A Practical Arrangement

by Nadja Notariani

  “Not when it makes you both behave in such giddy fashion,” Evangeline reproached in a quiet tone.

  Really. Of all the nonsense!

  Preparing herself for the humiliation of obsequious blathering to occur upon the gentlemen's arrival proved a lonesome girding. Even Melody was carried away to impossible silliness. Then again, Evangeline alone remained unaffected, proving further that she, rather than those around her, reacted oddly. The idea was not a new one. Evangeline did not care to be overflowing to folly at any rate.

  And of all the people to be arriving! Why did it need to be Mr. Masterson and his friend? Melody had been quite taken with Jonathan Lane. It was the reason for the worry in her middle. Melody would be at the mercy of Mr. Lane's charms, unable to resist. Evangeline only hoped her father would monopolize Thomas Masterson's time, saving her from being in his company overmuch.

  The steady, rhythmic click of her knitting needles continued, her hands employed in useful activity while she ruminated. There was also Mrs. Rhodes to consider. Evangeline flushed miserably at the thoughts of facing Verla's questions about the visit. This gave her most cause to worry, for her sister never considered anyone would think or act maliciously. Evangeline strove to find the good in everyone; it was only right to do so, but she also knew it best to err on the side of caution. Especially with gossipy Verla Rhodes.

  “They've arrived, girls,” Opal announced. “I'll go out to welcome them with your father.”

  With a flourish, her mother glided from the room, and when Evangeline glanced Melody's way the sisters shared their amusement at her dramatic exit. Fortune surely would be kind to her today, for she'd heard her father speaking of his itinerary with his curator, Mr. Bankirk, promising a busy day for the gentlemen. Not until dinner would she have to entertain her father's guests.

  Voices traveled from the vestibule, filling Evangeline's ears with the pleasant greetings exchanged all around. Thankfully, the group proceeded past the sitting room entrance, her mother loudly insisting their guests be shown at once to their rooms. Quiet again settled around her, and Evangeline knitted away contentedly on the shawl for one of the local children. A smile touched her mouth, the thought of the children's surprise at Christmas a happy thing to look forward to.

  Melody worked a short while, her excitement overcoming her ability to sit still. “I'm going to find Mother,” she said at last, relief evident in her tone to have some activity, no matter what, to excuse herself from sitting.

  Evangeline felt sorry for Melody in a small way, her mother as well. They had no defense, no antidote to counter the forceful emotions stirred in them. She counted herself lucky to have been spared their burden.

  In good time Melody and their mother returned, tea arriving directly afterward, and while glad to see them she couldn't deny sorrow over her lost solitude.

  “Oh, they both are such handsome men, Melody. And wealthy enough, too.”

  “Mr. Lane is, by far, more handsome with his light hair and eyes,” Melody admired openly.

  They really are too silly! Infatuated girls, you'd think!

  “What say you, Evangeline?” Melody challenged brightly. “Which gentleman do you prefer?”

  Pursing her lips, Evangeline took a deep breath.

  Of all the fiddle-faddle! Preferring gentlemen!

  “I don't prefer either of them, nor any other for that matter.”

  But as usual, Providence gave her no quarter, choosing the moment of her sister's question to spring said gentlemen into the sitting room. All eyes landed upon her, her father grinning in a most amused way. Evangeline flushed, a deep burn rising under her skin. Thomas Masterson made his greetings, and as the others conversed around the tea cart he neared, taking her hand and bringing it to his lips.

  “I'd take you at your word, Miss Grey, but your pretty blush suggests perhaps you do harbor a preference.” His eyes simmered, locked intently on hers.

  Oh! What did he mean by saying that?

  She found herself squirming under that gaze of his – and appalled – stilled immediately. Gathering herself, she answered. “Never confuse indifference with deceit, Mr. Masterson.”

  Still, he did not look away, surprising her.

  “Good advice, Miss Grey. I'll keep it in mind for the future. Now, would you care for tea?”

  “No, thank you.” Evangeline released her tension and smiled at the return of safe conversation. “But I believe we, as your hosts, should be offering tea to you. Excuse me for not offering sooner.”

  His weighty gaze rested on her mouth, voice kind, soft. “Think nothing of it.”

  “Mr. Masterson!” Opal Grey fussed. “Come, dear, and sit.”

  Thomas obliged.

  “It is wonderful to see you. Your aunt is well? Oh! I haven't seen her in nearly two weeks.” Opal gave no real chance for Thomas, or anyone else for that matter, to answer - or even to speak more than short replies.

  Evangeline became stiller even, her will to vanish not able to grant her escape. It grew worse with every ill placed inquiry.

  “No wife? Tsk. You're sure to need a pretty bride soon! Be careful, or all the lovely women will be snapped up. My Melody, for instance, was married at eighteen. Ah, sadly widowed. Did I mention before that she was a widow? Well...no matter now. Her mourning period is ended.”

  “You had mentioned,” Thomas offered, an odd smile upon his lips.

  Evangeline wondered what he was thinking at her mother's lack of couth. It was as if the walls closed in around her. Opal moved on to interrogate and inform Mr. Lane, leaving Evangeline an opening to escape.

  “Will you excuse me?” she asked her father.

  “Where are you going, dear?”

  “I'd like to get some fresh air.”

  “That is a splendid idea, Evangeline. Melody, Mr. Lane, Mr. Masterson, would you care to walk?”

  Melody grabbed the opportunity to walk with Mr. Lane, and Evangeline fought back the urge to sag. Getting away now was unlikely.

  “Mr. Masterson, my daughter knows the fields on the south slope well.” Albert winked, as if letting Thomas in on a secret. “Besides, it will save an old man's bones a little wear and tear.” Turning to Evangeline, he added, “Take the path all around the south facing fields for now. It's a good walk. Mr. Bankirk will be back and forth; you may see him along your journey. The fields will be ploughed under for wintering beginning today.”

  Thomas readily agreed, much to Evangeline's chagrin. Now how was she to escape his conversation? Melody and Mr. Lane would surely pair up, leaving her to play hostess.

  “Evangeline,” her father called her near. “While the workers are in the fields, you are not to walk alone.”

  “I enjoy a walk, Miss Grey, and would be happy to accompany you during my visit – along with your sister and Mr. Lane, of course,” Thomas added, looking warily at Albert. The man encouraged their walk today, but Thomas remembered clearly Albert's request. And his challenge.

  “Oh,” she breathed, the single syllable soft and wary.

  “Then it's settled.” Albert finalized the matter before Evangeline could voice any protest.

  The room erupted with bustling excitement, Melody insisting Mr. Lane join them, Opal fussing that the girls dress warmly. But Evangeline remained still, Thomas Masterson's assessing, questioning gaze weighing her down. She looked away, eager to be out of doors and out from under those eyes. Yes. Those odd eyes. First a deep blue, then gray, now almost green. They changed, blended, swirling color until she could not define their hue.

  Exiting the house proved a most difficult and lengthy experience. By the time they were on their way Evangeline blazed with impatience. Her legs itched to stretch long and shove off against the ground. Not only forced to play hostess when she'd rather be alone, she now saw her invigorating walk slip away, replaced with a stroll – and idle chit-chat that meant nothing, was about nothing. Nothing real anyway.

  “Evangeline! Slow down!” Melody huffed. “Why are you rushing
so?”

  To get away.

  “Oh, forgive me,” she apologized. “I seem to be overeager for fresh air and exercise.” More so eager to complete this ruse and be free of it, but she couldn't very well admit that aloud.

  “Well, we will never be able to converse if you insist on running!”

  Melody set a leisurely pace, and Evangeline thought to burst from pent up frustration. What Melody wanted was to be the way it would go. Evangeline learned that long ago. She could always set her own pace, leaving them all behind. That thought prompted a private, secret smile to bloom upon her lips.

  “What pleases you so to produce that wicked smile, Miss Grey?”

  Oh. Caught.

  The smile faded, Evangeline displeased at forgetting herself in front of others. “I was merely appreciating being out of doors, Mr. Masterson.”

  He eyed her steadily, amused. She didn't care for it.

  Leaning near as he offered his arm, which polite behavior demanded she take, he returned, “Is that so?” His crooked smile suggested disbelief, but thankfully, he let it drop, changing the subject. “How many fields will you show me?”

  “Five in all. Four run east to west.” She glanced when he halted their pace. “And the last runs north to south on the flat section farthest down.” Seeing his gaze linger over the slopes visible from where they stood, Evangeline pointed in the general direction of the hidden field. He stared a moment more, the stillness inviting her to stand gazing alongside him. Nature's beauty overcame her, her release of breath audible as she sighed her enjoyment.

  Thomas turned his gaze on her at the sound, smiling, and reached his free hand to settle atop her arm, which rested, still, on his own. “My sentiments exactly, Miss Grey,” he said softly.

  Such a serene moment. Pleasant even. Ruined by that hand atop hers.

  Evangeline fidgeted, restless to be out from under his touch. “Shall we continue on?” she asked politely, ignoring his gentle comment.

  “We had better. Mr. Lane and Mrs. Brentwood are leaving us behind.”

  “Yes. It wouldn't do at all if we were to fall too far behind.” Evangeline attempted to pick up their pace.

  “No, not at all,” Thomas added wryly. “Your reputation may become tarnished, rumors of stolen kisses plaguing us both.”

  He was laughing at her! Embarrassed, heat spread under her skin uncomfortably. Not to be made sport of without dealing a consequence, she scoffed, “As if any would believe so unlikely a tale. No, Mr. Masterson, I believe we shall escape, reputations – at least my reputation – unscathed.”

  Instead of a shameful look, Evangeline met the sidelong and bemused glance of Thomas Masterson, frustrating her further. He appeared smugly satisfied with the entire exchange.

  “Don't frown, Miss Grey. It is not becoming,” he provoked, fueling her ire.

  “Let me assure you, sir. I've no desire to appear becoming, not to you, nor to any other.”

  “How very unfortunate,” he tutted mischievously.

  “Unfortunate?” Evangeline blinked at him. “I dare say I expect relief should flood your person at your narrow escape from the becoming of yet another silly woman.” It was Evangeline's turn to be smug.

  “Narrow escape, Miss Grey? You make it sound perfectly dangerous.” His murky gray-green eyes gleamed like an exotic, polished stone. “Scandalous, even.”

  Evangeline returned his glittering gaze, indifference the thing she hoped to convey rather than disdain, certain that emotion of any sort would only encourage him. “I hold no interest in danger, Mr. Masterson, nor scandal. Now, may we get on with your tour of the fields?”

  Thomas frowned. The tiny Miss Grey had dismissed him for the second time.

  Chapter Three

  Barley and fields and wintering. Thomas closed his eyes a long moment, puzzled. He was enjoying himself, a great deal even. Most everything Evangeline related about farming techniques Thomas knew, but he kept his knowledge private. The last thing he needed was for Uncle Winston to discover his utter...competence. He'd be forced into respectable adulthood, no doubt, if found out.

  At twenty-nine years old, Thomas had no plans to settle down and accept the gilded cage of respectability. The moment his aunt or uncle suspected any serious interests, he'd be sentenced to the dullness of gentleman status. Thomas preferred the freedom his reputation as a seducer afforded. No one expected much. No attachments to weigh him down. No lies to tell. No pleasure to deny himself.

  No real risk.

  Perhaps age altered one's disposition, because here he stood, animated and wholly absorbed in discussion, discussion on a perfectly mundane topic – engaged with a perfectly plain woman. The irony was not lost on him; though it seemed the more he studied her, the more pleasing her features became. Yesterday had been equally satisfying once he’d abandoned his unsuccessful attempts at charming the serious Miss Grey. Those plans shelved, Thomas determined to uncover what made Evangeline Grey tick, to unravel the knotted lady one loop at a time. Only then could he affect her to the degree she'd been able to unbalance him.

  Thomas allowed the devilish whisper of a smile to dance across his full, sensual mouth. Dark hair, thick and coarse, curled around either side of the pronounced cowlick he had inherited from his father. The back was short and trimmed. Equally dark lashes fanned around mercurial eyes. Thomas Masterson was a ruggedly handsome man. Standing six-foot, two-inches in height, he stood above most men; at one-hundred eighty-five pounds, he was lean and trim.

  “Mr. Masterson?” Evangeline repeated, blinking, and turned to him.

  “Excuse me,” he apologized. “I was lost in thought. What did you say?” He met her gaze, grinning ruefully.

  “You? Lost in thought? I'm tempted to be impressed.”

  Brown eyes, warm with humor, caught him off guard, and Thomas responded amiably, “Miss Grey, even I fail to remain constant in an odd moment.”

  Rosy lips lifted slightly, a playful smile nearly granted.

  “Brisk outdoor activities amend you also,” he added, taking advantage of the unguarded familiarity, “tempting me to be impressed as well.”

  He waited, but the lighthearted moment slipped away. Quiet comfortableness settled between them on the stroll back to the house. The pair followed Jonathan and Melody at a distance to give a modicum of privacy. Thomas wished they had farther to go. He hadn't felt so relaxed in – well he could not remember when, unless counting the peace that flooded him immediately after gaining his crisis.

  Lunch was waiting when they re-entered the house, Opal Grey worrying incessantly over Melody. It irritated Thomas, exactly why he could not quite identify. Hearty barley stew warmed his insides as happy conversation between Jonathan and Mrs. Brentwood monopolized the attention of Mrs. Grey.

  “You found some techniques that will be of use on your lands, I trust?” Albert questioned over the chatter.

  “I have. Increasing our production will benefit not only my income, but will also allow for improvements without cutting that income.”

  “Yes, yes, my boy. Maintaining or even bolstering profits is always the goal. You still plan to assume Cherry Hill in the spring?”

  “My uncle has decreed it to be so,” Thomas replied dryly.

  Albert chuckled. “Winston has a firm hand. I well understand.” Albert shifted attention to his oldest daughter. “Did you show Mr. Masterson the new storage buildings by chance on any of your walks?”

  “Oh,” she said thoughtfully. “I hadn't considered...” Her cheeks flushed. “It would have been helpful; I should have...”

  “No matter, my dear. It was only an afterthought,” Albert interrupted.

  Thomas watched Evangeline sitting rigidly in her chair, and a pang of tenderness uncoiled in his gut. She seemed upset.

  “This will give you reason to visit us again before the harshest weather sets in,” Albert suggested.

  “Thank you, sir,” Thomas responded. “I look forward to it. Before Christmas, then.” He peered dir
ectly at Evangeline then, wanting to fire her ire, to dispel the stiff, awkward discomfort he saw in her by rousing the challenging woman he'd encountered thus far. “Miss Grey, perhaps you can rectify your oversight then.”

  “Of course,” she answered, no ire evident. “Again, I am sorry I did not think of it.”

  She acted contrite, almost embarrassed, sparking unease in Thomas. He'd not meant to censure her.

  Is that what she thinks?

  “Miss Grey, I am hardly sorry for your oversight,” he said after leaning near. “Now I have the perfect ruse under which to return and offend your adorable sensibilities.”

  She blanched at his remark, growing pale and wide eyed. If not for the fact he'd experienced her bite, Thomas would avow that Evangeline Grey flashed a look of sheer terror. Ramrod straight, prim Miss Grey collected herself, the recognizable impassive stare fixed upon him once again.

  “You lack sufficient prowess to affect my sensibilities, Mr. Masterson. Please, endeavor to expend your energies on more promising pursuits.”

  “Miss Grey,” Thomas raised his brow speculatively, “you issue a challenge to my person and my prowess.” She did not look away, her penetrating gaze fixed firmly on him, so he pushed a bit further. “And the most promising pursuits, undoubtedly, are those which require the greatest expenditure of energy.” Her failure to make a smart reply enhanced Thomas' sense of triumph; the spark in her earthy eyes signaled her return from the earlier bout with... Thomas wasn't certain what that had been. He did understand at once, however, that he already anticipated his next visit to Grey Manor.

  The afternoon passed quickly, and the gentlemen departed with good cheer and promises of return. Heaving a sigh of relief, Evangeline retired to her room. Alone with the shawl in her lap, she tucked away the busy chaos of the last few days, allowing her mind respite from thought.

  “Evangeline,” Melody said, shaking her gently.

  At once she was awake, alarm subsiding as recognition dawned.

  Oh. Only Melody.