A Duke For Lady Eve (Belles 0f Christmas Book 5)
Page 7
“No,” he said at once. “As long as my cousins are in London then I am pleased to be away.”
“They are that tiring?”
Alverton guided Evelyn onto the road where he had first come upon her. He eyed her as though he was determining how much to share, and then said, “My oldest cousin is a title-chaser and has determined to set me as her prize. I would do well to avoid her until either she has wed, or I have.”
Evelyn paused on the road and looked up at the tall man. The cold air began to bite at her and she shivered. “What a horrible thing to live through. Perhaps it is well that you’ve come to hide in Derham.”
He chuckled, a warm sound that ran through Evelyn like honey. “I suppose I have come here to hide, haven’t I?”
Did he expect a response? Evelyn turned back for the road and Alverton fell into step beside her. “But in truth, it matters not where I go,” he said. “There are women everywhere who would make themselves ridiculous for a chance to snare the duke.” He sighed, his face trained toward the road they walked on. “They all lie and exaggerate and puff themselves up, pretending to be whatever it is they believe I want them to be. It is difficult to know who I might trust.”
Evelyn froze, though her feet continued to carry her along the road. She was afraid to look at the duke for fear that he would read her panic and realize at once that she’d been untruthful herself. Perhaps if she merely explained right now and came clean about the whole of it, he would understand her motivation and realize she had only meant it for her own pleasure. She had only lied about her name because she wanted to know what it felt like to be called a lady.
“What these women don’t realize, however, is that the title bears a magnitude of responsibility that takes a great deal of strength and fortitude to withhold. It is not for the weak of spirit or mind, and certainly not for the lowborn misses who would corner me in a billiards room and attempt to be caught alone.”
He spoke from experience, it would seem.
His words, full of disdain and contempt, frightened Evelyn and she resolved to take her secret with her to the grave. There was no possible way she would be able to explain now that she had merely wished to be called a lady, not when Alverton expressed such disgust for the low-born misses who attempted to make something better of themselves.
She felt foolish to the extreme. Humiliation snaked through her and she sought for a way to alter the course of their conversation.
“Perhaps you might be interested in hearing that Derham doesn’t have much in the way of social activities.”
Alverton shot her a glance and she snapped her mouth closed. What had she been thinking? A duke as high-minded as Alverton would never stoop to town assemblies anyway.
“Not that you would attend them, if they did, your grace,” she added. Alverton’s smile was amused and Evelyn wished she hadn’t spoken at all.
“Sanders has plans for the duration of our stay and I am fairly certain none of them involve leaving the estate.”
“Except for right now,” Evelyn said as hoofbeats clopped behind them and Lord Sanders rode into view. At least, that was who she assumed the man was. She hadn’t laid eyes on him since they were children, his visits growing more infrequent as he aged. And when he did come, he did not stoop to visit the Trainors.
“Finished already?” Alverton inquired.
“Already?” Lord Sanders said, laughing. “Gads, man. I was there for an hour at least.” He turned his attention to Evelyn and she swallowed.
“Do you know Lady Eve?” Alerton inquired.
“I don’t believe I do,” Lord Sanders said from high atop his stallion. He slid down and landed on the ground with a graceful thud. Lifting his hat, he bowed lower than Evelyn deserved. “My pleasure, my lady.”
Unease slithered through her and she curtsied. “The pleasure is mine, my lord.” Acute discomfort forced her hands to shake with nerves, and Evelyn glanced between the men. “I am afraid my aunt will wonder where I’ve gone off to. If you’ll excuse me, I must go.”
The men bowed. Alverton looked as though he wished to speak, but Evelyn did not pause long enough to allow him the chance. She spun on her heel and took off for the deer path through the grove.
By the time she was safely ensconced in the woods, she could hear two sets of horse hooves thundering softly past on the frozen ground. She slipped behind a tree and leaned her back against it, peeking behind the trunk to watch the men disappear down the lane which would lead them to Chesford Place.
Alverton glanced over his shoulder just before they disappeared, his gaze searching the tree line. He found her, and his eyes locked on hers for a moment before he was gone.
Evelyn squeezed her eyes closed, her chest rising and falling quickly with adrenaline. This lie was growing steadily and it was not good. Lord Sanders was her next-door neighbor. What if he recognized her when she was with her father or brothers? What if, sometime in the future, Lord Sanders saw her at church and addressed her by her fictitious name?
She’d gotten lucky at the Taylors’ house, but someone was bound to call her by her correct name in front of the duke eventually.
That was it. She had no choice. She couldn’t continue to keep the secret; it was not practical. Regardless of Alverton’s earlier words, she had to come clean.
Chapter 8
“Do you know a poor family in Derham by the name of Taylor?” Alverton asked, leading his steed into the barn.
“Can’t say that I do,” Sanders replied, sliding from his horse. They handed their reins to the stable servants and crossed the snowy lawn toward the house. “Should I know them?”
“I should say not,” Alverton said with feeling. He’d lived a comfortable life, and he was aware of his elevated status. But that was why he had never been forced to endure the filth which the Taylors lived in. And he was not meant to endure it, or he would have been born to a lesser station. “I had the unfortunate experience just today with Lady Eve. I escorted her to deliver a sick basket and I have to admit that it was highly unpleasant being in their house.”
Sanders watched his friend from the side with an arrested expression. “What was so disturbing about the Taylor household?”
“The filth. Their poverty. Never in my life have I witnessed such squalor, and I have gambled in some questionable places in London.”
“Perhaps it is good to see how these people are living.”
“For what purpose? These are not my people,” Alverton said, following Sanders up the steps and into the house.
Alverton’s thoughts traveled back to his own childhood and the small shack in the village near his own home which housed a young boy he used to play with. The boy lived in a house much like the Taylors’, and when Alverton’s father had come upon them climbing trees one afternoon the duke had immediately forbade the connection and sent the other boy home. He had proceeded to teach Alverton the importance of sticking with those of his own rank, for he was born into the place he was meant to be.
And now, his chest panged. Alverton had felt the goodness of Lady Eve’s charity, but she needn’t have gone herself to accomplish her task. She could do the same good through a servant and save herself from exposure to the Taylors’ poverty.
Though he had to admit, the child who had called him my grace was rather charming.
Warmth from the house enfolded him and he immediately crossed to the study and lowered himself into a chair before the fire, his friend following close behind.
“But does it not benefit you to understand others from every status?” Sanders continued. He seemed unable to let it go. “Though we need not struggle how they do, witnessing their hardship allows us to better appreciate our own blessed lives.”
Alverton paused, attempting to read Sanders’ sincerity. Had his friend gone mad? When had he ever cared about appreciating his own fortunes in this manner? Alverton appreciated his own just fine while he sent his servants about administering charity for the tenants under his care.
“This is not your estate,” Alverton argued. “This was your mother’s.”
“And the people mean a great deal to her because of that,” Sanders said. “Even if she chooses to remain closer to our family seat. The steward still sends her reports of the work we do within this parish.”
Alverton had a thought. He leaned his head back on the chair and smiled. “Tell me, what was the name of the grove prior to your father renaming it after himself?”
Sanders chuckled. “It was merely referred to as ‘the grove’ before that. I suppose my father did not like that it went without a name. But enough about this nonsense. I’ve invited Dr. Cooper and Mr. Hollingsford over for dinner and cards the day after tomorrow.”
Alverton groaned. He was not sure if his assessment was correct, but after watching Lady Eve with Dr. Cooper, he was nearly positive the doctor was the man she had an arrangement with.
But how could it be? Her, a lady, and he, a mere country surgeon? Alverton shook his head. He must have misread the situation.
“I can see you resent the prospect,” Sanders said apologetically. “It will not be all bad. Hollingsford might be a pompous toad, but Cooper is a good sort.”
That was precisely opposite to the way Alverton felt at present. And he hardly knew Hollingsford above a few short encounters in Town.
“And,” Sanders continued, “I was able to put off a dinner invitation at the Hollingsfords’ home due to this dinner.”
“Then I heartily approve.”
Sanders chuckled. “I figured as much. Now are you going to tell me about the woman?”
Alverton glanced up quickly to find Sanders watching him closely. “No,” he said. There was nothing to discuss. Especially with Lady Eve’s unavailability.
“I saw the way you looked at her, man,” Sanders said, his eyebrows raised. Stretching forth his legs, he crossed them at the ankles and leaned back, settling into his chair. “You have not so much as glanced at a woman on purpose in the last year.”
The last year. Precisely.
“And I am not glancing now, either. She is not…” Alverton stopped himself. To speak further on the subject he would need to tell Sanders of Lady Eve’s engagement, and she expressly asked him not to tell a soul. He would not break that promise, not even for his dearest friend.
“Yes?”
“Nothing,” Alverton said. “I’m of a mind to shoot something right now. What say you?”
Sanders grinned. “I say yes.”
* * *
The woods were sparse but the dogs were able to rustle up a few birds, and Alverton shot at them with all the pent up energy his previous twelvemonth had acquired.
“While I was at the Hollingsfords today I heard tell they are holding an assembly in the village for Twelfth Night,” Sanders said. “Have you any interest in attending?”
Alverton looked at his friend as though he’d sprouted horns, but the man was simply inspecting his reloaded gun.
“It is not my first choice in entertainment, as you well know.”
A sudden scream pierced the woods and both men paused, turning toward the sound. Alverton caught Sanders’ eye when the scream sounded again, young and high-pitched as though it came from a child or young woman.
Their eyes locked and seemed to make an unspoken decision. Tucking their guns under their arms, they took off in a run toward the sound, Sanders in the lead.
Though he was nearly positive the sound came from a child, he could not be entirely certain. Alverton’s stomach clenched as he ran, his mind racing with fear for Lady Eve’s safety. She seemed to travel the width of Sanders Grove frequently and he did not know if there were gypsies nearby or wild animals.
Wailing sounded, breaking through his panic. It grew louder as the men neared the massive tree where Alverton had first seen Lady Eve within these woods, and to his great relief, the wails did not sound as though they came from a grown woman.
A bright patch of fiery red hair grabbed his attention. “Over there,” he said, pointing to a small boy laying on the ground, crying out in anguish.
Alverton raced to the boy’s side, kneeling on the damp, frozen ground. “Where are you hurt?” he asked.
The boy could not be above ten years old. His freckled face was screwed up in pain, his eyes squeezed closed.
“Did you fall?” Sanders asked from just behind Alverton.
“Yes!” another voice shouted from high above them, causing both men to look up simultaneously. Another red-headed boy sat directly above them on a branch, straddling it while his arms circled it securely. “He was trying to beat me to the top and fell.”
“Can you get yourself down?” Sanders called while the boy on the ground cried out in pain once again, squeezing his eyes shut. “I have an errand for you and I need you to come down here directly.”
There was a moment of utter silence when the boy in the tree seemed to watch Sanders with some reserve. Alverton chose not to waste time in that quarter as Sanders clearly had things well in hand, and grabbed the boy on the ground softly by the shoulders. His eyes shot open and registered Alverton at once.
“Tell me where you are hurt,” Alverton said with the authority instilled in him as a man of superior rank.
“My leg,” the boy said at once.
Ah, good. So he could talk. “And what is your name?”
“Harry,” he replied.
Alverton released Harry’s arms, moving down to investigate the injury of his leg. “Do you think you can walk?”
Harry shook his head and Alverton did his best not to show his concern when he noticed dark red blood leaking through the boy’s trousers. He must have sliced his leg on the way down, but it did not appear to be broken. Turning back to look in Harry’s eyes, he said, “I am going to lift you and carry you home while my friend sends for a doctor. Are you capable of directing me to your house?”
Harry gave an audible swallow and nodded his head. The boy could easily be a pale-faced redhead; it was not such an uncommon combination. But Alverton believed the degree of ashiness on Harry’s face was more likely due to the injury he’d sustained and not the natural pallor of his skin.
Digging his hands underneath the boy, Alverton scraped his knuckles on the icy earth, catching a sharp object with his skin which caused his hand to sting. He lifted Harry carefully, ignoring his own pain the moment an expression of discomfort lit the small boy’s face.
“Now where shall I go?”
“This way! Follow me!” The other little boy leapt from the base of the tree and into Alverton’s path, eager, it seemed, to be of some use.
“Not so fast,” Sanders shouted. “Are you familiar with Dr. Cooper’s location?”
The boy spun, looking between Sanders and the direction of his house. “Yes.”
“Then run for the man. Tell him what happened and where he shall find us.”
A determined light shone in the boy’s eyes and he set off at once in the direction of town.
“Brilliant,” Alverton said, nodding to his friend. “Now Harry, tell me where I am to go. For you must know you weigh more than a bag of rocks.”
Not that Alverton himself knew what a bag of rocks felt like, but he could assume.
Harry delivered a small smile before pointing in the direction the other boy had initially run. “That way.”
Alverton set off at a rapid pace. Harry was small and carrying him was no great burden—Alverton had not taken all of those fisticuff lessons for nothing it seemed—but he was paling rapidly and the warmth from his leg was seeping onto Alverton’s arm. That could not be good.
“Who is the other boy?” Alverton asked, hoping to distract Harry from his pain. They were clearly identical twins.
“My brother.”
“And his name?”
“Jack.”
Nodding, Alverton glanced at Sanders, who kept pace just behin
d him on the narrow game trail. “And what were you two doing in that tree?”
“Catching pirates,” Harry said, as though this was a perfectly reasonable explanation. “But we were supposed to be gathering evergreen boughs for the hearth.” He squeezed his eyes closed. “I am going to be in trouble.”
The boy needed further distraction. “Do you know who that large tree belongs to?” Alverton asked.
“Lord Sanders. But the man is never around.” Harry gasped as his foot caught on a tree branch and Alverton cringed.
“Lord Sanders’ absence makes it acceptable to play on his land?” Sanders asked over the duke’s shoulder. “Are you not frightened of being mistaken for poachers?”
“We’ve always played on the tree. The old Lord Sanders told my father he didn’t mind.”
That must have occurred before this child was even born. Alverton quickly added up how many years there had been since Sanders’ father had passed away. There was no way this small child was twelve years old. Was he being dishonest?
“I have it on good authority,” Alverton said, shooting Sanders a look over his shoulder, “that the elder Lord Sanders died many years ago.”
Harry scoffed. “Well, I did not mean that he allowed me and Jack to play on the tree. Only that he didn’t mind my sister playing on the tree.”
Alverton was about to inquire what Harry meant by his words when they broke through the treeline and came before a squat, square house nestled in a small open valley right beside the grove. Its stone walls were punctuated by even, consistent windows and smoke billowed from the chimneys.
“Is this your house?” Alverton asked.
“Yes.”
Sanders ran ahead of them, pounding on the door with zeal. “Let us in,” he commanded. “Your boy is hurt.”
The door swung open to reveal an aged butler with wide eyes. Alverton mounted the steps and swept inside, past the servant. “Where to?” he asked, his voice sounding worried to his own ears.
“This way, sir,” the butler said, leading him down a narrow corridor.