A Gentleman Always Remembers

by Candace Camp

  “But where will you go?” Lily asked. “It doesn’t seem fair.”

  “I think it’s probably best to move my things to the nursery.”

  “The nursery?”

  “Yes. I don’t believe Lady Symington would approve of the help sleeping in the family wing, do you? And I don’t wish to be at the other end of the hall, for I think Mr. Carr and Mr. Harrington frequently gather at Monsieur Leveque’s room rather late at night, don’t they? No, I think the best and quietest place for me will be the nursery. Don’t look so mutinous, dear. I don’t mind, and it’s only for a short time.”

  “Well, I don’t like it. Why are they here anyway? I don’t believe that they just happened to decide to come visit.”

  “I am sure not.” Eve decided not to mention the blend of triumph and mischief on Fitz’s face when the Symingtons arrived. “I suspect that Lady Symington pursued Mr. Carr here. I understand that she and Priscilla went to his estate, and that is why he fled here. No doubt she found out he had come to Willowmere, so they followed.”

  “It seems very brazen to me.”

  “I don’t think that Lady Symington is exactly retiring.”

  “Poor Neville—imagine having her for a mother-in-law!”

  “Yes. I should think that she will make it more difficult for him to go back on his proposal.”

  “He isn’t!” Lily responded hotly. “I mean, he never actually proposed.”

  “You know what I mean. Lady Priscilla doesn’t look the sort to make a fuss—she seemed rather beaten-down, poor thing, didn’t you think?” Eve sneaked a glance at Lily as she went on, “But her mother will hold him fast to their agreement.”

  “She’s a horrid woman. It’s no wonder her poor daughter seems so . . . so . . .”

  “Tyrannized?” Eve suggested, suppressing a stab of guilt as Lily’s expression grew more troubled. “I imagine Lady Priscilla quite looks forward to marrying Mr. Carr, just to get out from under her mother’s thumb. But of course that’s no reason for him to marry her.”

  “No, of course not,” Lily agreed faintly.

  It did not take them long to pack Eve’s belongings. They could hear the maids in the room next door, getting the room in order. While they waited for the footmen to move Eve’s things, Lily and Eve set to straightening up the room, dusting and changing the sheets, so that in a very short time both rooms were ready for their new visitors.

  Lily went to Camellia’s room to relate the arrival of the Symingtons, and Eve made her way to the nursery wing. It was not on a separate floor, as in many large houses, but was located in one of the additions that had been built onto the main house over the years, giving Willowmere its pleasant, almost haphazard appearance.

  Halfway down the bedroom corridor, opposite the bank of windows, was a short hallway to the left. At the end of it was a closed door that opened onto the landing of a staircase. If Eve were to turn right and go down the flight of stairs, she would find herself at the huge kitchen. Instead she crossed the landing and went up six steps to the nursery wing. Built over the kitchen and serving area, it was rarely used.

  Eve stopped at the first door. It was the governess’s bedchamber, and like the children’s rooms that stretched down the hall, it was both smaller and more sparsely furnished than Eve’s former chamber. It did, however, have a comfortable-looking bed, a wardrobe, a washstand, a chest of drawers, and even a chair by the window overlooking a narrow swath of the gardens.

  Eve’s trunk and bags sat at the foot of the bed, and two maids were busy cleaning. The dust covers had been removed and folded away, and the maids were in the process of turning the mattress. It was clear that it would be some time before they were done, so Eve left them with a smile and a quick thanks and went down the stairs to the kitchen. Predictably Cook had been thrown into a fit of nerves by the sudden arrival of more guests.

  “This’ll never do for her ladyship!” she moaned to Eve. “That one’s been here before, and she always complains—this is too cold, that’s too dry. There’s never been a meal she didn’t send a dish back. And the menu we had planned will never do for her!”

  “Lady Symington will simply have to adjust to the fact that our meals have been curtailed by this illness,” Eve told her with more surety than she felt.

  The cook shook her head dolefully. “She’ll be telling everyone what a poor table his lordship keeps. I can’t let Lord Stewkesbury be shamed.”

  “I am sure that Lord Stewkesbury is far too practical to be shamed by curtailing his menus during a time of crisis. Just add a few dishes if you feel it’s necessary—a dessert or a soup. What does Lady Symington like?”

  “Nothing.”

  Eve could not help but chuckle. Having met the lady in question, she suspected the cook was speaking nothing less than the truth. “Just try to do your best with the time and staff you have. Leave it to Mr. Talbot to charm her into better spirits.” Eve had learned long ago that Fitz was a favorite with the staff.

  The other woman smiled faintly. “If anyone can, it’d be Master Fitz. That one can talk the birds out of the trees, and that’s the truth.”

  Eve left the cook in somewhat renewed spirits and sought out the butler. Bostwick had apparently accepted the visit as a test of his mettle and was polishing the best silver while snapping out orders left and right. Satisfied that he needed no shoring up, Eve went in search of Fitz. She found him in the study, leaning back in his brother’s chair, contemplating the ceiling. At the sound of her entrance, he looked up and sprang to his feet.

  “Eve. That is, Mrs. Hawthorne. Blast it, I shall have to be more careful. It’s rumored that Lady S has eyes in the back of her head—and probably an extra set of ears as well.”

  “And yet I think you are responsible for her presence here.”

  Fitz held a finger up to his lips. “Don’t let Neville hear you. He’s already been in here, blasting my ears. He is certain that I arranged for Lady Symington to come here.”

  “Didn’t you?” Eve asked with a smile. “Somehow I cannot help but connect this to that plan you spoke of yesterday.”

  Fitz’s quick grin acknowledged her words. “It was Gordon who gave me the idea.”

  “Gordon?” Eve repeated in disbelief.

  “Yes. When he arrived, I was so annoyed, for I knew that it would entirely ruin my hopes of being with you. But it set me thinking about all the damage an unexpected visitor could do to a romance.”

  “So you wrote Lady Symington telling her to come here?”

  “I let it slip that Neville was visiting,” he admitted, his eyes twinkling. “And I may have reminded her that she and her daughter are always welcome at Willowmere—though what Oliver will say if he returns and finds her still here I hate to think. However, I wasn’t certain that she would take the bait and come. I did, after all, point out that we were under a siege of measles.”

  “Clearly that counted little with Lady Symington.” Eve paused. “Do you think it will be enough?”

  Fitz shrugged. “It was the best I could come up with on the spur of the moment. I suppose it could do the opposite and send our star-crossed lovers fleeing into the night.”

  “I don’t think Lily will leave after she has promised me not to. She is appalled, of course, by Lady Symington.”

  “A not uncommon experience.”

  “But I could see that she felt sorry for Lady Priscilla. You were very clever to think of it. Before now Neville’s fiancée was just a figure of the imagination to her. But Lily will find it much more difficult to do something that will hurt someone she actually knows. She is a tender-hearted girl.”

  “Neville detests it; I can tell you that. As soon as Lady S and Priscilla went up to their rooms, he subjected me to a blistering commentary on my lack of honor, loyalty, and good sense. After spending a few minutes with Lady Symington, I am inclined to wonder about the lack of good sense myself.”

  “He knows that you sent for them?”

  Fitz shook his head. “F
ortunately he accused me of inviting them, which I was able to deny with good conscience, as I never specifically issued an invitation in my letter. He is still distrustful, but he cannot deny that Lady Symington or his father could have heard from one of the wedding guests that he was here.”

  “Will he change his mind, do you think, now that they are here?”

  “As you said, it is harder to hurt someone you know—even harder when that person is right before you. He is fond enough of Priscilla, I think, and he knows Priscilla’s mother will turn on her if he elopes, however blameless Priscilla will be.” Fitz smiled wryly. “Of course the question now is whether Neville will give up his scheme before I am driven to throw Lady Symington out.”

  The evening meal had become much reduced since the measles had struck Willowmere, with few courses and less elaborate dishes, and the residents had taken to treating dinner less formally. They ate at an earlier time, and they wore less elegant clothes. Lady Symington, of course, came down to eat in diamonds and a silk evening gown.

  She took one look around at the others assembled there, her quizzing glass raised for maximum effect. “Good heavens, Fitzhugh, what is this? You no longer dress for dinner?”

  From her expression she might have asked him if he had stopped wearing clothes altogether.

  “Yes, forgive me, Lady Symington, I should have told you. It completely slipped my mind. But what with the illness and the shortage of servants we have adopted a more casual attire.”

  “That’s all very well, but one must keep up one’s standards. Otherwise what is to distinguish us from the barbarians? We might as well be Scots or Americans.”

  “I am American,” Lily pointed out.

  “Yes, well.” The older woman cast an eloquent glance at Lily and turned back to Fitz. “I am sure if Stewkesbury were here he would be most horrified.”

  “Perhaps so,” Fitz replied equably. “But as he is not, I am afraid we shall have to muddle along the way we are.”

  Priscilla cast a quick apologetic smile at the others. It was, Eve found, something the young woman would be forced to do many more times throughout the evening. Lady Symington, it seemed, had fault to find almost everywhere she looked. She corrected Gordon’s posture and Lily’s wielding of her dessert spoon. She found the table’s centerpiece—the epergne Bostwick had been so ardently polishing—mundane and the dishes lacking in variety. There were too few of them as well, and she admitted she would have hoped for a better sauce for the meat. As Cook had predicted, she sent back two of the dishes she had taken onto her plate, one for being too cold and the other for not having enough salt.

  Eve felt sorry for Priscilla, who grew more silent and miserable-looking by the moment. Eve could only imagine how humiliating this whole experience must be for the girl. Not only had Neville run away rather than propose to her, but her mother dragged her along as she chased Neville down with the intention of forcing him to propose. When they had arrived she had had to stand by and watch her mother wedge her way into a house where anyone with the least degree of sensitivity would have seen that visitors were merely another burden.

  Clearly unable to stand up to her mother, Priscilla could only apologize for her and, Eve suspected, wish that she were anywhere but there. She wondered if Priscilla could see the feeling that had blossomed between Lily and Neville. It was quite plain to Eve, but perhaps that was only because she had witnessed it as it grew.

  She watched Priscilla, trying to gauge her response when she looked at Neville or Lily. The surprising thing, Eve realized, was that Priscilla spent little time looking at Neville. At first Eve assumed that this was because of embarrassment, but as the meal ground on she began to wonder if this assessment was true. Priscilla looked at Neville when he spoke, often offered a faint smile at one of his witticisms, but she looked at Gordon when he spoke and at Fitz, too. Indeed she turned her gaze, with varying degrees of interest, on everyone at the table. And though Priscilla shot Neville an apologetic glance now and then, it was no more than she did to any of them when Lady Symington made an insulting remark.

  It was a relief when the meal ended. Eve was happy that since the measles had struck they had given up the habit of socializing in the drawing room after dinner, so she and Lily were able to escape an evening of sitting with Lady Symington and her daughter.

  With a polite nod and smile to the other women, Eve and Lily went up the stairs. Eve stopped first at Camellia’s room. She was continuing to improve, and Eve soon left Lily to regale the patient with tales of their dinner while she made a last round of the ailing servants. Even Mrs. Merriwether was beginning to look better, having finally overcome her fever.

  Humming a little, Eve proceeded to her own room. She undressed and washed, then spent some time choosing the prettiest of her nightgowns. She sat down to the nightly ritual of taking down her hair and brushing it out. Afterward, the pale gold hair lying like silk over her shoulders, she wrapped her dressing gown around her and picked up a book. Usually she went back downstairs to talk to Fitz in his study, but not tonight.

  It did not surprise her when she heard footsteps on the short flight of steps up to the nursery area. A moment later Fitz appeared in her doorway, frowning.

  “What the devil are you doing in here?”

  “Good evening to you, too.” Eve set aside her book and stood up.

  “Why didn’t you tell me you were planning to move into the nursery? No, never mind, I know the answer—you knew I would forbid it. Blast it, Eve, there was no need for you to give up your bedroom to Lady Symington and Priscilla.”

  “It made perfect sense,” Eve pointed out, coming a few steps closer. “Lady Symington would expect one of the better rooms. She wouldn’t have wanted to be put off down the hall with Monsieur Leveque. We could hardly place her in Lord Stewkesbury’s bedchamber. She and Lady Priscilla would no doubt prefer rooms next to each other.”

  “I doubt Priscilla would prefer it.”

  Eve smiled faintly. “That may be. But I suspected that Lady Symington would insist.”

  “No doubt she would. But that didn’t mean you had to move.”

  Eve shrugged. “My room is next to the empty bedchamber, and they are both very nice rooms.”

  “Then move Neville and Gordon out. Put the ladies in there. There’s no reason for you to inconvenience yourself.”

  “It would look odd to house one’s guests in lesser rooms while the hired help stays in one of the best bedchambers,” Eve pointed out.

  “You aren’t hired help! I mean—” He stumbled to a stop and scowled blackly. “I don’t like you putting yourself in a place like this.” He cast a disparaging look around the small, spare room.

  “It’s not so bad.” Eve sauntered past Fitz to the door. “And it’s very out of the way. Or perhaps you didn’t notice.”

  She closed the door softly and twisted the key in the lock, then turned back to face him, a slow, seductive smile curving her lips.

  “Eve . . . what the devil are you about?”

  “It occurred to me that the nursery was separated from the rest of the bedrooms. One has to go down a hall and through a door and up six steps. Indeed it’s in an entirely different wing. One could almost say that it’s secluded.” As she spoke Eve’s hands went to the tie of her dressing gown, slowly sliding the sash undone.

  Fitz’s eyes followed the movement of her fingers, the color rising in his cheeks as she released the sash and grasped the sides of the robe, slipping it back and off her shoulders. He watched as the material glided down her arms and she caught it in her hands, tossing it aside. His eyes moved slowly down her body, taking in the hint of curves beneath the thin material, the darker circle of her nipples.

  “No.” The word came out slowly, his voice a trifle hoarse. “We cannot. I told you—I swore—I refuse to expose you to the gossip of others. The house is too full.”

  “But that is the beauty of the nursery.” Eve looked at him as she raised her hands to the top tie of her ni
ghtgown. “Who is to see us over here? Who is to know?” She could see the rise and fall of his chest, more rapid now. His eyes glittered, his hands clenched at his sides. She pulled the next tie undone. “We are all alone here, Fitz. And I am tired of waiting.”

  She opened the last tie, and the gown gaped, revealing a swath of skin down her front almost to her waist. The simple white cotton cut across the inner swell of her breasts, revealing and concealing, hinting at the delights that lay still hidden.

  Fitz’s face was stark with hunger, his skin stretched tight across his cheekbones, and he could not keep his eyes from feasting on the flesh her brazen gesture had revealed. “Good Gad, do you think I am not? I feel as though I have been waiting half my life!”

  “Then make love to me,” Eve said simply. “I don’t care about the others. Where they are or who they are or what they think. I want you to make love to me. Here. Now.”

  With those words she stripped off her nightgown and dropped it to the floor. Fitz made an inarticulate noise deep in his throat and crossed the room to her in two quick strides, yanking off his jacket as he came. He pulled her into his arms and took her mouth in a long, deep kiss, days of unsatisfied passion surging into an almost desperate embrace. The slick satin of his waistcoat gently abraded Eve’s nipples. It felt exotic and decadent to have her bare flesh against his clothed body, and it aroused her already smoldering desire.

  Eve moved slightly, titillated by the smooth satin gliding over her breasts. He pulled her even more tightly to him, his hands sliding down her back and over the swell of her buttocks, fingertips pausing to dip into the dimples at the base of her spine. His mouth left hers to kiss her cheek, her ear, her throat, trailing like velvet fire down her neck. He kissed his way along her collarbone to the point of her shoulder and back, using lips and teeth and tongue. Eve’s skin flamed to life wherever his mouth touched her. She was shaken by the need that poured through her.

  She wanted to touch him, to feel his skin beneath her hands, to taste and explore him. Her hunger for him was an ache deep within her, a pulsing, insistent eagerness. Eve pulled away, her breath rasping in her throat, and she reached out to the buttons of his waistcoat. Her fingers trembled as she moved down the line of buttons; there was a driving force within her that wanted simply to rip at them, but she maintained enough control not to do that.