“You look lovely, my lady,” Stella commented, finishing with her hair.
Evelyn glanced at herself in the mirror. A narrow, pale face with ice-blue eyes, full lips and high cheekbones looked back.
“Thank you,” Evelyn said warmly. “I am glad someone thinks so.”
Stella laughed. “My lady, everyone thinks so. I am but the only one bold enough to say it.”
It was Evelyn's turn to laugh. “You are certainly the boldest of my acquaintances, so mayhap that is true.”
“Mayhap, my lady.”
Later, dressed in a pale blue habit with a fur-lined hood, a white bonnet close about her ears, Evelyn braved the elements to head toward the stables. She asked the other groom to saddle Larkspur, her horse, and rode out across the estate.
I wonder if I will remember him when I see him? It had been nine years ago. Perhaps her memory had distorted the man's features. Besides, she recalled, it was nine years ago. He had been about her father's age. Now he would be older. His black hair would be graying, his sight less acute. She probably would not know him at all.
It is worth pursuing all traces, she decided, riding out across the grounds. If only to cure herself of her childhood fancies.
As she rode unswerving to the estate, she heard a shot whistling through the leaves over her head. She realized that she must have ridden straight into someone's end-of-season hunting party.
“Larkspur? Halt!” she cried, turning the reins.
As she stopped, she heard the sounds of more shots and then of hooves, rumbling past her on the damp leaves.
“Out of the way!” an imperious English voice required.
Evelyn pulled Larkspur sharply back. She stared. It was him. The Dark-Haired Man. He had not aged a day, it appeared.
Sitting astride a pale hunting stallion, he shot past with confident ease, black hair whipped back from his forehead in the breeze. He was fair-skinned, his eyes dark, his cloak as black as when she had last seen him. She would remember him anywhere.
Fearing witchcraft, Evelyn turned her horse, terrified. A shot went off again, and this time Larkspur reared and bolted.
“Halt!” Evelyn cried, a little desperately. Her horse was only roused to greater terror. The two of them shot off across the snow, Evelyn clinging to the saddle, her hood thrown back, bonnet torn away from her head by the wind. She could feel the skid as Larkspur ran over ice, and she was terrified they would slip, or she would be thrown.
“Halt!” a voice shouted.
The man was riding beside her. He raced to keep up with her horse. She glanced to her right and saw him keeping pace, his black-cloaked body like a raven on his horse, keeping his profile low, back straight and stretched.
He shouted encouragement to his horse to stream ahead. When he was level with her, he reached across a hand. His gloves were dark tanned leather and his fingers wrapped around the bridle. Larkspur, pulled sharply sideways by the hand on the bridle, turned and stopped.
Evelyn could barely breathe.
Blinded with tears, shaking all over, she sniffed and wiped her nose. She mopped straggling golden hair out of her eyes, still lying across her horse's neck, too exhausted to sit up. All she saw from here was a torso, black-clad, hands in dark gloves gripping the reins like talons. She shook herself and sat up. Her eyes met his face.
“Hello,” he said, and grinned with amusement. “It is a pleasure to meet you. Though I would have scheduled the meeting for a more congenial time if I could have.”
Evelyn coughed. She felt like she had turned to ice. Her whole body was freezing, shivering, too stiff for motion. She looked into his lean, handsome face and thought at that moment that her world had turned in on itself, exploding into wonder and chaos all at once.
“Hello...” she said uncertainly
“Lord Barrett,” the man said, holding out a hand in friendship. “Barrett Brokeridge. I am sorry for some fool in our party scaring your horse. He shall be dealt with. It is a pleasure to meet you,” he said again.
Evelyn felt her stomach tighten as he looked at her. His eyes roamed over her with amusement, seeming to drink in what he saw. She sat up straighter, feeling the touch of his eyes glow inside her like fire. She had never been looked at like that. She smoothed her habit, wondering what she looked like to make him stare so. She blushed and bit her lip.
“I...” She paused, trying to gather her thoughts, “Am Lady Evelyn. Pleased to meet you too, sir.” Her voice was soft. She wanted to ask how it was possible – how he was here, looking, if anything, younger than on the day she saw him first. Other than that, nothing else had changed. It was snowing and he was hunting. Not grouse – they would not be in such thick woodland. Still, the coincidence was incredible: it must have been nine years almost to the day since she saw him last.
“My lady,” he said. He took the proffered hand and held it to his lips. His breath was warm even through the thin leather of her riding gloves, and it made her shiver to feel his mouth grace the back of her hand. He released her, his eyes lingering on her face.
“It is late in the season for a hunt, is it not?” Evelyn said, noticing with irritation that her voice wavered and cracked. It must be the terror of the ride. She knew it was not – that it was his presence and the deep effect it had on her.
“I agree it is.” he said mildly. “The right season for winter quarry, I must add. It is fortunate to have met you here, my lady. May I impose on you an invitation to our party? Though I would once again rather have delivered it in better circumstances.”
Evelyn stared. “Your...hunting party?” Evelyn never hunted. She did not know of any ladies who did. She knew some who enjoyed riding out with the men on a hunt. She herself hated the idea of death and preferred not to witness it. The idea of something being killed for sport was cruel.
He laughed, showing the white teeth she remembered, though the smile seemed less sharp-edged and deadly now. “No, not that party. I meant the party at the estate later this evening. It is rare to meet fair maidens in the woods, and I would be pleased if you were to grace my dance floor today.”
Evelyn swallowed hard. She felt as if she had strayed into another world: A world in which the dark-haired man was a real man, rendered kinder, younger, and now as interested in her as she was in him. “Lord Barrett, it would be a delight.”
He laughed again. “I am pleased to hear that. However, I trust you shall reserve a dance for me? I am the host and it would be remiss not to.” He turned his lip down in a rueful smile.
Evelyn laughed then, he spirits light like singing birds. “Lord Barrett! Of course, I shall dance with you.”
“Good.”
Suddenly, she heard something rustling in the bushes, twigs cracked. A horseman rode out of the woodland, and another. “Lord Barrett?” the older man asked. “You caught the lady? Well done. Miss, are you hurt?”
Their faces were grave, and Evelyn swallowed hard. “I am unharmed,” she said bravely. “Albeit a little shaken.”
“Good,” the older man said. “Good.”
“May I, Thomson, introduce Evelyn? The fair Lady Evelyn. I have invited her to our party tonight.”
“Good,” the man said and nodded deeply. “Now, my lady, will you ride back with us? The woods are dangerous. Allow us to escort you home.”
Evelyn swallowed. Since Larkspur's headlong rush, she had absolutely not the faintest idea in which region she was. She would have found it hard to find her way back alone. “Thank you.”
“Not at all, milady,” the second man said. “Least we could do.”
“Are the rest of the party – Are they where we were previous?” Barrett asked as they rode through the darkening woodland. It looked like snow would fall.
Evelyn bit her lip, listening to the dark velvety voice that broke the silence under the trees.
“They are, Lord Barrett.”
“Good. Then they can wait until we return.”
“Indeed.”
The stiffness
of his tone made Evelyn wonder what kind of punishment was planned for the man who’d made her horse bolt. Angry as she was that he had scared her so, she hoped it was not as vicious as he made it sound.
The four of them rode though the trees, back toward Evelyn's home. As she described to the men how to reach her home, Evelyn wondered at the way the other two men deferred to the tall black-clad lord. One of them seemed to be in service, but the other seemed a peer, his hunting boots and jacket excellent quality, hair brushed and glossy.
“You are well, milady?” the man she thought was in service asked courteously.
His lordship was riding far ahead now as they neared her home, and Evelyn cleared her throat. “Yes, thank you. I am.”
“Good,” the man said. He and his companion looked at each other.
“Didn't want to leave you alone with Barrett,” the other man admitted. “It's ridiculous, but I sometimes think it's catching.
“What is?” Evelyn asked, feeling frightened.
“The Brokeridge curse.”
The servant coughed with laughter. “Oh, Lord Thomson!”
“What?” the man asked lightly.
“That's all nonsense. I heard the last of that when the present lord's father was here. What, ten years ago?”
“Nine years. I know. I know it is fanciful prattle,” the man added. “But sometimes I wonder.” He shivered and pulled his cloak closer around him.
The servant chuckled dryly.
Evelyn felt her heart stop. Lord Brokeridge of nine years ago was this man's father. And he bore a curse. The more she thought about it, the more she wished to know. What was the curse? And what manner of man was the son? She could not wait to find out more.
CHAPTER THREE
DISTURBING DISCOVERIES
DISTURBING DISCOVERIES
“Evelyn! You must be almost dead. Do go and take a warm bath, dear? You'll catch an ague if you don't!”
Evelyn nodded stiffly. She would have done more, but she was, indeed, almost too cold and exhausted to move. She slowly walked up the stairs to her bedchamber and pulled the bell for Stella.
“Oh, my lady,” Stella said, coming in with fresh water for a warm bath. “You must be like ice! It's freezing cold out there...” she shuddered.
“I am thawing, Stella.” Evelyn smiled. She stayed in a while longer and then allowed Stella to help her dry off and dress in new warm robes. It was not quite true: Despite the bath and the new clothes, Evelyn found that she felt no warmer. The ice was inside her and would not be thawed. It was as if the magic of Lord Barrett's presence fed on her very heart, drawing warmth from her.
She sat at her desk when Stella had left, trying to write. The words came easily, and seemed to flow from her heart. The man of her imagination was real, and here. She described meeting him, feeling a frisson of excitement at the thought that soon, so soon, she would see him up close. She could talk to him, find out more about him. I can find out why he was so feared and hated. The fact that Bronson said he was evil disturbed her greatly. And was it Lord Brokeridge himself that was so feared, or did the taint extend to his son? Barrett seemed a perfectly pleasant man, if a little...reckless? Disturbing? She was not sure what the best word was to describe him.
“My lady?”
“Oh, Stella!” Evelyn jumped, and put a hand on her heart, feeling it race. “You scared me.”
“Begging your pardon, my lady,” Stella apologized. “But your lady mother was calling you. She says Mrs. Chapman is here to do the dress fittings. The first gown is almost completed.”
“Oh!” Evelyn was surprised to feel a sense of excitement about that. If it fit perfectly, she could wear it to the ball that evening.
“Mother!” she said, smiling at the taller woman, who stood waiting outside the small parlor, where they usually did the fittings.
“You look happy, my dear.” Her mother smiled and kissed her cheek. “I was so worried about you, being so cold!”
“I am well,” Evelyn said warmly. “I even have some color in my cheeks!”
Her mother laughed. Evelyn's paleness was something she often remarked upon.
Five minutes later, dressed in the elegant white gown with its gossamer-light sleeves, she was glad she was so pale. It fit perfectly and looked “angelic”, or so her mother said. Evelyn, looking at her face and shoulders in the mirror above the mantelpiece, had to admit that it did suit her very well indeed.
“Thank you, Mother,” she smiled, kissing her mother on the cheek. “It is perfect. Absolutely perfect.”
“Not at all, my dear,” her mother demurred. “It more than makes up for it, seeing someone so lovely wearing it.”
Evelyn blushed. “I think I might have occasion to wear it sooner than you think.”
“Oh?” Her mother raised her brow. She looked rather pleased, Evelyn thought, and she decided to push ahead.
“Yes! I met a hunting party in the woods while out riding. The head of it – Lord Barrett – he invited me to the party at his house this evening. It is a hunting ball, for sure, but I think it would be reasonable to wear such a gown?” Evelyn smiled hopefully.
Her mother laughed. “Of course, you shall wear it, Evelyn!” A small frown appeared on her face. “But do take Dennis as an escort, dear? It is safer, and more proper.”
Evelyn made a wry face, but nothing could quell her happy spirits. “Of course, Mother. I promise to take Dennis, if you would feel happier because of it.” Dennis was the son of her father's closest friend, Toby, Lord Merriot. The fact that they happened to be in the country at the time was convenient – Dennis had long ago given up the idea of Evelyn's hand in marriage and would place no strictures on her.
“Thank you, dear. I would.”
The rest of the day passed in a blur and Evelyn spent most of it writing. When the time arrived to dress for the ball, she was lost in the world of her books. Stella helped her into the magnificent new gown and arranged her hair, a process which took almost an hour. Finally, Stella stepped back, hands clasped.
“There, my lady! You look so lovely.”
Evelyn stood a little back from her bedroom mirror, surveying the effect. She was clad in a gown of gossamer-soft muslin with a silver band cinching the high waist. Her pale hair was tied back in an elaborate style that left soft ringlets cascading down her back. The color of the gown brought out the icy paleness of her eyes. I don't look too bad, she thought, smiling. Her mother had not been wrong – she looked like an angel.
The carriage ride was short. Evelyn tried valiantly to breathe as she walked up the marble staircase on Lord Dennis' arm. The manor – Winchester Hill Heights – loomed over her, gray and weathered. She gripped Dennis' arm and tried not to fall.
He is here. Right here.
She swallowed hard, trying to compose her thoughts. She was at the top of the stairs now, and ready to meet the hosts for the evening. The host. Lord Barrett.
She walked straight-backed and tall, feeling every bump in the marble stairs beneath the slippers of silk on her feet.
I am so glad to be here.
She looked up at the high elaborate ceiling, where it soared high above her head. The hall was smaller than their own, but made up for it in the exquisite soaring arches, the high, molded ceiling and the parquet floors.
“My lady of the woodlands,” a voice teased her. She looked up into a pair of eyes. Coal-black and sparkling, they questioned and enticed her at once.
“Lord Barrett,” she said, dropping her gaze and making a deep curtsey as he took her hand, “a delight to see you again, so soon.”
“In more congenial surroundings than that first meeting, I trust,” he remarked lightly. “Come inside! I cannot leave you in the cold.” He waved her in elaborately before turning to Dennis. “Good evening, my lord,” he said coolly.
Dennis greeted him bemusedly, glancing at Evelyn. She had received such an elaborate greeting where he received only a curt nod. Evelyn bit her lip, laughing at his chagrin.
> “I met him earlier, in the woods. Out with the hunting party,” she explained quietly as they walked past the group at the doorway.
“Oh,” Dennis said, and nodded. “That makes sense.”
From the confused expression, Evelyn could tell it made no sense to Dennis, but she laughed. “Thank you, Dennis. It is good of you to bring me here.” She squeezed his arm.
“Any reason for a party is good, Evelyn.” He smiled at her. “And I am pleased to escort you. I'll be lucky if that fellow on the door doesn't bore his eyes into the back of my head before the night's old. He's been staring at you since we came in here.”
Evelyn laughed. “No, Dennis! I don't believe you.” She blushed. She glanced back and noticed that Lord Barrett had indeed been looking after the pair of them. He must have seen her glance away, for his head whipped round as if to pretend he was not watching them. She grinned.
“Told you so,” her companion said reasonably. “Now, where are the refreshments? I'm parched and famished and I wouldn't mind some warmth either.”
Evelyn laughed and let him lead her across the room, to where the trestles bearing drinks and food stood opposite the fireplace. She selected a glass of dark amber wine and savored the rich, warm taste on her tongue. The wine was sweet and syrupy and slid into her, warming her toes.
“My lady?”
Evelyn turned to see Lord Barrett behind her. He had a glass of white wine, and he was smiling his hawk-sharp grin.
“Lord Barrett!” she exclaimed, feeling her heart pounding as she turned fully to see him. “I had not thought you were free of your onerous duties as a host?” She inclined her head toward the double doors of the ballroom. They were shut.
An Earl To Remember (The Yorkshire Downs Series - Love, Hearts and Challenges) (A Regency Romance Story) Page 19