Miss Dower's Paragon

by Gayle Buck

  Sir Charles reached out to take her hand between his own, and the tone of his voice became solicitous. “My dear Miss Dower, your nerves are naturally stretched nearly beyond bearing by this business.”

  Her anger melted away in the face of his attention. Evelyn looked up at him in an appealing fashion. “I—I am feeling rather shaken by it all. Never could I have imagined such a thing could come to happen,” she said. She wondered what her mother would say when that lady learned how near she had come to being killed.

  Sir Charles mistook her words as an apology to himself. With all of the gallantry of which he was capable, he said, “I assure you that I do not hold any ill will toward you, Miss Dower. The fault was as much mine.”

  Evelyn gaped up at him, amazed. That he should mention anything of blame was positively outrageous. How he could do so was beyond her comprehension. She had almost had her neck broken, all because he had chosen to kiss her at that precise moment.

  Sir Charles was unaware of her gathering indignation. “You must come over to the shade. See, there is a rather large rock beneath this tree, where you may sit and cool yourself. I could not forgive myself if you were to take harm from either the jarring that you undoubtedly suffered or through taking too much sun.”

  Though her confidence in his character had been badly shaken, Evelyn nevertheless warmed to him once more. He was at last behaving just as he ought. Perhaps she had not perfectly understood him when he had seemingly blamed her for the accident. He would have behaved exceedingly angrily if he had truly thought she was at fault. And certainly the warmth in his eyes and in his voice was not that of an angry man.

  As she accepted his proffered arm, she offered a wavering smile to him. “Thank you, Sir Charles. I appreciate your concern for my welfare.”

  Sir Charles seated her on the rock before leaning one shoulder up against the tree trunk. With distaste he flicked a dead bee from off his coat sleeve. “We might as well be comfortable. The time will pass more pleasantly then. I am persuaded that it cannot be long before someone passes this way and stops to take us up.”

  Evelyn stared up at him with renewed surprise. “But... do you not intend to make your way into Bath, sir, and return for me with a carriage?”

  Sir Charles raised his brows as he regarded her with amusement. “My dear Miss Dower, what an idea! It is still all of three miles to town. Of course I do not mean to walk such a distance. The day is by far too warm for such exertion.”

  “Surely you could ride one of your horses,” Evelyn pointed out.

  Sir Charles regarded her with an expression that conveyed quite clearly his opinion that she was either mad or brutally callous. “Come, Miss Dower! That would be most inadvisable in light of the injuries that my horses have sustained. In any event, I could not possibly leave you unattended here on the public road. One could not know what sort of characters might come along and accost you.”

  Evelyn chose to overlook that he had thought first of his horses. She laughed, waving aside his consideration for herself. “I have lived here all my life, Sir Charles, and I have yet to hear of anything dire come to sitting beside this road. I assure you that I would be perfectly safe. Pray do not allow reservations over my welfare to detain you, sir.”

  Sir Charles Reginald eyed the young lady seated at a little distance from him with disapprobation. With determined civility, he said, “Thank you, Miss Dower. However, I am not inclined to go to such extraordinary and unnecessary effort when I am confident that we shall soon procure a lift from some passing stranger.”

  “Well! I do think it somewhat pudding-hearted of you,” said Evelyn.

  “One cannot expect a miss barely out of the schoolroom to perfectly understand these things,” said Sir Charles loftily.

  The conversation languished.

  Several minutes elapsed, during which each had absently slapped away insects and thought their own dismal thoughts. At length, Evelyn stood up and shook out the creased folds of her skirts. She cast a calculating glance at her companion. “Sir Charles, it is apparent to me that it will be some little time yet before our unknown rescuer makes an appearance. Perhaps matters might be expedited a bit if I were to walk back to town myself and convey the tidings of the carriage accident.”

  Sir Charles straightened up from his indolent posture, surprised. “Miss Dower, your zeal is commendable but quite unnecessary, I assure you. It is too far for a gently nurtured female to venture. You will be wilted by the sun before you have gained the next rise.”

  “Nevertheless, Sir Charles, I find that I am too impatient to remain,” said Evelyn firmly.

  Sir Charles raised a brow, wondering what he had ever seen in the stubborn wench that had caused him to bestow his flattering condescension upon her. Miss Dower was altogether too willful for his taste. Only consider what had come of bowing to her insistence to drive his prized equipage. Now she thought to force him to an exertion equally abhorrent to his nature. But Miss Dower was about to learn that a gentleman’s sense of gallantry could be pushed only so far.

  Sir Charles’s disapproval was patent in his stiff voice. “As you will, Miss Dower.”

  Evelyn waited an instant to see whether Sir Charles meant to accompany her, but he made no move to do so. Instead, he removed a handkerchief from his pocket and carefully mopped his perspiring brow.

  Angered and disappointed, Evelyn turned on her heel. Without a backward glance, she set off, striking out at a furious pace in testament to her hurt and bewilderment.

  She had thought Sir Charles cared something for her, but it had become patently apparent to her that was not at all the case. She saw it now in all its stark reality. Sir Charles had been merely amusing himself by paying her court. What an absolute fool she had been to weave romantic fancies around him.

  Disillusionment set in with terrible finality. An unexpected tear slid down her cheek. Angrily, she brushed it away. She would not cry over the gentleman. He was not worthy of it, she thought. Despite her determination, a few more tears followed the first.

  Evelyn trudged on. Though she was accustomed to walking, Sir Charles had been correct in his estimation about the heat. Her pace had slowed considerably under the influence of her stung emotions and the warm afternoon. Her face and neck prickled and her fine carriage dress clung uncomfortably hot against her skin. The scattered bee stings she had suffered on her face and arms raised burning welts. Evelyn thought she had never been so miserable in her life.

  Yet worse than her physical misery was the taste in her mouth of bitter disappointment. She had discovered that her ideal of the romantic hero was all-too-flawed. She was in genuine need of rescue, but Sir Charles had failed miserably to rise to the occasion. At the thought, a few more tears fell.

  Evelyn was relieved when she at last reached a portion of Bath with which she was familiar. As she walked up the street fronted by the same shops that she had often patronized, she pretended not to notice the curious stares that her bedraggled and wilted appearance were garnering.

  Evelyn had not realized before how awkward an explanation of her situation would be, but now that she had, she was too embarrassed to seek out an acquaintance in one of the shops. If only she would run into one of her particular friends, like Pol or Abigail, or even one of their esteemable parents; but neither Miss Woodthorpe nor Miss Sparrow materialized at the yearning of her thoughts.

  Coming to a corner, Evelyn hesitated. She knew how much to the pence that she had in her reticule, and it was woefully inadequate to hire a cab. She thought of hailing a cab anyway and appealing to the driver’s compassion, but she suspected her appearance would scarcely engender trust in her reassurances that the fare would be forthcoming once she had arrived at her destination. She debated tiredly with herself whether embarrassment from asking for help from an acquaintance or shopkeeper would really be as onerous as to continue the long walk, and even half turned so that she could retrace her steps to the shops that she had passed. But the thought of going back was awf
ul to contemplate.

  Once more close to tears, Evelyn thought longingly of home. Never had the familiar walk to Queen Square seemed so distant.

  Chapter Twenty-four

  Mr. Hawkins was finishing up his errands and was about to climb back up into his carriage when he caught sight of a familiar figure across the road. He stared hard, then swore under his breath. Dodging through the light traffic, he crossed quickly over. Gently he took the young woman’s arm. “Miss Dower!”

  Evelyn turned and at sight of his concerned face, she quite suddenly burst into tears. With all the naturalness in the world she buried her face in his shoulder. “Oh, Mr. Hawkins! How h-happy I am to s-see you!”

  Mr. Hawkins did not think that she sounded particularly ecstatic, but he reserved the thought to himself. He awkwardly patted her shoulder, never having had to deal with a weeping female before and feeling himself inadequate to the task, when what he really wanted to do was to enfold her comfortingly in his arms.

  Mr. Hawkins exerted a manful control upon his emotions. “There, there, Miss Dower. Everything will be better presently, I promise you.”

  Evelyn hiccupped and let go of his lapel. Her eyes averted, she requested in a muffled voice for his handkerchief. He obliged, and she wiped her eyes and blew her nose.

  “I do apologize, Mr. Hawkins. I am not generally such a water—watering pot,” she said in a choked voice. She held the soiled linen uncertainly, staring at it. “I shall—shall wash this for you.” She wadded up the handkerchief and fumbled open her reticule to stuff it inside.

  “But what has happened to so overset you?” asked Mr. Hawkins. His observant eyes had already seen the signs of previous tears and the red welts on her face. Now as he took note of the sudden tide of color into her face, his eyes darkened. His fingers tightened on her elbow. “Evelyn, are you perfectly all right?”

  There was an urgent note in his voice.

  Evelyn looked up quickly. The tide of color rose again in her face at the question in his hard blue eyes. “Yes, of course I am!”

  She glanced around, suddenly very much aware of a disapproving stare from an unknown lady. “Mr. Hawkins, could we possibly continue this conversation elsewhere?”

  Mr. Hawkins saw the sense in her request when he also realized that they were gathering curious glances. “Of course, Miss Dower. I apologize for not thinking clearly. My carriage is across the street. I will drive you home.” He took her arm and escorted her over to the gig. He saw that she was seated comfortably before climbing up himself and taking the reins.

  As he turned the carriage in the direction of Queen Square, he said with admirable restraint, “I do not mean to pry. Miss Dower, but I do consider myself to be your friend. Your welfare is naturally of concern to me. Won’t you confide in me now?”

  “I have been out driving with Sir Charles,” said Evelyn. Her throat closed suddenly with the humiliation she felt.

  “Sir Charles,” repeated Mr. Hawkins. He kept his eyes trained straight ahead, not wanting the lady to read the fury that rose in him. He considered what bodily harm he would do to that gentleman when next he saw him.

  Still not looking at her companion, Evelyn said succinctly, “There was an accident. I did not choose to remain, so I walked back into town.” She threw a fleeting glance up to his profile, dreading that he would ask questions that she preferred not to answer.

  “A carriage accident—Sir Charles!”

  The look that Mr. Hawkins threw her was one of incredulous astonishment.

  Evelyn hastened to reassure her companion. “He is perfectly well.” She paused a fraction of an instant. “And so are his horses.”

  Mr. Hawkins digested this for a moment, having sensed a strong undercurrent of emotion in her voice that he did not understand. Leaving it for the moment, he said, “How comes it that Sir Charles did not accompany you into Bath?”

  Evelyn bit her lip, turning away her face. Again the humiliation burned her. “He—he did not want to leave his horses, and I was too impatient to simply wait, so I volunteered to come instead to alert someone of the accident.” She looked round at Mr. Hawkins. “I suppose that you will send someone for him?”

  “I will certainly do so. Your duty is fully discharged, Miss Dower,” said Mr. Hawkins gravely. His mind was rife with questions arising out of what little she had said. The original conclusion that he had leaped to that Sir Charles had forced his attentions upon her was now discarded, but he gathered that it was a delicate matter nevertheless and so he was careful in his probing. “Er—how did this accident occur, Miss Dower?”

  “We drove into a cloud of bees before we became aware of them. I had the reins, and when the horses bolted I could not contain them,” said Evelyn shortly.

  Mr. Hawkins shot her a sharp glance. “Did I understand you correctly? You had the reins?” It was unbelievable, if true. Sir Charles must have become so besotted with her that he had lost his senses, he thought savagely.

  Evelyn straightened her spine, her heightened sensitivity having caught his astonishment. She threw him a challenging glance and said with dignity, “Sir Charles was teaching me to drive.”

  “I am certain that you were a very apt pupil,” said Mr. Hawkins soothingly. His mouth quirked. “That is, before the descent of the irate bees.”

  A reluctant smile twitched at Evelyn’s lips as her sense of the ridiculous finally began to catch up with her. “Yes,” she admitted.

  When he laughed, she said firmly, “I shall have you know that I have a natural instinct for the leathers. It is only a pity that the bees did not stand aside in admiration of my skill.”

  Mr. Hawkins laughed again, before saying, “I am very happy that you were unhurt, Miss Dower. Since you walked into town I must assume the worst regarding Sir Charles’s equipage.”

  “The phaeton was quite, quite smashed,” said Evelyn. She found something of cheer in the recollection. At least Sir Charles would not go completely unscathed for his perfidy in becoming only an ordinary mortal rather than the romantic hero she had thought him.

  “I see.” Mr. Hawkins glanced down at his companion once more. The rim of her bedraggled bonnet sheltered her expression from him, but he thought he had heard a peculiarly pleased note in her voice. He realized that there was more to the tale than the lady had chosen to tell him. However, he was too cognizant of the bounds of propriety to press her further.

  Nevertheless, it was already a fascinating story. He smiled to himself. He would roast Sir Charles finely for allowing a lady, and especially one as raw as Miss Dower, the privilege of driving his prized horses. The temptation to see the destruction for himself became suddenly overriding.

  As they reached Miss Dower’s address, he swiftly made up his mind. He helped her down from the carriage and walked her up to the door, where he saw her into the care of the concerned footman.

  “I shall leave you now to the tender ministrations of your household. Miss Dower, while I go see what can be done on Sir Charles’s behalf,” he said.

  “Thank you, Mr. Hawkins.”

  Evelyn was quite self-possessed in the presence of the servant. But after Mr. Hawkins had turned away and the door was closed on his broad back, she turned and fled up the stairs. To her consternation, she met her mother on the upstairs landing.

  “Oh, are you returned from driving with Sir Charles? I hope that you enjoyed your lesson, dear,” said Mrs. Dower. She frowned at her daughter. “Your bonnet is quite oddly canted, Evelyn. I do not mean to scold, but it is not at all the fashion for you.”

  Evelyn gave a sobbing laugh. She fell straightway into her mother’s startled arms and cried, “Oh, Mama! The phaeton was wrecked and Sir Charles cared for nothing but his idiotic horses. What am I to do?”

  “Do, dear? Why, I suppose you should stay completely away from horses. You do seem to have the most dismaying ill fortune around the creatures,” said Mrs. Dower practically. “If you wish it, I shall myself inform Sir Charles that you will no longer be tak
ing lessons with him.”

  Evelyn wailed, and she pressed her face against her mother’s neck. Her shoulders shook, whether with grief or laugher Mrs. Dower was uncertain.

  “Evelyn? Are you quite all right?” She tried what she thought to be an inspired observation. “Do, do try for a little decorum, my dear. I had thought you such a sensible girl. Whatever would Sir Charles think to see you in such a state? It could very well put him off and—”

  Mrs. Dower watched in astonishment as Evelyn staggered away in the direction of her bedroom. Her daughter was now definitely laughing. “Why, whatever have I said now to set you off again? Dearest, I do believe you are hysterical!”

  The week following the abortive driving lesson with Sir Charles, Evelyn did not go out to any social engagements until the angry welts on her face had subsided. It was put about that she suffered from a light cold, and only her closest friends were given access to her.

  Miss Woodthorpe laughed outright at the story of the cloud of bees and the subsequent misadventure. “Mrs. Dower was quite right, Evelyn, you do have the most amazing bad luck around horses. Perhaps you would do best to give them a wide berth in future. Though I must say I am glad to hear that Sir Charles’s team took no permanent harm, as they are a prime bit of blood and bone.”

  Miss Sparrow sent a reproving look in Miss Woodthorpe’s direction. “Indeed, Evelyn, I shudder to think how close you came to real injury,” she said.

  “Oh well, it is all done with and I am none the worse for wear,” said Evelyn cheerfully as she offered a tray of biscuits to her friends.

  “Truly? I noticed several lovely bouquets when I arrived. When I commented upon them to your dear mother, I was quite surprised to learn that none were from Sir Charles,” said Miss Sparrow.

  Evelyn colored faintly. “No, none are from Sir Charles,” she agreed calmly. “Will you take more tea, Pol?”

  Miss Woodthorpe smiled at Evelyn, holding away her cup. “That is a very weak ruse, my dear.”