The Duke’s Wicked Wager - Lady Evelyn Evering: A Regency Romance Novel (Heart of a Gentleman Book 2)

by Isabella Thorne

  “Calm down, Frederic,” said Adele. “She is fine. No harm was done. No one knows, apart from the stable staff and who will they tell? She has said she will not do it again. Can you not see she is upset? Leave it for now. Evie, dear, go upstairs.”

  Adele said this all in a stream of words and punctuated each phrase with a tug until she had dragged Frederic back to the other side of the breakfast parlor and pushed him into a chair. Adele waved Evelyn away and she fled the room.

  ~.~

  Chapter Three

  Dinner was a quiet affair. Frederic refused to even so much as look at Evelyn and Adele had given up playing peacemaker. She could hardly touch her food, and Frederic pushed his around his plate more than he ate it. Adele waved away the servant’s offer for dessert. When Evelyn rose to retire for the evening, Frederic looked up, bleary eyed.

  “I have sent a note to Lord Ashwood,” he said, voice hoarse as if he had been yelling. “He will come on the morrow for dinner. I expressed to him the urgency I feel in having you betrothed and he quite agrees with me. I expect he will propose, if not tomorrow, than shortly afterward. You will accept.”

  Adele must not have been told of this, for she looked at Frederic with shock on her face. Evelyn was too numb to react; she had already cried herself out this afternoon.

  “Very well, Frederic.” Evelyn replied softly and padded out of the room.

  A short time later, a soft knock announced Adele at her bedroom door. The woman entered a book in her hands like a peace offering.

  With a hesitant smile, Adele asked, “Shall I read to you, ma chére?”

  ~.~

  Lord Ashwood arrived without fanfare. Evelyn delayed going down, though she had seen his coach pull up some time ago. Let Frederic have his time with the man: A chance to beg him to marry Evelyn as soon as he could. The hurried engagement would raise gossip all on its own, but he must think it preferable to the increasingly dangerous scandal brewing between The Duke and Evelyn. How much would he tell Lord Ashwood? Not much, she thought.

  Adele had left her novel in Evelyn’s room. The tale was a scandalous one and not at all suitable for a young woman; since her friend had only been reading to cheer and distract Evelyn, she did not take as much offense as she might have otherwise. Frederic would be furious if she stayed up here struggling through the French novel rather than heading down. He had warned her not to ruin this meeting with Lord Ashwood. Would he propose today? She imagined he would ask her to accompany him to the garden. Alone, then he would ask her. Her brother would be thrilled and her future would be secure, but is it what she wanted? Time was running out to decide.

  She took slow, plodding steps down the stairs. Her father would have called it stomping and told her to act like a lady. Evelyn peeked into the room. Lord Ashwood and Frederic were at the table with half-filled wine glasses. Lord Ashwood looked excited, his round face flushed from the drink or the heat of the fire. Frederic looked nervous. She could see it in the tightness around his eyes. Evelyn stepped in.

  “Lady Evelyn!” Lord Ashwood stood and bowed to her. He seemed as happy as ever to see her.

  “Good afternoon, Lord Ashwood. I hope my brother has not been boring you while I was upstairs,” said Evelyn, letting the man lead her to the seat beside him.

  “Not at all, not at all,” he replied. “You look lovely, so it was time well spent.”

  A servant yelled somewhere in the house and another called back. Footsteps thudded on the wood floor of the entry hall. Lord Ashwood glanced at Frederic, who raised one shoulder in a shrug but rose from his seat. He clapped Evelyn on the shoulder, and nodded to Lord Ashwood.

  “I wonder what has happened.” Evelyn asked. “Really, what has gotten into the servants of late?”

  Frederic ignored her question.

  “Lord Ashwood has asked for a private moment with you, sister,” said Frederic. “And I have given my blessing.”

  For more than the private moment, he meant. Evelyn gulped. Was she ready? Is this what she wanted? Frederic took his leave, presumably to deal with the commotion.

  Lord Ashwood held a hand out to her and she took it. His hands were warm, hers were ice. He led them out through the house and down the stone steps to the back of the house, where a small ornamental garden abutted the kitchen garden. Only a few late season flowers were in bloom. Outside, she could hear the ruckus at the entrance hall growing louder. Lord Ashwood cleared his throat. She turned her attention back to him.

  “Pardon me, I just cannot imagine what all this fuss is about,” she said.

  “A tiff between two servants, perhaps?” he suggested. “Are you warm enough, Lady Evelyn? Should I send a servant to fetch your stole?”

  “Thank you, but no. I am enjoying the bite of this weather.”

  “Your brother informed me you had been out for a ride – Your first since your accident, no? How did you find it?”

  Either her brother had not told Lord Ashwood of the circumstances of the ride, or the man was a better actor than Adele. Nothing of discomfort or accusation showed in his tone or on his face. A shouted expletive made them both start and turn.

  “Was that Frederic?” Evelyn stood on her toes as if she could see around the house to commotion at the front.

  “I cannot imagine your brother using such language,” said Lord Ashwood.

  Evelyn burst out laughing. Lord Ashwood looked so affronted by this she nearly broke into hysterics. She covered her mouth her hand.

  “I am so sorry, I am not laughing at you,” she said. “It is just my brother has one of the foulest tempers. I pray you never have to experience it!”

  “I would never have guessed!” Lord Ashwood exclaimed. “He seems a mild mannered, respectable man.”

  Thinking of a different young gentleman, Evelyn replied, “Yes, you never can tell what is under that veneer though, can you?”

  Lord Ashwood shook his head in amazement. “I suppose not.”

  He drew them away from the house, toward a stone bench beneath an oak tree. In its shade, Evelyn shivered. She did not want him to ask, not yet, not before she knew what to say. Lord Ashwood opened his mouth to speak but Evelyn spoke first.

  “My ride was more difficult than I had expected. At first, I was frightened to mount, and then frightened when I was up there, and frightened to go at speed.” Evelyn looked down at her hands. “It was an unusual feeling for me. But I hope it will subside in time. I am afraid I am just a ball of nerves.”

  A door slammed in the distance. Evelyn’s eyes widened. Were Adele and Frederic having a row? This was their sort of thing, all drama and show. She could hear her friend’s voice rising, with an actor’s ability to project, over the sound of Frederic’s shouts.

  Lord Ashwood winced. “Well, this is not the setting I had in mind for this, but it is not that which will matter in the end, is it?”

  Evelyn could not breathe. Lord Ashwood slid from the bench and knelt before her. Her pulse hammered in her ears. His mouth was moving, saying distorted words she could not understand. She blinked and shook her head.

  “Sorry? Say again?”

  “I asked, dear Lady Evelyn, if you would do me the honor of marrying me,” he said, plainly, and with hope in his eyes.

  It came to her with shocking clarity. Looking down at him, Evelyn felt many things. Affection, friendship, respect. But not love. The racket from inside grew closer. She would not embarrass him in front of whatever was happening in there.

  “I am sorry, Lord Ashwood, but I cannot in good faith accept your offer,” she said. “You have been nothing but kind to me, and I would be doing you disservice by marrying you.”

  Lord Ashwood stood with a cracking of joints and a rueful laugh. He rubbed his hand on the back of his head.

  “I cannot say I am surprised,” he said. “But it seemed worth a go, and your brother would not relent until I had tried.”

  “You knew I would say no?” She frowned.

  “I may be old, but I am not blind,”
he sighed.

  The door to the garden banged open. She could vow she heard the wood crack against the stone of Evermont. In the doorway was The Duke, looking harried. Adele and Frederic were on his heels, like birds harrying a predator from their nest. He held up a hand to silence them as his eyes met Evelyn’s.

  “By God, Pemberton, if you do this I will never again call you a friend,” Frederic spat.

  If The Duke heard him, he gave no sign of it. He looked at Lord Ashwood, standing before Evelyn, and his eyes narrowed. Lord Ashwood held up his hands.

  “Your Grace. I want no part of your temper,” he said. “But you should calm yourself before approaching Lady Evelyn. She deserves none of your wrath.”

  The Duke’s jaw clenched, but he stopped five paces before Evelyn. “Lady Evelyn, I must speak with you. Alone.”

  Frederic snorted. “Absolutely not.”

  Adele, in a small voice, said, “Maybe it is for the best if we let them alone for a moment, Frederic.”

  Lord Ashwood looked to Evelyn. “What does the Lady Evelyn say?”

  Evelyn saw the look of determination in The Duke’s face. If he did not have a chance to say his words, he may do something more foolish and dire than storming, unwelcome, into Evermont.

  “Please, just let him say what he came to say” she said.

  Adele grabbed Frederic’s sleeve and tried to tow him back toward the house. He planted his heels, and the look he gave The Duke was wounded and betrayed. Lord Ashwood took Frederic by the other arm and together they marched him inside. Pemberton did not spare a glance for anyone but Evelyn.

  “Are you pleased with yourself?” she asked him, sitting back on the bench.

  “You have made yet another scene. It seems if you are good at one thing it is embarrassing yourself and me in the process!”

  “What did you say?” His voice was gravel.

  “I asked if you are pleased –”

  “No, not to me. To Lord Ashwood. I know he was here to ask you to marry him. Well, what did you say?”

  The demand rankled Evelyn. “I told him no.”

  The Duke looked relieved. He scrubbed his hand over his face and the scruffle of hair that had begun to grow on his chin and cheeks.

  “Thank God .I was worried I was too late.”

  “I would have told him no if you had happened to show up here or not,” Evelyn said, cross. “I do not love him, and I would not marry so kind a man as he with no chance of love. He deserves better.”

  He sat down beside her on the bench, his body angled toward hers. “I did not come here for that, not truly.”

  “Did you come to fight with my brother then? For you have done well at that.”

  “He will forgive me. I have supported him through more mad schemes than this; he only needs to remember it.”

  Evelyn gripped the bench beneath her, knuckles white. “Why are you here, then?”

  The Duke shifted. He stood, paced three steps, stopped in front of her, and paced three more. She was growing more anxious watching him.

  “You were correct,” he said at last. “In the orchard. I am a coward.”

  If he was waiting to be absolved, she did not grant it. She had grown tired of his flippancy, his back and forth.

  “However, I was not afraid of your brother; or of Miss Bouchard, mighty as she is. Do you remember what she told you? About the women who died because of me?”

  Evelyn, unnerved by his intensity, studied the gooseflesh on her bare arms. She should have brought a stole, the stone bench beneath her sucked the heat from her body and the sun had tucked itself behind a cloud.

  “Yes, but you said their demise was not your fault.”

  “And yet, three have died. How could I live with myself if the same fate befell you? What if I truly am cursed?” he said.

  She looked at him, taking in the bags beneath his eyes and his, even more than usual, rumpled appearance. He had forgotten his overcoat and looked quite as cold as she felt, though he took less notice of it.

  “You absurd man,” said Evelyn. “Is that the reason you have been keeping away from me, this whole time?”

  “I could not take the chance.”

  “Curses,” said Evelyn, standing, “are not real.”

  “Frederic says otherwise. He was there, you know.”

  “Then he is a fool as well.”

  “I have not been thinking straight,” The Duke said. He looked at the house behind him. “I did not mean to come here, only I had to tell you…”

  “That you are cursed, yes.”

  “No,” he said. “Not that.”

  He took Evelyn’s face between his hands. He was as cold as she. His hands were like ice.

  “I must tell you that I love you, Lady Evelyn.”

  The words were not ones she had thought she would ever hear, not from those lips. They hit her full force and left her breathless in their wake. His thumbs rubbed her cheekbones. He looked hopeful, young. For once, she did not need to question, nor think about her response. She had known it for as long as she had known the man.”

  “And I you, Your Grace.”

  In one perfect moment, they were alone and together. Consequences waited in the house, but in the garden they were untouchable. She leaned toward him, questioning. Here, he was not a coward. He captured her lips beneath his and she reached for him, hands fumbling to pull him closer. It was a clumsy thing. It was wonderful.

  He pulled back. “We must do the proper thing, here, I think.”

  “Have you ever done a proper thing before in your life?” she asked, biting her lip.

  The Duke gave her a look. “No time like the present to start, hmm?”

  Evelyn would have preferred to stay outside, freezing or not. She did not look forward to what Frederic would have to say, or Adele’s disappointed looks.

  “Who is the coward now?” The Duke chided. He tugged her close and kissed her cheek. “I will be right beside you; you do not need to go it alone.”

  Evelyn nodded. They walked into the house together and were met with silence. She flagged a servant down.

  “Where are Lord Evermont, Miss Bouchard, and Lord Ashwood?” she asked.

  “Lord Ashwood has departed, My Lady, but The Lord Evermont and Miss Bouchard are in the parlor,” said the servant.

  “Three guineas that we have forced Frederic to drink again,” Pemberton whispered to her. He had his hand on Evelyn’s back, a comforting gesture that kept her from going weak at the knees.

  She shook her head. She would not take his bet. If she had taken the bet, she would have certainly been three guineas poorer. Frederic was staring down into a glass of whisky while Adele violently stabbed at her cross-stitching in the corner.

  “Are you satisfied, Pemberton?” said Frederic, not looking up as they entered. “You have ruined it all. I thought we were friends. Nay, brothers. You have stabbed me in the back and acted as if there is naught I can do about it.”

  “That is not fair,” The Duke said. He leaned across the desk and stole the glass from Frederic, downing the contents in a single gulp. “I have stood by you through all of your mistakes, Evermont. I dragged you from the brink in London and when everyone else abandoned you to your fate. When they questioned your love for Adele, I told them right off.”

  Frederic looked at Adele, then Evelyn, deciding that whatever he had to say would have to be said in front of them.

  “I could support you and call you friend when the women you used up were street rats and innkeepers’ daughters, Pemberton. This is different. This is my sister!”

  Evelyn’s face burned. She wished to be anywhere else. Adele was open-mouthed, needled poised above her work.

  “I am not that man anymore. I have changed. You have changed,” The Duke said, gesturing to the still mostly full bottle of whiskey. “Why can you not give me the chance to do the same?”

  Her brother had never been the forgiving sort. As children, he held a grudge against Evelyn for three months when
she had broken his favorite toy, and had never let her play with one of his toys again. It seemed he was still hard-hearted. Frederic grimaced and pushed the bottle away from himself, across the table.

  “Do as you will, Pemberton,” Frederic said coolly. “There is nothing I can say that will stop you, and Evelyn has never listened to me. I can hardly expect her to begin now.”

  Frederic stepped up to The Duke and wagged a finger beneath his nose; their faces inches away.

  “If she comes to any harm, I will never speak to you again. I swear it,” he said, and left.

  ~.~

  Chapter Four

  It took Frederic weeks to move past his row with Pemberton. He walked about the house sullen as a child, until Adele told him to stop or she would leave for London and never look back. When The Duke came calling, Frederic would find somewhere else he needed to be. Evelyn worried they would never resolve it. The breaking point came on a frigid evening during the Christmas holiday when Adele, Evelyn, and Frederic were huddled around the billiards table, nursing cups of hot chocolate and laughing at Adele’s made-up rules. She always managed to win, when they played by her rules.

  “His Grace, The Duke of Pemberton,” a footman announced from the doorway.

  Frederic shot Evelyn an accusatory glare.

  “I did not invite him,” Evelyn protested.

  “I did.” Adele pointed the billiard stick at Frederic like a sword and raised her eyebrows.

  Frederic groaned as The Duke entered.

  “Good Evening.” Pemberton said. He was pale and pink-cheeked from the cold.

  “Good Evening, Your Grace. Did you ride here?” Evelyn asked. “Why did you not take a coach? It is freezing out there!”

  She beckoned him into the room and sent a servant for another cup of chocolate.

  “I did not want the servants to heave to fuss,” said The Duke. “And I trust a horse better than a coach, in weather like this.”

  “I am glad you could make it, Your Grace. I have found a means of beating the Everings at billiards at long last, would you care to learn?” Adele asked. She offered him the billiards cue, no longer needing it for a weapon.