Now the story apparently had Afterly turning away Ballantine, telling the baron that he was saving him from the scandal associated with Geraldine by sending her off to a convent – after telling him he would give him double the dowry if he married her within the month back in Chapter Nine!
Continuity error!
Evangeline continued to watch Jeffrey, wondering at the baron’s apparent distress, his wrinkled brow aging him by ten years or more. Wanting desperately to smooth away his concern, she lifted a hand to his face and drew her thumb across the wrinkle. Her gentle touch seemed to bring Jeffrey back from his reverie, for the baron’s eyes suddenly cleared as he regarded her.
“I promise you, they end up together. They have to. I wrote it that way,” he said as he took her hand and kissed the back of her fingers.
Evangeline gasped at the feel of his lips on her bare skin, at the warmth of his hand as it held hers. Her entire body vibrated at the sensation, a pleasant shiver that seemed to radiate from her hand to her toes and finally collect in the space at the top of her thighs. She was quite sure he was going to kiss her, quite sure she would kiss him if he didn’t make the effort this very moment. And then, very suddenly, at the moment his lips were about to touch hers, his words permeated her brain.
I wrote it that way.
Evangeline jerked away, pulling her hand from Jeffrey’s grasp as she inhaled sharply. Suddenly at the other end of the couch, Evangeline sat staring at Jeffrey with a look of horror on her face. “What ... What did you say?” she asked, her mouth open in an oval.
Realizing too late what he had said, Jeffrey swallowed as he considered how to respond. “They’ll end up together, I promise,” he said lamely. “They have to,” he added, his words coming faster. “They’ll be together. Forever.”
Forever.
The word repeated itself in Evangeline’s thoughts, but the other words drown it out. The words he had said that were the reason so many elements of the book were familiar.
I wrote it that way.
Jeffrey wrote the book they were reading.
Jeffrey Althorpe was Anonymous.
So it was true – Lord Afterly was meant to be her brother.
Rosehill House was Rosemount House.
She was Geraldine!
Evangeline dared a glance at the ceiling, suddenly embarrassed by the cobwebs, their feathery threads strung across the coffers and waving about with each change in the air currents.
Had they been there the first time Jeffrey Althorpe visited the house, for the unveiling of her brother’s fish tank? she wondered. Why else would they have been mentioned in the book?
“Sommers Place has them in nearly every ceiling,” Jeffrey whispered, as if he could read her thoughts.
Evangeline ignored his comment. There were too many other horrors to consider just then.
Such as Geraldine Porterhouse.
The female protagonist had no doubt been based on her, Evangeline considered, although she was quite sure any on-dit about her didn’t include naked nipples, or trysts with three different men, or even a compromised reputation.
Or did it?
Panic gripped her.
She had practically invited gossip by meeting Lord Sommers in Grosvenor Square. And having him join her at Rosemount House on the rainy days when they couldn’t be out-of-doors. Perhaps it had been Lady Pettigrew who said something to Lady Torrington rather than Jones; why else would her godfather’s wife pay a call on her and ask about her late-night visitor?
Her breaths coming in short gasps, Evangeline felt tears prick the corners of her eyes – tears as much from anger as from panic and the hurt she felt at what she just then considered a betrayal.
How could Lord Sommers use her as his model for Geraldine? A vain and petty woman whom the poor, dear Lord Ballantine would be stuck with forever?
Is this what Jeffrey Althorpe thought? That he would be stuck with her for the rest of his life?
Leg-shackled to me?
Well, that was just ridiculous, she realized. The baron hadn’t asked for her hand in marriage, let alone asked to court her, which only made the painful lump forming in her throat that much more painful.
Jeffrey watched Evangeline’s face as she continued to sort out the implications of his admission. She was a smart girl, clever enough that she would be able to figure out on whom each and every character in the book was based if he allowed her a few more minutes. But he didn’t want to wait a minute more to apologize for what he was sure she would see as an offense.
When he had written the character of Geraldine, he’d had no idea of Evangeline’s manner, no idea how she behaved, of how refined and intelligent she was. “Eva, I’m ...”
A sharp pain suddenly radiated from his left cheek, forcing his eyes to squeeze shut. Despite the pain – no, the surprise at the rather hard slap Evangeline’s bare hand had managed to impart on his unsuspecting person – Jeffrey managed to put voice to the rest of what he wanted to say. “I am sorry. I meant no offense, Eva, truly. Just the opposite, in fact,” he managed to get out.
Evangeline was already off the couch and moving to the door, though. “Jones will see you out, I’m ... I’m sure,” she managed between sobs that seemed to take away her remaining breath. “Good day.” She even managed a curtsy before she took her leave of the library and of a rather stunned and very sorry Lord Sommers.
Chapter 47
The Aftermath of a Reveal
As she hurried toward the staircase, Evangeline wished she had never met the baron in the Temple of Muses. Seven days. They’d spent part of nearly every day for just over a week together reading the damned book.
She should have allowed him to buy the only copy. Then they could have been on their way, and she never would have known there was a book featuring her and her brother and ... whomever else the baron had used for inspiration.
Despite the tears that spilled down her cheeks, Evangeline made her way up the marble steps and into her bedchamber, shoving the door so it made a satisfying slam as it closed behind her. She rushed to her bed, throwing herself onto the peach velvet counterpane in a manner she imagined Geraldine would do when she was overcome with anger and grief.
How could he?
How could Lord Sommers write a book about her and her brother and not know there would be repercussions? He had to know someone would recognize the barely veiled characters. If she recognized the description of her brother in Lord Afterly, so would someone else. Anyone else who knew of her brother’s avocation, which meant just about everyone in the ton.
From there, it followed that they would think she was Geraldine. The baron? Why he had to be Michael Winters.
Winters. Sommers.
Evangeline moaned in despair, her heart pounding so hard, she could hear her pulse in her ears. She sighed, dropping her head onto the counterpane and shaking it. Pins escaped her coiffure, and locks of honey blonde hair spilled past her cheeks.
So, he had written an autobiography of sorts, she realized, another sob forcing her to gasp for air. And partly of what he hoped his life might become.
But Jeffrey Althorpe hadn’t known Evangeline since childhood.
They had only met at Lord Weatherstone’s ball. She thought of other characters, of the other four that made up the Five Lords of Bad Behavior. Lord Abdington, a duke. She couldn’t reconcile him as any duke who made his residence in London. But Lord Barrick had to be Lord Barrings, a viscount. His viscountess, not nearly as dim as Daisy McGowan Barrick, occasionally complained about her husband’s late nights at White’s and his poor card playing skills when she paid calls at Worthington House. Poor playing skills meant losses at the whist and vingt-et-un tables. She hoped the viscountcy could withstand his gambling.
Thomas Christianson, Earl of Atherton, might have
been Sir Richard if the man cared for his wife as much as Sir Richard cared for his Lady Mary.
The marquess, Lord Brotherly, was undoubtedly William Slater, Marquess of Devonfield; the man had married a widow just the year before.
She thought of the butlers. Was Smithton anything like Jones? she wondered. Butlers were all of a kind, it seemed. If they weren’t a foot taller and three decades older than everyone else in the house, they were short and stout and crabby.
Evangeline sighed and pushed herself off the bed. She moved to the window seat. Settling onto it, she stared out at the dreary gray of the Mayfair skies. Rivulets of rain traced down the window glass, obscuring her view of the gardens below. This early in the spring, very few flowers had bloomed, but unlike the year before, at least their leaves were turning green. Now she found she didn’t care if they ever bloomed again.
When a knock sounded at her door, Evangeline gave a start. She didn’t know how long she had sat staring at the scenery below, only that she was suddenly feeling the chill as it seeped through the glass. Shivering, she called out, “Come in,” and lifted herself from the window seat.
Her maid, Annabelle, peeked in around the door. “My lady?” she said tentatively.
“Yes?” Evangeline replied, moving closer to the door. Her maid stared at her with a bit of alarm.
“What has happened, my lady?” Annabelle asked as she quickly moved into the room and closed the door behind her.
Evangeline was about to reply with, “Nothing,” but thought better of it when she caught her reflection in the cheval mirror. Good grief! She looked as if she’d been tumbled! Which couldn’t be good since Lord Sommers had been in her company only ... well, sometime earlier in the day. She had no idea how much time had passed whilst she sat in the window. “I had a bit of a shock, is all,” she said with a shrug.
Annabelle’s shoulders seem to sag. “Oh,” she replied sadly. “I don’t suppose it has anything to do with Lord Sommers?” she ventured carefully. “Seeing as how he’s down in the library. And you’re not.” She seemed to be taking stock of her mistress, her eyes noting the red-rimmed eyes and locks that had fallen from their pins. And the pins scattered about the counterpane.
“He’s still here?” Evangeline responded, her eye’s widening in surprise. “How dare he!”
“Hmm” Annabelle nodded. “He’s reading. And he’s not very happy, if you ask me,” she added with a shake of her head. She herded Evangeline to the vanity and pulled out the chair. Evangeline sat down, suddenly not able to hold herself up. “I heard a curse word or two as I passed by the library,” the maid murmured.
“That makes two of us,” Evangeline answered with a huff, watching as her maid expertly gathered up the hair that had fallen and rearranged it into a rather elaborate hair style.
“You will be rejoining him in the library, I hope,” Annabelle said, not making it a question.
Evangeline stared at her maid’s reflection in the looking glass. “I will not. I cannot believe he has the ... the gall ... to stay in there and continue reading that ... that damned book,” she managed to get out, not the least bit apologetic at having used a curse word.
Her maid stepped back and regarded her mistress in the mirror, her face screwed up into one of confusion. And then her face split into a huge smile. “Oh, this is a lovers’ quarrel, is all,” she said happily. “We’ll have you looking presentable in just a moment,” she promised as she tried to move Evangeline’s head so it rested on the back of the chair.
“Lovers’ quarrel?” Evangeline repeated, stunned at Annabelle’s assertion. “It most certainly is not!” she countered, her ire evident in how her cheeks suddenly reddened.
“Oh, that’s good, my lady. The color is coming back to your face. Now, we just have to get your eyes ...”
Evangeline stood up, not about to allow her maid to think for one moment that she and Lord Sommers were lovers. Or even acquaintances at this point.
Annabelle stepped back, her hands on her hips. “Every lady’s maid three houses down and across the street is of the opinion that you and Lord Sommers are having an illicit affair,” she stated with a good deal of authority. “Which means that by now, every lady in those houses is probably thinking the very same thing.” She stared at Evangeline, as if she dared the woman to counter her claim. “And if they haven’t already, they’ll be sharing their news when they next pay calls on their mutual friends in Mayfair.”
Evangeline stared at her maid, stunned by her words. Of course, Annabelle was correct. That was the way gossip worked in the aristocracy. She quickly sat down, afraid if she stood for one more minute, she would faint for the first time in her life.
Lady Torrington had been right; her ploy to become the victim of gossip had apparently worked, and far too well. And if Lord Sommers was still in the parlor, that meant his conveyance was probably still parked at the curb, or, with any luck, one of the stableboys had seen to moving it to the mews behind the house.
“Did ye say something to offend the man?” Annabelle asked in a quiet voice, her hands wringing together.
Sighing, Evangeline shook her head. “No,” She shook her head again to reinforce the answer. Then she dropped her head into her hands, the right one still stinging from when she had slapped the baron. “I hit him, though,” she whispered sadly.
Annabelle frowned, trying to imagine her mistress hitting the baron. “As, in his shoulder?” she wondered carefully, pantomiming a punch to Evangeline’s upper arm.
Evangeline sighed again. “No. I slapped him across the face,” she said sadly. “About broke my hand in the process,” she complained as she shook out her right hand. She hadn’t even noticed the pain when she actually hit the man, but now her palm felt as if she had held it too long over a lit candle.
The maid nodded. “Well, then I expect you owe the man an apology,” she said helpfully.
Feeling the tears prick her eyes again, Evangeline lowered her face into her hands. “Oh, Annabelle ...”
“Oh, no, no you don’t,” the maid said as she pulled Evangeline back up against the chair so her head was upright. “You’re going to march right down those steps, enter that parlor, sit down next to that handsome lord, and act as if nothing happened.”
Her mouth opened in shock, Evangeline stared at her maid. “I will do no such thing!” she countered, angry that the maid would think she could do such a thing.
“Then, I’ll send Lord Sommers up here. Tell ’im to ravish you so he has to get a special license and marry you on the ’morrow.”
Her eyes wide, Evangeline shook her head. “You wouldn’t dare!” she replied, outraged at her maid’s odd behavior.
Annabelle’s eyes narrowed into slits. She planted her hands on her hips again before turning and stomping to the door. The maid took her leave of the bedchamber without so much as a curtsy in Evangeline’s direction.
Evangeline waited a moment, thinking the maid was bluffing. But when she heard the woman’s feet padding down the marble stairs, she realized the maid meant what she’d said.
Hurrying to the half-opened door, Evangeline opened it to find Lord Sommers standing in the hall, not one foot from the door.
“Oh!” she managed to get out in alarm, stepping back as she did so.
Jeffrey, looking every bit as chagrined as he should have, reached down and took her hand in his. He lifted it to his lips and kissed her knuckles, his eyes closing so the tips of his lashes brushed against her skin. A shiver of excitement caused Evangeline’s entire body to give a start, and Jeffrey released her hand. “You left the parlor before I could finish my apology,” he said quietly. “I would have come sooner, but I thought for the sake of my life that I had better give you some time to ... calm yourself.” He saw fire in her eyes and added, “Or arrange for my untimely death and funeral.”
Thinking the man would be seen by other servants if she didn’t get him into a room, Evangeline grabbed the hand that had just held onto hers and pulled him into her bedchamber. She could see Annabelle’s smiling face at the top of the stairs, and she was about to give the maid a scowl, but Annabelle turned and hurried away.
“My lady,” Jeffrey said with a shake of his head. He looked as if he was about to turn around and leave the bedchamber, but he stilled his movements. He sighed, his shoulders sagging. “I am so sorry I did not admit to being Anonymous when we first met at the bookshop,” he said quietly, as if he thought they might be overheard.
Evangeline had an image in her head of a dozen servants standing outside her door, their ears all pressed to the carved wood. She thought about opening it quickly so she could watch them all tumble into the room. After another second, she decided to try it. She pulled the startled baron farther into the room, carefully placed her still-stinging hand on the door knob, turned it and quickly pulled the door open. No servants fell into the room, though, and a quick look out into the hall showed it was completely empty. Surprised, Evangeline stepped back into the room and closed the door.
“What was that all about?” Jeffrey asked, his brows furrowing in that way that made him look older than he was.
Evangeline reached up with a thumb and smoothed away the wrinkle. Jeffrey closed his eyes at her gentle touch, the breath he’d been holding slowly leaving his body. “I love you, Eva,” he whispered, his eyes opening to find her staring up at him in wonder.
“Oh,” she managed to get out before her lips were suddenly on his. Although she couldn’t claim much experience in the matter, Jeffrey thought her kiss the sweetest he had ever had the pleasure of receiving from a woman. And considering it was only his fifth or sixth and Evangeline had been the first and only one to ever kiss him – other than his mother, of course, – he felt rather blessed at that moment.
The Story of a Baron (The Sisters of the Aristocracy) Page 24