A Gentleman Always Remembers

by Candace Camp

  All four occupants of the landing turned slowly toward the hallway leading back to the main wing of the house. In the midst of the excitement they had not noticed that a crowd had gathered just beyond the open doorway. Lady Symington stood in front, Priscilla on one side of her and Camellia on the other, Gordon lurking just behind them. All were clad in dressing gowns, obviously rousted from their beds by the commotion. Behind them was a smattering of maids and footmen. Another knot of servants stood at the foot of the steps below them, gazing up curiously.

  Eve’s heart sank. Everyone in the household was staring at them, and she knew what a scandalous sight they must present. Eve herself was dressed for bed, and Fitz was only half clothed. Lily and Carr were both obviously headed outdoors, coats on, lantern in hand, one bag lying on the landing and the other at the foot of the stairs. Even the slowest-witted would guess what had been happening with both couples before the fight.

  “You’re a disgrace to your families, both of you.” Lady Symington was in full sail now. Her arms were crossed in front of her, one brow arched, her face set in lines of scorn. She turned her predatory gaze to Neville. “Well, Neville, what have you to say for yourself?”

  “Um,” Neville began eloquently, struggling to his feet.

  Fitz stood up beside him. Neither of them looked impressive, their hair soaked and dripping, blood trickling from a cut on Neville’s chin, and Fitz’s thin lawn shirt plastered to his body.

  “I beg your pardon, Lady Symington,” Fitz told her, executing an elegant bow.

  He looked ridiculous, Eve knew, yet one could not help but admire his form. Even the fierce Lady Symington could not quite suppress a softening at the corner of her mouth.

  “I should hope so,” she told him. “But it is not your apology that interests me at the moment. It is Mr. Carr’s.” She turned to him.

  “Please accept my apologies, my lady.” Carr obliged with a bow almost as perfect as Fitz’s. “I am afraid Talbot and I got into a slight argument . . . over a game of cards.”

  “Cards. Of course. I can see that you are both dressed for it.” Lady Symington flashed a look of disdain at the men. “But I was not speaking of your fisticuffs. Nor should your apology be aimed at me. It is Lady Priscilla whom you have grievously offended this night.” She gave her daughter a sharp poke in the back, sending her stumbling forward a step.

  “Mother! No!” Priscilla shot her mother an agonized glance. “Neville, I’m sorry. You needn’t—”

  “Of course he needs to. It’s clear as day what is going on here. The man is fleeing with this little hussy.”

  Lily gasped, and Camellia cried, “Wait a minute! Who do you think—”

  But Lady Symington plowed ahead, ignoring them. “It’s an affront. An insult to Priscilla and to our entire family.”

  “Lady Symington, there’s no need for accusations or recriminations,” Fitz began smoothly, smiling in his winning way.

  “This matter is between Mr. Carr and my daughter,” Lady Symington told Fitz firmly. “He knows what he has to do.” She swung back to Neville, pinning him with a basilisk stare. “Neville, you have kept Priscilla dangling for years now. You know what she expects. What everyone expects, including your father.”

  “I have no intention of dancing to his tune!” Neville burst out. “Or yours. Or anyone else’s.”

  “Very dramatic. But I would hope that you retain some sense of honor. Of what is due your name. I would hope you would have some consideration for Priscilla.”

  “Mama! Please!”

  “If you consider yourself a gentleman, you know that you have to honor your word. You must propose to Priscilla. Now.”

  “No!” To everyone’s surprise, the word came from Priscilla. “Don’t you dare propose to me, Neville. I don’t want a proposal.” She turned to face her mother. She was trembling from head to toe, but her eyes were clear, her chin set as she went on. “I won’t marry Neville.”

  Everyone, even Lady Symington, was struck dumb. Priscilla pinkened a little under everyone’s gaze, but she continued, “I’m sorry, Neville.” She turned back to him with a tiny smile. “I have no ill will toward you. I like you; I always have. You were kind to me.”

  “But Priscilla . . .” He shook his head. “Why didn’t you say so? Why didn’t you tell me you didn’t want to marry?”

  “I was willing to marry you. I didn’t love you, but I never dreamed I would find anyone to love. And you, well, you seemed liked the best solution.” She sneaked a sideways glance at her mother that spoke more loudly than words to what she needed a solution to. “I liked you better than other men I knew. As I said, you were kind to me, and at least you weren’t prosy like most of the ones my mother favored. And you seemed to care about it no more than I did. It was nothing to do with you really, but I just . . . well, the idea of marrying and settling down with you on your estate, raising children and growing old, seemed so . . . boring. I’m sorry.”

  Neville looked so thunderstruck it was all Eve could do to suppress a giggle. Priscilla’s statements had apparently rendered him incapable of speech, but Priscilla’s mother was no longer so impaired.

  “Have you run mad?” Lady Symington’s voice reverberated through the hallway. “What do you think will happen to you if you don’t marry Neville? You won’t get any other offers. You’re a spinster, and now you’ll have the stigma of this . . . this . . .”

  “There’ll be no stigma,” Neville said quickly. “She refused me. A lady has a right to turn a man down, after all.”

  Lady Symington ignored him. Her eyes bored into her daughter’s. “Priscilla, think, for once in your life. If you throw away this chance you won’t get another one. What will you do?”

  “She will marry me.”

  Lady Symington whirled around. There, perched in his movable chair, sat Barthelemy Leveque.

  Eve sat down on the steps. She had thought she was at the limit of her surprise several moments ago when Priscilla stepped forward to defy her mother. But this announcement had proved her wrong. Fitz dropped onto the step beside her.

  “Did you have any idea about this?” he whispered.

  Eve shook her head. “None. I thought—well, that Camellia might—” She glanced toward that young girl, who was staring at Leveque with the same astonishment that was on every other face.

  “Barthelemy!” Priscilla cried, running over to his chair and dropping to her knees beside it. “What are you doing here? How did you get into your chair by yourself?”

  “It was difficult, but . . . how do you say it? Needs must. I could not leave you to fight the battle alone.”

  “Priscilla!” Lady Symington took a step toward her. “Get up from there. What do you think you’re doing? Have you completely lost your senses?”

  “No!” Priscilla rose and turned to face her mother, her hand slipping into Leveque’s. “I’ve finally gained them. Or perhaps it’s just that I’ve found my courage. I am going to marry Monsieur Leveque. We are going to travel about the world. I’m going to go up in balloons and help him with his research. And—oh, it’s going to be the most exciting life imaginable!”

  “Stop this nonsense this instant. You cannot marry this man. I will not allow it.” Lady Symington’s cheeks were stained red, her eyes stony.

  “I don’t need your permission, Mother. As you pointed out a moment ago I am long past the age of consent. I shall marry whom I choose.”

  “But—but he’s a balloonist. And a Frenchman.” Lady Symington delivered the final blow. “We don’t know his family.”

  “I know him.”

  Lady Symington stared at her daughter in astonishment as Priscilla turned away, saying, “I’m sorry, Neville, but I thought you would not mind.”

  “Mind?” A broad grin broke across Carr’s face. “My dear Priscilla, I’m delighted!” He laughed and turned around to pick Lily up and swing her around. She laughed too, flinging her arms around his neck and holding on as he twirled giddily. When he set her bac
k down, he went immediately down on one knee, taking her hand in his. “Miss Bascombe, will you do me the honor of accepting my hand in marriage?”

  Lily gazed down at him, starry-eyed. “Oh yes. You know I will.”

  Neville bounded to his feet and kissed her resoundingly before he turned to Fitz. “You’ll give me your approval now, won’t you?”

  Fitz smiled and clapped him on the shoulder. “It sounds excellent to me, but, you know, it’s Oliver you’ll have to convince, not I.”

  In the odd way of men, Eve thought, the two of them seemed to be the best of friends once again, despite having been rolling about on the floor, thrashing each other, a few minutes earlier.

  After that everyone began to talk at once. Cam went to her sister to hug her, and Eve was not far behind. The servants chattered excitedly, and Lady Symington took up her case with her daughter once more. The noise rose until suddenly several sharp barks split the air behind them. Everyone turned, startled, to see an impeccably dressed gentleman standing behind them, a scruffy black-and-white dog at his feet.

  “Since I was arriving at midnight I did not expect a warm welcome,” the Earl of Stewkesbury said mildly. “But I did think there might be someone to answer the door.”

  “Oliver!” Fitz jumped to his feet. “I have never been so glad to see you.”

  “Stewkesbury.” Lady Symington looked almost as pleased. “Perhaps you will be able to set everything straight. This lout”—she gestured toward Monsieur Leveque—“has somehow manipulated my daughter into—”

  At her words a chorus of voices rose, making it impossible to understand anyone. A pained expression crossed the earl’s face. His dog, on the other hand, seemed quite taken with the commotion and began to whirl and bark enthusiastically. Finally the earl raised the gold-knobbed cane he carried and brought it down on the floor with a sharp crack.

  The noise stopped instantly. “Thank you.” Stewkesbury looked at his brother. “Fitz, if you will join me in my study, perhaps you can explain how we acquired all of our, um, guests. Bostwick, I’d like a small collation, if you don’t mind. I suggest that the rest of you get some sleep. Good night.”

  With that, the earl turned and walked away. The servants scurried off, Bostwick harrying the others before him. Fitz, with an apologetic glance at Eve, went after his brother, and everyone else began to break up as well. Eve sat for a moment, watching the activity around her. Then, with a sigh, she stood up and turned back to her room.

  Now that the earl was back, she had a feeling her idyll was over.

  Eve’s trepidation had not diminished by the next morning. She could not help but worry that her time at Willowmere was almost up. The earl would be appalled to discover that under her chaperonage Lily had been on the verge of eloping with a man all but engaged to another woman. Whatever he decided about Lily and Neville’s marrying, he would be bound to view Eve as an utter failure. And if he heard the gossip that was bound to circulate about her and Fitz after last night, he would whisk her away from Camellia as quickly as possible.

  It came as no surprise to her, therefore, when a footman approached her as she was going down to breakfast and requested her presence in the earl’s study as soon as she finished her meal. After that summons it was impossible for her to eat. She nibbled at a piece of toast and sipped some tea, relieved to find that there was no one at the table besides Gordon, who generally required only himself to carry on a conversation.

  Eve soon excused herself and walked down the hallway to the earl’s study, her stomach roiling with nerves. She knocked softly and entered the room on the earl’s response. He stood up, smiling, and gestured for her to take a chair.

  “Ah, Mrs. Hawthorne.”

  “Lord Stewkesbury.” She sat down in the chair across from his desk. It was better, she thought, to broach the matter and get it over with. “I am sorry that you arrived home to find such turmoil.”

  “A trifle more people than I had expected, but then, with this family, I have come to expect the . . . unusual.”

  “You must feel that I have let you down tremendously.” Eve squared her shoulders and faced him. “I am aware that I have failed you in my chaperonage of Lily.”

  To her surprise he chuckled. “My dear Mrs. Hawthorne, I have been assured that it was your efforts alone that kept the situation from being worse than it is. Lily and Camellia would be a test of any chaperone, and with the other distractions—the balloonist, the measles, your unexpected guests—frankly I am astounded at how well you have managed the whole thing.”

  “Honestly?” Eve stared at him. If it had been anyone other than the earl, she would have been certain that he was bamboozling her.

  He nodded. “Of course. Fitz explained it to me. He should have sent Neville away earlier, of course. Indeed I am to blame for not foreseeing the possibility of the attraction. I should have sent Neville packing before I left for London. However, I am not sure that any of us could have withstood the force that is Lily Bascombe bent on true love. In any case I have given the match my blessing. I doubt that anyone more responsible than Neville would appeal to my cousin. His name and fortune are most respectable, and now that there is no impediment, I feel sure his father will approve of the marriage. His primary concern is to see Neville married without scandal, and I am sure that an alliance with the Talbot family will suit him.”

  “Oh. Well . . . I am very glad, then.” Eve paused. “And Lady Symington will not, um, object?”

  He smiled faintly. “I think I can persuade Lady Symington to see reason. None of this was my reason for seeing you. I must not keep you, as I am sure you will be wanting to speak to Fitz before he leaves for London. But I wanted to thank you for all you have done the last few weeks. Fitz told me of the responsibilities you took on after the household was struck by measles, how hard you have worked. It was far more than anyone could have expected of you. Please accept my gratitude.”

  “Of course.” Eve was surprised that she could speak through lips that were suddenly bloodless and frozen. Fitz is leaving for London? The earl’s words of thanks barely registered with that news reverberating in her brain. “I was happy to do so.”

  She stood up, as did the earl, and took her leave, barely aware of what she was saying, knowing only that she had to get away from there and by herself before she broke down. Leaving his office, she turned and walked swiftly toward the back of the house.

  Obviously the earl believed Fitz would talk to her before he left. She knew that it was the sort of thing he would do. Fitz was too much of a gentleman to leave without a word of good-bye. He would tell her he was going, would express his regrets that their affair had come to an end. No doubt he would say that he held a great affection for her; perhaps he would even leave her with a discreet and elegant gift—a bracelet of precious stones, say.

  Eve could not face that right now. She was too stunned, her emotions too raw. She knew that her only recourse was to get out of the house, to go where she could sit alone and think, where she could pull her tattered pride together and prepare herself to face Fitz.

  She slipped out the back door and down the steps of the terrace into the garden. It was a little chilly for the dress she wore, but she could not return to the house for a shawl or her bonnet and gloves. She had to walk as far and as fast as she could.

  It was foolish, really, to be so stunned. She had known this moment was coming. It was just that she had not expected it to arrive so suddenly, so swiftly. Yesterday she had been wrapped in Fitz’s arms, warm and secure. Today he was returning to London. Leaving her.

  She turned toward the herb garden, knowing that she could be sure of finding both a little sun and peace there. But barely had she sat down on the bench inside the garden than she heard the crunch of feet on the gravel walk leading up to the garden. She turned, annoyed with herself for having chosen a place with no other exit. Now she would have to meet someone, exchange at least a friendly greeting before she could leave. She started forward, thinking that
she could pretend to be on the verge of leaving the garden when the visitor walked in, enabling her to slip away more quickly.

  The newcomer stepped through the gate, and Eve’s heart sank. It was Fitz.

  “Hello, Fitz.” She braced herself. “I’m sorry. I was about to leave.”

  His brows went up. “You just walked in here. I followed you.”

  She tried a smile and was acutely aware that it trembled slightly. “Yes. I should not have come out without a shawl. I must go back and—”

  He answered her by stripping off his jacket and wrapping it around her shoulders. “There. That’s better, isn’t it?”

  Eve wanted to cry out that it was not better at all. Now she was enveloped in the scent and warmth of him almost as surely as if he had put his arms around her. But she could not speak; she was too close to tears. She nodded and turned away, walking back toward the bench, struggling to bring her emotions under control.

  She turned when she reached the bench, straightening her shoulders and facing him squarely. She had never been a coward, and she was not about to start now. Gathering all of her courage, she said, “I know what you are about to say.”

  “Do you?” He smiled. “I wondered if you did. I tried to tell you yesterday in the carriage and then again last night, but I was distracted by other things.”

  She remembered the moments, and she wondered if it would have been easier if he had told her then. Eve didn’t think it would ever have been easy for her. It pierced her that Fitz seemed so lighthearted about it.

  “The earl mentioned you were leaving for London, so it didn’t take great prescience on my part. It’s not a surprise, of course.” She struggled for a careless tone to match his. “The country must have grown boring for you. If your responsibilities had not held you here, no doubt you would have left some time ago.”

  Fitz looked at her, his brow knitting. “Some time ago? What are you talking about? Why would I—”