“I plan to court you, Lady Eve, if it is agreeable to you. I have not met a woman who arrested my attention so deeply as you have.”
“You are mad, your grace,” she answered, her lips tipping into a smile. He had known her for all of an hour. He could not wish to court her.
“I might be under a spell, if your voice is indeed magical,” he responded, his voice husky.
Yes. She was correct. The duke was certainly disturbed.
He shook his head. “I realize how I sound. But I am not begging for you to marry me. Simply allow me to court you. To discover if we would suit.”
“I am sorry, but I must refuse you. I cannot waste your time when I already know we won’t suit.”
“Why not?”
“Well,” Evelyn began, swallowing her fear, “because I am not suitable.”
He laughed, digging the humiliation further into her heart. His eyes were alight with mirth as he gazed down at her. “I shall not be put off, you know. I’ve been forced to endure the most ridiculous women for my mother’s sake. I am finished with that business.”
“I am in earnest,” Evelyn continued, but the duke’s unrelenting gaze forced prickles to run down her skin and she turned away suddenly, her own voice lost to the emotion of what could have been. Alverton wanted to court her and she had no choice but to refuse. The duke didn’t want to court Evelyn, he wanted Lady Eve.
She needed to remove herself from his presence. Gripping the tree tightly, Evelyn lowered herself onto a tall root before hopping down onto the ground. Wind rustled by, teasing her with the scent of evergreen. She should be feeling the joy of the upcoming Christmastide, not the panic and disappointment of Alverton’s company.
“Where are you going?” he called after her. But she set off toward home, not pausing to look back.
His footsteps were muffled by the snow as he jogged to catch up with her, but Evelyn did not slow. Finding the game trail which ran the width of the woods, she took it toward her house.
“Wait,” Alverton called.
“No thank you, your grace. I must return.”
“You would leave when I have requested you stay?” His tone of voice caused her to pause, but it was not a forceful, authoritative sound. Rather, he seemed confused.
Evelyn turned to find Alverton regarding her with curiosity. She could see that he felt rejected, and it was clearly foreign to him, just like it was the night of the ball. But she told him she was not suitable. Why could he not leave her be?
“Your grace,” she began, soothing with her words as though he was a disappointed child. “This would not work. It would never work. Surely you can take my word for it and allow me to leave peacefully.”
His eyebrows drew together, his arms hanging limp from broad shoulders. “I see. You are promised to another man.”
Evelyn scoffed—she could not help it—and took a step back, bumping into a tree. She opened her mouth to deny the accusation when it struck her that Alverton had given her a perfect way out of the mess she’d entangled herself in.
As much as she would love to be courted by a duke, it was a ridiculous notion. She might have lied about her name, but she had not lied to him earlier about the state of her suitability. As a woman with no title or power, she was unfit to become a duchess. She was unsuitable. But the only way to make him believe it to be true was if she explained her lie. And her pride would not allow her to do so.
But a secret commitment to another man—however fictional he might be—was the perfect answer to her predicament.
“You are,” he continued, shaking his head ruefully. “Of course you are. How did I not see it before?”
Guilt momentarily filled her body as Alverton glanced away, coming back to rest his gaze on her with disappointment.
“‘Tis not widely known. And I beg you not to speak of it to another soul.” She dropped her gaze to Alverton’s boots before reaching his eyes once more. “Perhaps, your grace, we might part on good terms.”
“Yes, of course,” he answered, distracted. He glanced back over his shoulder toward the large tree and then sighed. “I am planning to remain with Sanders until Twelfth Night. Perhaps I will see you again over Christmastide.”
“Perhaps,” she lied. If it was in Evelyn’s power, she would never see the duke again.
“May I escort you home?” he asked. “It cannot be safe to cross the countryside alone.”
“Being found alone with you would be entirely more compromising, your grace. But I thank you for the solicitous offer.”
He bowed, understanding resting on his brow. His bearing was stiff, his mouth set in a grim line. “Good day, Lady Eve.”
Her stomach constricted as she savored the last time she would ever hear those glorious words. It was for the best, but that did not make it easy.
“Good day, your grace,” she replied.
Turning away, Evelyn filled her lungs and did not empty them until she was well out of earshot. She could not allow herself to think of what could be possible if she was Lady Eve in truth. It would only make the situation more difficult to bear.
Approaching her house, she let herself into the warm kitchen and through to the dining room, where her brothers sat flanking her father, the three of them partaking of a hearty breakfast. They were just the sort of distraction she needed.
“There you are, you little mischief makers,” she said, stepping forward and resting her hands on the table. “I was told this morning that you’d taken the horses out and went to fetch you.”
Harry glanced up from his plate, an unrepentant expression on his face. “It was cold,” he explained, “so we came back inside.”
Evelyn chuckled, shaking her head. That certainly explained why she had not seen any hoofprints in the snow. “Finish your breakfast and then I shall read to you.” Turning her attention to the older man, she said, “Father, have you any objection to my inviting the Coopers to dine with us on Christmas?”
He glanced up, his intelligent gaze reading her face.
“I have missed Julia deeply these last few months,” she said, as if reminding him of her friendship with Julia would cause him to forget that Julia’s brother was a doctor.
“No,” he responded. “I have no objections to the Coopers. They shall make a fine addition to our Christmas dinner.”
The smile which spread over her lips was wide and unrelenting. “I shall write to Julia at once,” she said, turning on her heel.
“Do not get any silly notions,” her father called as she left the room. She promptly pretended not to have heard him.
* * *
Dinner that evening was quiet. Aunt Edith complained of her headache through the duration of the meal and when they moved into the parlor following dinner, the older woman settled herself onto the chair beside the fire and moaned quietly.
“Can I get you another blanket, Aunt?” Evelyn inquired, crossing the room to retrieve a quilt from the trunk.
“Have you heard that Lord Sanders returned to Derham?”
Evelyn paused, her hands buried in the trunk. She was grateful to be facing away from the light of the fire to allow herself time to compose her expression. “Oh?” she said at length.
“Yes,” Aunt Edith said crisply. “He’s brought a man with him, though none of his family came.”
Evelyn nodded, bringing the quilt to her aunt and laying it across the older woman’s knees. “It should not affect us,” she said.
“No,” her aunt agreed, “it never does. But I did wonder…” The old woman trailed off, watching Evelyn through narrowed eyes. “Perhaps all is not lost yet.”
Evelyn was afraid to ask Aunt Edith to clarify. The woman had a calculation about her eyes that was frightening. Swallowing her fear, Evelyn straightened her shoulders. “Whatever plan you are forming, allow yourself to forget it at once.”
She wanted to remind Aunt Edith that her marriage to Mr. Chadwick, while it did something to elevate her status, did not put their family on the same l
evel as an earl. Lord Sanders was certainly not going to deem Evelyn worthy of becoming his countess—and neither would his houseguest, the duke.
“You underestimate me, my dear,” Aunt Edith said, her voice eerie and low. “You are a gentleman’s daughter, and do not forget it.”
“Aunt,” Evelyn said, doing her best to keep calm. “A gentleman’s daughter is nothing compared to a Peer.”
“We shall see.”
Chapter 6
Even now, days after meeting Lady Eve in the grove of trees, Alverton felt like a simpleton for not connecting earlier that the woman he saw in the street was Lady Eve herself. Of course she was transposed to a different place—one would not expect a lady to be standing in the road on a cold winter morning—but he should have known her by her intelligent eyes. And he would have, he’d like to think, had he been able to see her eyes from the carriage.
She was, as he imagined, quite beautiful without the mask. It was difficult not to be angry at her for allowing him to dance with her when she was promised to another man. But alas, that was ridiculous and petty and he knew better. It did explain why she was so eager to deny his courtship.
His courtship. Alverton sat on the sofa in Sanders’ drawing room and dropped his head into his hands. What a fool he had been. Lady Eve likely thought him mad for his quick request to call on her. He must have been out of his mind, for he hardly knew her. And a woman as beautiful as she with a voice so velvety and rich could not possibly be available. He had been wishfully thinking, that was all.
“Shall we ride into Derham on horseback or within the confines of a carriage?” Sanders asked, coming into the room and leaning against the door frame, his arms folded across his chest.
“Horseback, man. Always. I should like to see this hedge you spoke of.”
Sanders lifted an eyebrow. “We might freeze.”
“Doubtful.” Alverton rose. “But either way, I am sure your vicar has a hearth warm enough to thaw us.”
Sanders lifted his gaze to the ceiling and sighed. “If we do not melt in a puddle of boredom on his rug then we can liven our spirits again with a race back home afterwards.”
Alverton stood and crossed the room, following Sanders to the front door where the butler stood waiting to help the men into their coats. “Why must we visit the man if it is bound to be so distasteful?”
“Good standing, I suppose,” Sanders said. “We’ve always paid the vicar particular attention when coming to stay in Derham. His predecessor was my mother’s brother.”
“And this man?”
“It is difficult for him to travel,” Sanders answered, understanding his friend’s unspoken query. “We have no relation to Mr. Hart. We are following tradition.”
“You have a much different tradition than we hold back home,” Alverton said. He sucked in a sharp breath as the door opened and they stepped outside. The temperature had dropped once more and the frigid air made breathing difficult. “We make our vicar come to us.”
“Yes, well, we might do the same. But our vicar can hardly walk.”
Alverton paused on the walkway between the house and the stables and blinked. Sanders continued on through the snow and he hurried to catch up. “What do you mean?”
Turning to shoot Alverton a grin, Sanders chuckled. “You’ll see.”
They rode into town and stopped at the vicarage, sliding down from their horses simultaneously and tying their reins to the fence. Masculine tones floated through the door and it was clear the moment they approached the house that the vicar already had a visitor.
Alverton and Sanders exchanged a glance when the door swung open and a man appeared, his sandy hair worn long and a well-cut coat upon his shoulders. “Oh,” he said, surprised.
The vicar, Mr. Hart, approached behind the blond man—or so Alverton assumed, based on his walking unsteadily with the use of two canes. His hair was dark as night but he had the understanding eyes of a man of God. What surprised Alverton was his youth. For a man supporting himself with two canes, he looked to be a few years Alverton’s junior.
“Alverton, meet our vicar, Mr. Hart,” Sanders began.
“Ah, your grace. Lord Sanders,” Mr. Hart said, bowing as best he could manage. “Please allow me to introduce Dr. Cooper, our neighborhood surgeon.”
The men all bowed to one another and proper pleasantries were exchanged. “The other Dr. Cooper must be your father, I presume?” Sanders asked.
The man nodded, a pleasant smile on his lips. He had an easy way about him that inspired confidence. “Indeed. Though presently he’s retired to Bath with my mother.”
“In search of a remedy?”
“Yes,” Dr. Cooper said. “For his gout.”
Sanders chuckled. “How poetic.” He turned to Alverton and explained, “The senior Dr. Cooper was also a doctor. He saw my father on occasion and I remember him well.”
Dr. Cooper grinned. “I tried to tell my father he could recover just as well here as he could in Bath now that I am trained to take over for him, but he would have none of it. In truth, I believe he would not quit working while there was a need. So he has gone to Bath more for peace than the waters.”
Sanders nodded. “An industrious man, I presume.”
“Very,” Mr. Hart said, nodding. “Dr. Cooper is a fine man. His son is, too.”
One would think that the vicar, Mr. Hart, with his fatherly disposition, would be surrounded by children of his own. But he was unmarried, according to Sanders, and lived quite alone. His deformity of the legs, while strange, was not gruesome. And though the earl had told Alverton that the vicar was a dead bore, he seemed a nice sort of man.
Why were the men of Derham all young and unmarried?
Alverton glanced behind him as though all the old, married men of Derham were standing in the garden, but it was empty.
“Well, I shan’t keep you,” Dr. Cooper said, lifting his hat. “Your grace. My lord.” He glanced back to Mr. Hart with an amused smile. “And my vicar.”
“Good day,” the men chorused behind the young surgeon as he walked away. Pleasantness aside, he was not the man Alverton would choose to send for if he became ill. Could Dr. Cooper really be qualified? He must not be over five and twenty.
“Please come in,” Mr. Hart said, stepping back to allow space for Sanders and Alverton to file inside. The vicarage was small but warm and they took seats on a sofa as a maid bustled into the room bearing a tea tray.
Alverton could see at once why Sanders kept up with visiting the vicarage. The man walked slowly, heavily using the canes as he dragged one leg as though it was nothing more than dead weight. It was unpleasant to watch and Alverton glanced toward the window to allow the vicar privacy as he crossed the room and lowered himself gently into a chair near the seated men.
“You appear to be well,” Sanders said, nodding unashamedly at the man’s leg.
Alverton swallowed his shock as the vicar nodded, his eyebrows raised. “I owe a lot to the young Dr. Cooper. The man has used some unorthodox methods with my leg, but they’ve worked wonders. I cannot imagine I’d be walking at all if not for his influence.”
Sanders nodded. “If he’s anything like his father, then I am sure you’re in good hands.”
“Enough about me,” Mr. Hart said, his eyes glittering with interest. “I have heard many tales about you since your last stay, Lord Sanders, and I have been dying to know if it is indeed true that you…” Pausing, the vicar cast a side-glance at Alverton. The duke straightened in his chair, sure that this was the oddest beginning to a conversation he’d ever witnessed between a man of God and an earl.
“Do not fear the duke’s censor,” Sanders said, waving a hand at Alverton as though he was insignificant. “He will not mind. Please, continue.”
Mr. Hart cast his gaze at Alverton and then back at Sanders. Lowering his voice, he asked, “Is it true you raced clear from Kensington to Hyde Park in your curricle? In the middle of the day?”
The grin which form
ed on Sanders mouth answered the vicar’s question for him. “Indeed. And I won.”
Mr. Hart laughed, slapping his leg. “I am impressed, my lord. I should like to hear the whole of the story if you are willing to share.”
“So should I,” Alverton added, surprised. “Why did I not hear of this escapade?”
“It was during the heat of the summer and you were off gallivanting with your grandmother in Bath, I believe.”
“Ah.” Alverton nodded. “Yes. We tried the waters ourselves. Nasty, too. Though Grandmother was not gallivanting; that would have been quite the spectacle to be sure.”
Sanders broke into peals of laughter. “Too true. The duchess would never do such an undignified thing. She is far too elegant.”
Alverton watched his friend snicker, taken slightly aback. What had Sanders meant by such a thing? Sure, grandmother was dignified. She was a duchess. It was part of her duty to set the tone and the example. Everyone looked up to the ducal families.
“Did you have a team of two, or four?” Mr. Hart inquired.
“Four,” Sanders answered, turning on the sofa to better face the vicar. “They were prime, too. All four matched perfectly and I owe them my victory.”
The men went on to discuss the finer points of the race while Alverton waved away the offer of tea and ruminated on the things which occurred that day that did not fit in with his line of thinking.
He was not an overly proud man, or so he liked to think, but the familiar way in which Sanders conversed so easily with his vicar and the town doctor was not how Alverton was raised to hold himself.
As the visit drew to a close, Sanders lifted a hand to stop Mr. Hart from rising. “We can see ourselves out. Do not tire yourself on our account.”
“Much obliged, my lord.” Mr. Hart turned his attention to Alverton and watched him with the intelligent, knowing eyes of a man who saw more than what was plainly laid before him. He seemed to see into Alverton’s very soul; the feeling was quite unpleasant. “Have you any plans for Christmas, gentlemen?”
A Duke For Lady Eve (Belles 0f Christmas Book 5) Page 5