by Cheryl Holt
“Gad, no,” Evangeline said. “If he knew you were an actress, he’d have an apoplexy.”
“We wouldn’t want to injure the poor fellow.”
“No, we shouldn’t. If he perished, I’d be in a jam.”
“Why is that?” Miss Bernard asked.
“I came here because the school where I was teaching had closed. If the marriage doesn’t occur, I have nowhere to go.”
“That puts you in a tight spot, doesn’t it?”
“Yes, a very tight spot.”
“Will you wed the vicar though? Are you certain you should?”
Miss Bernard studied Evangeline, looking shrewd and wise and more worldly than Evangeline could ever dream of being.
“I have to. It’s not as if I have any other options.”
“You two are an odd match.”
“Every bride and groom are an odd match.”
“Too true, but this quiet, boring life at Fox Run”—Miss Bernard gestured to the picturesque park and deserted woods—“might prove stifling for you.”
“I’ll have many duties as a vicar’s wife.” Evangeline’s heart fluttered with dismay, but she ignored her reaction. “I’ll be so busy I won’t notice the quiet or the empty spaces.”
“I’m sure you’ll be fine.”
“Yes, I’m sure I will be.”
For a lengthy moment, Miss Bernard hesitated and, obviously, she wanted to expound, perhaps to warn Evangeline or advise her to beware.
In the end, no counsel was offered, and what purpose would it have served anyway? As Miss Bernard had stated earlier, Evangeline was doing what all women did by marrying. She was protecting herself in the only available way.
“Let’s go in, shall we?” Miss Bernard said. “We’ll find that rascal, Bryce, and head to the music room. We’ll make him play the pianoforte so you can sing for me.”
“I would love that.”
“Marvelous.” Miss Bernard beamed. “I’ll have my own private concert, and I promise to be the most receptive audience you shall ever have.”
They swept inside, calling for Mr. Blair to entertain them.
* * * *
“How long have you known Lord Run?”
“Twenty years? More?”
Evangeline smiled. She was in the garden again, with Mr. Blair this time. Another day had passed since Lord Run left for London.
The previous evening, after hours of singing, she, Mr. Blair, and Miss Bernard had played cards and read by the fire. Then Mr. Blair and Miss Bernard had acted out several scenes from a romantic theatrical they’d seen in London. They were both very talented, and Evangeline had enjoyed herself immensely.
“When did you first meet him?” she asked.
“At school. He was the rich, entitled son of an earl, and I was a charity case. I figured—in light of my low social standing—he’d be a perfect chum.”
“You were how old? Six?”
“Yes, and I already had a fairly clear picture of how the world worked. I glommed on to Aaron immediately, and he was kind enough to let me dance around in his orbit.”
Evangeline laughed, but didn’t peer up at him. If she stared directly into his blue eyes—eyes that were an exact replica of her own—she suffered the strange vertigo that had been plaguing her ever since they’d been introduced. She didn’t know why it transpired, but she couldn’t stop it, so her glances were fleeting and casual.
“What was he like as a boy?”
“Stuffy. Tedious. A horrid bore and very posh snob. Much as he is today.”
Evangeline laughed even harder. “Posh and horrid?”
“Trust me, he’s a veritable compilation of dull traits. I’ve tried to turn him into a more jolly fellow, but I’ve nearly given up. The poor sap doesn’t have a merry bone in his body.”
“You’re awfully caustic for someone who claims to be his friend.”
“Just stating the facts, Miss Etherton. Besides, Aaron is fully aware of how dreary he can be. He’d be the first to admit it.”
She was obsessing about Lord Run, but couldn’t help it. He was the most handsome, sophisticated man she’d ever met. She kept telling herself that—after he was gone for a while—her interest would wane. Wouldn’t it?
“Why is he so dreary?” she asked.
“Oh, it’s his father, Lord Sidwell.”
“What’s wrong with his father?”
Evangeline had heard plenty of gossip about Lord Sidwell from Rose, who was his niece, but she couldn’t resist hearing more. She was hungry for information about the Drake family. Her appetite appeared to be insatiable.
“The earl is a pretentious, pompous buffoon,” Mr. Blair explained. “He’s always been exhaustively demanding of Aaron, and Aaron is overly accommodating. He can’t bear to quarrel, so he does whatever his father requests.”
“And that makes him dreary?”
“Yes, and he has a younger brother, Lucas, who is his complete opposite. Lucas was always in trouble, always vexing their father to the point of apoplexy, and the more Lucas enraged Lord Sidwell, the more Aaron tried to keep the peace.”
“Where was his mother in all this?”
“She died when he was tiny, so he and Lucas grew up at Lord Sidwell’s mercy. The earl was quite a strict taskmaster. Aaron struggled with it, but Lucas couldn’t have cared less.”
Evangeline absorbed the news, fascinated beyond measure. A cruel, stern father. A wastrel brother. Boys with no mother. It sounded like a plot out of a novel.
“Well, I must confess, Mr. Blair, that I don’t find Lord Run to be stuffy or tedious at all.”
“You don’t? You’re likely the only person in history to say so.”
“Ever since I arrived at Fox Run, he’s been very gracious.”
“Yes, he can be charming—when he tries. He’s showing you his good side.”
“Shouldn’t we all do that?”
“Yes, but when our bad side is the one that rules us, wouldn’t it be better to apprise others right up front?”
“Perhaps.”
They were walking back to the house, their leisurely stroll at an end. Evangeline was about to begin her hours of socializing with the vicar, and she needed to spend a few minutes in her room, adjusting her attitude and calming herself so she had the fortitude to endure it.
Luckily, she now had two friends at the manor, and if her visit became too mind-numbingly vile, she would concentrate on the pleasant evening she would have later with Mr. Blair and Miss Bernard once she returned.
“What about you, Mr. Blair?” she asked. “You mentioned you were a charity case at school. Where are you from? Who is your family?”
“I’m an orphan, Miss Etherton. My tuition was paid by a benefactor in the community. I was never told who it was.”
“That’s my story exactly,” she said. “I know nothing of my past. How about you?”
“I remember it very well. My mother was a notorious actress and singer.”
“Was she? Is that where you get all your talent?”
“I should hope so.” He tugged on his vest, looking funny and pompous.
“And your father?”
“Oh, he was a very high-born fellow and much too grand for my mother.” He laughed, but there was a tinge of sadness in it. “She was a devilish vixen, or so I heard. She lured unsuspecting men to their doom.”
“More than one?”
“Hundreds! Thousands!” he sarcastically, dramatically exclaimed.
She peeked up at him and, suddenly, the vertigo was back with a vengeance. There was a ringing in her ears, and it increased. She felt physically ill as if she might swoon—when she’d never swooned in her life.
“Miss Etherton?” He shook her arm. “Are you all right?”
“Yes, yes, I’m…I’m fine.” She yanked her gaze from his. “I had an odd moment.”
“You were a million miles away, as if you’d floated off somewhere.”
Struggling for composure, she forced a chuckle. “Yo
ur story resonated with me. I wonder if my past holds similar secrets.”
“We orphans all like to believe we had aristocratic fathers, don’t we?”
“Yes, I like to imagine that’s the case.”
“We wouldn’t have any other kind. When we can make up the identity of our father, who wants a farmer when they can have a duke?”
She dared to peek at him again, and it occurred to her that she wouldn’t be surprised if his father was a duke, or even a prince. With his golden blond hair and striking blue eyes, he was very magnetic, very dashing. Surely he had a famous sire.
Movement on the verandah caught her attention, and she glanced up to find that the vicar had arrived early. In his black hat and coat, he looked like an undertaker, like the bearer of bad tidings, like Death having sneaked up to suck out her soul.
Her merry disposition vanished in an instant. Mr. Blair noticed her change of mood, and he peered up and saw the vicar too.
“He’s not very happy,” Mr. Blair said, “but then he never is. If he smiled, his face would crack.”
“He’s a stickler for the proprieties. He won’t like that I’ve been in the garden with you.”
“Don’t you hate religious cretins?”
It was a question she didn’t dare answer. Her reasons for being at Fox Run were mixed and complicated. If there were negative aspects to the arrangement, how could it signify? Every facet of life had negative and positive aspects. She had to focus on the positives and—after sufficient time had passed—there would be so many positives, she wouldn’t recall there had ever been negatives.
“I’d better be going,” she said. “If I make him wait, he’ll be irritated.”
She tried to turn away, but Mr. Blair was clutching her arm and wouldn’t release it. He appeared concerned and worried, which was very sweet, but very pointless. He had no ability to help her, so why fret over it?
“Miss Etherton, I don’t know you very well, but may I say something that’s very rude and very blunt but that needs to be said?”
“Of course, Mr. Blair.”
“Must you marry him? Isn’t there another path you could take?”
“I can’t see one.”
“You two seem so wrong for each other.”
“I doubt any bride and groom are compatible in the beginning. We’ll grow to like each other. I’m certain of it.”
He stared intently, and she braced for more of the same, but instead, he inquired, “Have we met before?”
“Why would you ask that?”
“You look so familiar to me.”
“You look familiar too, but I’m good with faces. I’d have remembered you.”
The ringing in her ears exploded to a loud din, and she pulled away, feeling so dizzy that—if she didn’t—she might collapse to the ground. Why did he rattle her so completely? She liked him so much. Why would he induce such a peculiar reaction?
She stuck her hand in her pocket, reaching for her goddess statue, running her fingers over and over it until she started to calm down.
“I have to go,” she mumbled, and she hurried to the verandah, mustering her composure on the way. She greeted the vicar as cordially as she could manage. “I’m sorry I’m not ready. I wasn’t expecting you for an hour.”
“Obviously.” He glowered at her, then his stern glare wafted out into the garden to Mr. Blair. Mr. Blair had no shame, and he grinned and waved.
Mr. Blair’s impertinence enraged the vicar. “What are you doing with him?”
“Walking.”
“Walking?” He snorted with disbelief.
“Would you like some tea?” she asked, refusing to feel guilty. “We could invite Mr. Blair and Miss Bernard to join us. They’re very nice. You’d enjoy chatting with them.”
“Have you been…socializing?”
“Yes. We’re all staying here as Lord Run’s guests. Why wouldn’t I socialize?”
“They’re not suitable companions for you.”
“Oh, for pity’s sake,” she fumed with more ire than she’d meant to display. “They’re Lord Run’s friends. He and Mr. Blair have known each other since they were boys.”
“What about that doxy, Florella Bernard?”
Miss Bernard definitely had some low character traits, but Evangeline would never admit it. “She’s not a doxy, and what about her? She’s a guest too.”
“She traveled to the country—alone—with Mr. Blair.” He practically hissed the accusation.
“So? Lord Run was with them, as was her maid, and she’s an adult. She’s fully capable of deciding how to get where she has to go.”
“Her behavior is not appropriate, and the fact that you seem to think it is worries me greatly. What am I to make of it, Miss Etherton?”
She studied his harsh features, his angry countenance. He was frowning so ferociously, almost as if he hated her, and it was so depressing to suppose that he might.
What bride could begin a marriage this way? Here at the start, couldn’t he at least pretend fondness? Weariness swept over her—as did a grim realization.
She couldn’t wed him. She didn’t care what Miss Peabody had arranged, didn’t care what Miss Peabody thought was best. Miss Peabody had always been horrid to Evangeline, had never understood Evangeline or known what she needed.
Yes, Miss Peabody had given a valid explanation as to why her plan was good for Evangeline, but why was Miss Peabody’s opinion the correct one? Why would Evangeline follow it when the entire betrothal was awful?
She had to devise a different future. That much was patently clear. She would write to Rose and Amelia. They were starting new lives, and Evangeline had convinced herself she shouldn’t bother them, that she shouldn’t seek their help. But why shouldn’t she? If they were in trouble, she’d jump to assist. The three of them were like sisters.
Perhaps with all the changes they were experiencing, they might have come across a situation for Evangeline. Perhaps they’d encountered someone who could offer lodging or employment, and she was happy to return to working. She liked to be busy, and she would find something that didn’t involve a hideous marriage to Vicar Bosworth.
She would continue to play the part of the devoted fiancée, but she would spend every second strategizing. As soon as she could, she would cry off, and she doubted Vicar Bosworth would mind. He liked her no better than he had the very first day, and certainly, his mother would celebrate.
“You seem upset,” she said.
“I’m not upset,” he replied, but he was so furious, he was shaking.
“I’m not well this afternoon,” she lied. “Maybe you should make your social calls without me.”
“Without you?” he scoffed. “You think being indisposed is reason to postpone our community obligations? No, Miss Etherton, in my family we keep our appointments.”
“I understand,” she murmured, hoping she looked sufficiently contrite.
“You were perfectly hale during your walk with Mr. Blair, so don’t act as if you’re under the weather now.”
“I merely assumed you might wish to proceed without me.”
“It would likely be preferable, but we shall go together.” He bent down so they were nose to nose. “Get your bonnet and be quick about it!”
She nearly told him then and there that she was through. She nearly, crudely, told him to sod off, but she was generally a courteous and affable person.
She stepped away, putting a bit of space between them. “I’ll just be a minute. Let’s meet in the front foyer.”
“Yes, let’s do,” he snapped.
As she spun away, she noted Mr. Blair was scowling at them, his consternation evident. He’d watched her being scolded as if she was a recalcitrant child, and it was galling to have him witness her humiliation.
She went inside, wondering if she’d ever come back out.
CHAPTER EIGHT
“Smile, Priscilla.”
“Why should I?”
“Because we’re about to be
announced, and every person in the room will stare at us.”
Aaron had been home for three taxing days, tending to business and hiding from everyone. He’d tried to force himself over to Priscilla’s house, but hadn’t been able to make himself go.
When he’d fled London two weeks earlier, he’d quarreled with Priscilla and her mother. They’d interfered in his brother’s life, had schemed to stop Lucas’s engagement to Amelia Hubbard, having determined that Miss Hubbard was too lowborn to be allowed to marry into the Drake family.
As if it was any of their business!
Aaron was quite a snob and didn’t feel different classes should mingle, but he genuinely liked Miss Hubbard and she would be a wonderful wife for his brother—if Lucas could convince her to have him.
Claudia and Priscilla could choke on their indignation for all he cared.
He’d believed he was over his fit of pique, that he’d forgiven them for their meddling but, apparently, he hadn’t. He hadn’t visited Priscilla to announce his return. He hadn’t sent a note.
Finally, someone—probably his father—had tattled and informed her that he was back. She and her mother had popped over at once, and they were all on their best behavior, pretending no rift had occurred.
He and Priscilla were marching into a formal ball, and as he’d just mentioned to her, their names were called. The crowd looked up, and Aaron exuded a calm, composed façade. He hated public scenes and wouldn’t stand for a display of displeasure or anger.
“If you continue to scowl,” he told Priscilla, “people will think we’re fighting.”
“You’d like that, wouldn’t you,” she spat, “to have rumors spreading?” But she was socially astute and she pasted on the smile he’d demanded.
They promenaded down the stairs, guests taking furtive glances, but the dancing had already begun, so attention was quickly diverted to the dancers. Aaron and Priscilla were forgotten, and he peered around, yearning to see his brother in the pulsating throng, but Lucas wasn’t present.
Most likely, he was still up north at his friend James Talbot’s wedding. Hopefully, Lucas would soon be participating in his own wedding to Miss Hubbard.
Aaron worried that he wouldn’t hear if a ceremony was imminent. Lucas had treated Miss Hubbard so shoddily that he’d have a difficult time persuading her to be his bride. The Talbot wedding was being held very close to the Scottish border, and Miss Hubbard was a guest too. Lucas might simply elope with her to Gretna Green before she came to her senses.