be trying to make yourself into one. Where is the dress you had planned to wear today?”

  Eve pulled the gown from her wardrobe, somewhat chagrined that it was indeed gray with long sleeves, and its only decorations were narrow ruffles at the sleeves, hem, and neckline.

  “Honestly, Eve, have you become a Quaker?” Vivian took the dress from her and laid it beside the blue one on the bed. She turned back to her friend, crossing her arms over her chest. “Now, tell me, which of these would you rather wear tonight?”

  Eve looked at the gowns and knew she was lost. Without a word, she picked up the gray gown and thrust it back into the wardrobe.

  Chapter 6

  The wedding went off without incident. Mary was radiant in a gown that had been rush-ordered for her from Madame Arceneaux in London, her blue-green eyes glowing as she walked down the aisle to join Sir Royce at the altar. Sir Royce, Eve was pleased to note, looked proud and happy, his earlier unease apparently gone. Lily made no attempt to keep the tears from streaming down her cheeks, while even Camellia let out a sniffle or two. Eve herself had to swallow a lump in her throat as she looked at the couple, gazing at each other with such love in their eyes.

  Later, back at Willowmere, the new bride and groom greeted their guests, flanked by the earl as the head of the family. Eve was tense about seeing Lord Stewkesbury. Would he care that she had not dressed appropriately for a chaperone? He seemed like a man who was punctilious about such details. To her relief, he merely bowed and offered her a pleasantry. She could detect no tone of censure in his voice. Perhaps Vivian was right.

  Eve moved on to congratulate the new couple. Somewhat to her surprise, Mary hugged Eve.

  “I’m so glad you are here to take care of my sisters,” she told Eve. “I don’t feel as much that I’m deserting them.”

  “Of course you are not deserting them,” Eve assured her. “I am sure they will miss you, but I shall do my best to keep them happy and occupied. And once you return from your honeymoon, well, Iverley Hall is not so far away, is it?”

  For the wedding supper the servants had opened up not only the everyday dining room but also the grand dining room, which boasted a table long enough to seat twice as many as the one in the smaller room. The seating arrangements had been one of Vivian’s most exacting tasks. Mary and her sisters were of no help, regarding her with blank stares as she tried to explain the order of precedence that came into play, as well as the wounded feelings that were likely to occur if mistakes were made.

  Eve was seated among those of lesser note, barely above the squire and his wife, but she was frankly happy to be far away from Lady Sabrina, who gazed at her with icy condescension each time their eyes met. Perhaps Lady Sabrina had sent the note. Yet, as soon as Eve thought that, she tried to imagine Sabrina sneaking into Willowmere, risking being seen by a servant or one of the occupants of the house. It was ludicrous, especiall
y with no more motive than to upset a woman she barely knew.

  Vivian had told Eve that Sabrina could not stand for anyone to challenge her reputation as the most beautiful woman in the county. Looking at Sabrina tonight, Eve could well believe it. She had dressed in a manner that indicated she intended to outshine everyone at the celebration, even the bride. Sabrina had, Eve thought, gone a little too far, for her dress seemed almost suited for court attire. It was of pale silver lamé over blue satin, with silver Van Dyke trimming across the bodice and around the sleeves as well as a wide border of large embroidered blue satin roses around the hem. Diamond and sapphire jewelry glittered at her ears, neck, and wrists.

  “If only she were wearing ostrich plumes in her hair,” Vivian had murmured sardonically when she saw Sabrina, referring to the usual headgear worn when being presented to the queen.

  Unfortunately, Eve thought, Lady Sabrina did not seem to understand that no elegant garments or expensive jewels could compete with the radiance in Mary’s face today.

  Eve kept an eye on Lily and Camellia throughout dinner even as she carried on a conversation with the squire’s wife. She was determined to tend to her duties as chaperone—even if she had let Vivian talk her into wearing this unchaperone-like dress. The girls were enjoying themselves. Neville Carr had been placed between the two sisters, and every time Eve glanced at Lily and Camellia, they were smiling or chatting animatedly—especially Lily. Eve felt a small tug of concern. Mr. Carr was charming, and Lily was both romantically inclined and naïve. Lily might take seriously what a more sophisticated girl would realize was meaningless flirtation.

  Despite her firm intentions of watching only her charges, Eve could not keep her eyes from straying now and then to where Fitz sat. Ensconced between a plain young woman and an older lady of haughty mien, he managed not only to keep both of them smiling but also to flirt with the young matron across the table. Eve could not help but remember the way she had warmed to Fitz’s smile, how the twinkle in his eyes had seemed meant for her alone. But clearly he practiced his flirtations on every woman he met—and just as clearly, they all responded with the same flattered warmth. She worried about Lily not understanding the lack of meaning in a flirtation, and here she was guilty of the same naïveté!