“You did tell your mother where you would be, I assume,” Sanders said, though the concern in his voice proved his disbelief.
Alverton watched the large, imposing building grow as they approached. “Yes. She knows I’ve come to your house, I merely forgot to specify which house of yours we escaped to. But what choice did I have? She was quite displeased when I told her. Just prior to my announcement, she explained to me that we were going to be entertaining her sister’s children for a fortnight. Do you remember what my cousin did the last time they came to London?”
Sanders stared at him. “Remind me.”
“The oldest cousin—Miss Cassandra Rowe is her name—begged me to teach her the art of billiards. When I finally relented, she did her best to compromise me. In my own house.” Alverton watched his friend struggle to remain composed. “It is not humorous, you know. It is downright nonsensical.”
The carriage rolled to a stop and Sanders hopped out onto the gravel drive. Alverton followed him, stretching his back as snow began to fall. “It isn’t nonsensical,” Sanders argued, beginning toward the house. “It is rather brilliant if the girl wishes to become a duchess.”
It was a blessed thing Alverton knew his friend so well, for he could tell at once the man was being facetious. He ignored the comment, climbing the shallow front steps to the house and following Sanders into the open doorway. The bitter cold followed them into the foyer, swirling about them as small snowflakes melted on their shoulders and clung stubbornly to the ends of their hair.
The servants followed them inside bearing their trunks and Sanders instructed the housekeeper to direct Alverton to his room.
With deference, the stout woman led Alverton up a curved staircase and to a chamber located farther down the corridor. She curtsied her way from the room and beat a hasty escape once Alverton stepped inside. He spun a slow circle, appreciating the simplicity of the furniture and large windows which lined the opposite wall. Crossing to the window, Alverton peeled back the heavy, green drapes, sweeping his gaze over the thick woods which were slowly becoming frosted by snow.
He could not remove from his mind the woman they had passed on the road earlier. Her face swam before him as though she was a ghost reflecting in the windowpanes and he narrowed his gaze, concentrating on the woman’s features and trying to determine how he knew her.
He’d only been a duke for the last two years, but he’d been served and bowed to, adored and flattered by many people in that time, as a man with immense fortune and power should be. He’d been around countless women over the years, but never before had he been so struck by a woman’s face. Her beauty was simple, but regal.
And it killed him that he could not place her.
Perhaps she was a servant of some sort and he simply could not recall where she’d assisted him—but her clothes and bearing proclaimed otherwise. Besides, he had never been one to toy with servants, and hardly looked at them for longer than a breath.
That must be it. The only reason he could not place her now was because he must have last seen her in a different location. It was the place which threw him, and not the girl. She could have passed by him in a local inn wherein he had previously stopped to feed his horses and himself. He’d traveled through Wiltshire just a few months prior on his way to Bristol. He must have seen her there.
Contented by his judgment, he stepped back from the window, allowing the drapes to swing closed.
* * *
This was no direct cause for panic. Or so Evelyn told herself.
Surely the duke was simply passing through—or perhaps it was a trick of the light. The sun had been shining against the small carriage window and Evelyn had, admittedly, thought of Alverton quite frequently since the masquerade.
It was not such a stretch of the imagination to assume she had not truly seen the duke, but simply imagined she saw the duke.
Yes, that must be it.
Closing the front door behind her, Evelyn shed her cape and bonnet and dropped them into the butler’s outstretched arms. Letting herself into the library, she found her father in his favorite leather chair, his head resting against the back of the high, wingback cushion.
His pale face aged each consecutive parliament session. How could he not see that it was bad for his health?
“I can sense you watching me,” Father said, surprising her.
“Forgive me. I did not intend to intrude on your nap.”
His eyes opened, an amused smile crossing his mouth. “I was not sleeping, Evelyn. I was merely thinking with my eyes closed.”
“No one would think ill of you if you were.”
Her father sat up straighter, piercing her with a look. “I am not an elderly man and I am perfectly capable of remaining awake as long as I please. You needn’t treat me like a child, Evelyn. That is my duty as your parent, and not the reverse.”
Evelyn’s cheeks warmed. “You must realize that I care. I do not set out to be bothersome.”
They stood upon a thin, invisible bridge, both pulling the other across it in the direction they thought best. Evelyn had the upper hand, however, for she knew her way to be the better course of action. What she was lacking was the ability to convince him, evidently.
His eyes softened. “Then cease, my dear. I promise you I can care for myself.”
“Will you not agree to see Dr. Cooper? If only you would allow him to simply—”
“Evelyn,” Father said harshly, the amused light gone from his eyes. “Enough.”
Her heart raced as she got to her feet. “Yes, Father,” she said. “I will leave you now.”
She turned to go, hoping he would request she remain. But he did not. Hurt sliced through her at the dismissal, but she had brought it upon herself with her excessive pressing. Blowing a stray lock of hair up and away from her face, Evelyn climbed the stairs toward her own bedchamber.
“Evelyn,” a brittle voice called from the foyer.
She glanced over her shoulder, her gaze coming to rest on Aunt Edith standing in the parlor doorway.
“Yes?”
“If you would be so kind as to fetch my shawl I would be indebted to you. It is positively frigid in this room.”
Swallowing her annoyance, Evelyn nodded. “Of course.”
She turned back up the stairs, her hand trailing the bannister as her jaw clenched repeatedly. Father never wanted her help, but Aunt Edith required too much of it at times. She did not mind fetching a shawl here or there, but she was not a personal servant. They paid others for that duty.
Letting herself into Aunt Edith’s room, she picked up the yellow shawl from the edge of the bed and ran her hands over the soft material. Things needed to change, and she was going to be the one to make that happen.
Chapter 5
Sanders was a terrific host. He provided good food, good drink, and plenty of time to oneself. Alverton sat at the table long after Sanders drifted to sleep, his friend’s head lolling onto his shoulder and his empty glass resting loosely in his hand upon the table. Alverton picked up his own glass and drained the remaining liquid before setting it softly on the table.
Was it foolish to run from Town? From his mother? She was relentless in her search for the next duchess, but her heart was in a good place. Or so he assumed. Her thinly veiled comments about securing the line and giving her an heir and a spare prior to her death were effective in pushing him further from her ultimate goal.
He was aware of his duties and the responsibility he held, but at only eight-and-twenty, he was still young. He had plenty of time. And the women his mother deemed worthy were nothing worthy of note.
No, the few women who made it past Mother and Grandmother’s rigid guidelines were all very much the same. They either came from old, distinguished families of money and title, with meekness to rival a sofa cushion and the wit of a four-year-old, or they were entirely inappropriate.
But little did Mother know, the women she was parading for his pleasure were not the perfect specimens
she believed them to be. Lady Hester, who had been introduced to Alverton at a recent ball, had snuck off after supper with Mr. Halpert, unbeknownst to anyone but Alverton and his fortunate wandering gaze.
Then he’d been forced to partner Miss Rupert, the wealthy niece of an earl, in whist for an evening and she proved she had naught but pudding for brains. And the woman he’d been coerced to take into dinner the night before the masquerade had been so frightened of him that she had stared at her plate the entire evening and had not consumed a single bite.
But Lady Eve defied it all. She had not gone to the garden to meet a beau; she had gone to be alone. Of that he was almost certain, and her solemn singing had only proved his assumption further. He’d been unable to see anything of her face beyond her eyes and the cut of her jaw, as her mask covered most of her face. But Alverton was certain she was guileless—an admirable trait when he’d spent his life being bowed and scraped to by people with impure motivations.
And besides that, she was a lady. Lady Eve was worthy of becoming the next duchess, whatever her background.
A clock chimed in the hallway, startling Alverton from his shocking line of thought and causing Sanders to stir beside him. He would be ashamed of his rash jump from a woman he shared a dance with, to someone he considered worthy of courting, but he could not deny the feeling he’d had when he was speaking to her.
She was honest and good. Of that, he was absolutely certain. If there was any trait he found necessary in a future wife, it was honesty. His own father had taught him the importance of dealing truthfully with others and he found immense value in it.
He knew he sounded mad in his mind, but he could not help his thoughts. He needed to find this woman. He could question his acquaintances when he returned to Town. Someone would know her, surely.
“How late is the hour?” a groggy Sanders inquired, his hands coming up to rub his eyes.
“Too late,” Alverton answered. “I was about to wake you. Say, have you any information about a woman by the name of Lady Eve?”
Sanders shook his head, his sleepy eyes half-closed.
“Or a Mrs. Chadwick?”
“Doesn’t ring a bell. Sorry, chap.”
He should have known it wouldn’t be so easy. He and Sanders ran in the same crowds, anyway. Sighing, he pushed up from the table. Patience and restraint did not come naturally to him, but they were skills he’d honed over the last decade of dealing with his mother and grandmother.
And apparently, he was going to perfect them further.
* * *
Alverton arose early and breakfasted efficiently before fetching a stallion from the stables. The cold air whipped around his head as he took off for the grove lining Sanders’ property, the cold prickling his nostrils. Snow had covered the ground during the night and he glanced over his shoulder to find hoof prints over the powdery ground.
The holiday was bound to be a blessed retreat. He was grateful for his mother’s guidance, of course, and Grandmother’s stern opinions had taught him just the right way to hold himself in public, but being away from them was always a bit of a relief.
Leading the horse onto a game trail through the woods, Alverton was overtaken at once by the mystical feeling within the trees. The snow had created a sort of sound barrier and when combined with the wall of trees, the farther he trailed into the wood, the more he felt utterly alone.
And he loved it. It was an escape on another level.
A soft, subdued humming met his ears and he turned his head to listen for the sound. It was familiar in a way that set his heart beating rapidly.
Directing the horse toward the right, he followed the humming as it turned into tranquil singing. Alverton’s heart began to gallop as he approached a small open space with a large, thick tree in the center of the clearing. He knew this voice. The tone and the tune were both very familiar and he could not believe his own luck.
The song grew clearer as he pulled back on the reins and squeezed his knees softly into the horse’s sides. Coming to a complete halt, Alverton quietly slid from the saddle, guiding the horse to a nearby tree and tying the reins securely to a low branch.
He rested his hand on the side of the horse’s neck and listened, his body humming with anticipation. Could it be? It sounded like Lady Eve’s rich, alto voice had been transported to this very grove. But that would be crazy, would it not?
Alverton’s hand slipped from the horse’s neck as he took a step toward the gargantuan tree. If he had created the singing of his own imagination, then he would know of his own madness and push her from his mind at once. But if not? Well, there was only one way to find out.
* * *
Cold seeped through the cape Evelyn wore and began to chill her skin. She pulled her legs close and dropped her forehead onto her knees. She’d come out to the massive tree in Sanders Grove to look for her brothers but neither of them had been here. Instead, she’d sat on the flat base in the center of the imposing tree and listened to the quiet calmness of the wood after a fresh snowfall.
Father was going to be the death of Evelyn, she just knew it. If he refused to see Julia’s brother, Jared Cooper, of his own accord, then Evelyn was going to drag Dr. Cooper to her house and force the men to come to an arrangement. She’d coerce and blackmail, if need be. Dr. Cooper had been a few years older than she and Julia, but he’d agreed to play with them on occasion as children and she was sure she could dig up a distressing anecdote to share with the town if he did not comply.
It was not kind, perhaps, but it would no doubt be effective. She had no intention of actually sharing an anecdote; she would only use the threat as a way to force Dr. Cooper to help.
Humming, she recalled the earlier years of her life, when her mother had come to her room each and every evening to sing her to sleep. She’d had the voice of an angel and Evelyn often imagined herself standing before a crowd of important people, singing for them as her mother once had.
But as she grew older, the idea of distinction and superiority lost its appeal.
The quiet dignity of a lady of quality was significantly more alluring to Evelyn than any renown for her singing voice, but just as out of reach.
Her humming bounced from the hollow she sat within and echoed through the empty woods. Raising her head, she began to sing a song of larks and minnows that her mother had taught her as a child. It was silly and sweet, and the tune had always been a favorite of hers.
Letting her voice free, she enjoyed the unrestraint as she filled her lungs and sang the final chorus.
“I knew I did not imagine you, Lady Eve,” a deep voice said to her left, startling her into sudden silence.
Jumping up, Evelyn backed against a thick branch, putting as much space between her and the man as possible. But when her eyes settled on the person hovering between two branches, his arms resting casually as he took a step up on a root and then onto the flat base of the tree, she gasped. How had he found her here?
“Your grace,” she said at once, dipping into a low curtsy.
“So you remember me,” he said, smiling.
They stood but three paces from one another on opposite ends of the tree. Evelyn leaned further back against a branch thicker than herself, her mind racing with the implications of the duke’s presence.
“What are you doing here, your grace?” She’d wondered if it was him in the back of Lord Sanders’ carriage, but had since convinced herself it was merely Lord Sanders whom she saw and her imagination had surely run away from her. She’d been thinking of the duke so often that the argument had held weight.
But no, the man was here. In this tree. With her.
His hair looked windswept, as though he’d ridden hard all morning. But that could not be, for the ground was slippery with new snow. His eyes, however, were serious and resolute, watching her with directness. “I heard you sing and I followed the voice.”
Drat her voice and her need to sing loud. Why couldn’t she have simply been quiet? Well, because
she had imagined herself alone. And nowhere near the duke.
“I don’t mean in this tree, your grace. I mean what are you doing in Derham?”
His eyebrows lifting in bafflement, he focused on her. “I’ve come to stay with Lord Sanders, of course. I cannot believe my luck. Do you live nearby?”
His luck, indeed. Evelyn could not believe her own misfortune. Of course the duke would come to visit the very earl who owned these woods directly after she lied to him about her name. It was such an absurd coincidence that Evelyn wanted to laugh aloud as much as she wanted the earth to swallow her whole.
“I have come for the holiday,” she said. Unease spread through her abdomen at her continued dishonesty. She should tell him now that it was a mere game she had played. That her lie from the masquerade was nothing more than a fantasy and she had taken advantage of the moment and the masks to say the words she’d dreamed of being true her whole life. She opened her mouth to do exactly that when Alverton stepped forward, hesitantly, and reached for her.
“Allow me to help you from that branch. You needn’t fear me now that you’ve seen I am no poacher or gypsy.”
Foolishly, no doubt, Evelyn placed her hand in Alverton’s and held it tightly as she took a soft step down onto the base of the tree. They stood together on the center of the trunk, larger branches thicker than Alverton’s waist reaching out in every direction and allowing them to feel as though they stood in a secluded, mystical place.
Time seemed to stand still. But she was proven wrong by the assumption that the world had stopped spinning when her breath clouded before her and dissipated.
“How could I have been so fortunate?” Alverton said, his voice a low whisper as his gloved fingers tightened around her own. “I came to the determination only last evening to seek you out on my return to London. Little did I know you were so close already.”
She swallowed, pulling her hand free. “You are not making sense, your grace.”
A Duke For Lady Eve (Belles 0f Christmas Book 5) Page 4