Chapter Twenty-Three
Xander itched to dispense with the niceties before he could discuss the issues that had prompted his invitation. The marriage contract sat front and center on his desk although the men were across the room in the seating area, the duke on the settee that held fond memories of Evie laid out.
Hollibrook had excused himself for a minute, returning as the tea tray was brought in. Xander had learned that it was acceptable to have a servant pour, so he didn’t have to fumble the fine china.
As the maid did so, his leg bounced impatiently. Even when the men noticed, he could not stop it.
Finally, the door closed behind the maid, and the men sipped their tea and chatted about the weather. Xander had to clench his fists to keep from knocking the china from their hands if they mentioned rain one more time.
Hollibrook lowered his cup to its saucer and eyed Xander. “Right, then. It seems your question is urgent. How can we help?”
Xander surged out of his seat to nab the contract off his desk. Waving it, he started, “I found this. ’Tis a contract to wed a Lady Evelyn Allen, daughter of the Earl of Craven.”
Hollibrook crossed one leg over the other. “Ah, yes. She is my second cousin. My father’s brother’s granddaughter.”
“Hmph.” That stumped Xander. How could he ask for what he wanted given that familial connection?
But if he wanted to marry his little maid, he’d have to not only discuss declining this contract with the Allen chit’s second cousin, but with her father as well.
Might as well forge ahead. “Munroe has given me to understand that there are ways to refuse if I do not wish to move forward?”
Hollibrook frowned. “Perhaps. ’Tis frowned on, though, and could have serious repercussions for her. You’d need to step carefully.”
“Of course, I empathize with Miss Allen—”
“Lady Evelyn,” Hollibrook corrected mildly.
Xander nodded and continued. “Lady Evelyn. But I don’t know her. And I most certainly don’t wish to marry her. That is why I need your assistance. There must be a way through this without causing her undue pain or distress.”
Hollibrook shook his head. “I am not so sure.”
The duke frowned a question at Hollibrook and opened his mouth. Hollibrook gave a tiny shake of his head and his companion flattened his lips.
“May I ask why you don’t wish to marry Lady Evelyn? She’s the daughter of an earl and grandniece of a duke. Besides, she is quite comely. She’d do well as your wife, knowing the Ton and London as she does.”
“I hate the idea of wedding a stranger.”
The duke gestured to Hollibrook and sat back. It appeared the marquess was to handle this. He turned to Xander. “What if you invited her family for a visit? You could get to know her and see.”
Xander fidgeted. “The truth is, I have someone else in mind.”
“Oh.” Hollibrook frowned. “Someone from your hometown? Or the village here?”
“Not exactly.” He shifted his eyes between the men. Searching for bravery, he heard Evie’s voice say, “You’re a duke,” and took a breath.
The marquess leaned forward, still holding his cup and saucer. “As Lady Evelyn’s relative, I’d appreciate the courtesy of you informing me of this other interest. Are you in love with this person?”
Xander was calm now. He nodded and said, “Yes, although I haven’t told her that yet. I needed to speak with you about this contract.”
“Come on, man. Enough pussyfooting around. Who in the world could you have met out here that would be an appropriate match for a duke?” The duke on the settee, whose name Xander could not remember, blinked, brows raised.
Xander frowned. “Define appropriate. I thought a duke could do what he likes, society be damned? She’s helped me with Parliamentary bills, with societal rules around hosting, dining, and dancing, and even expectations.”
Hollibrook appeared to be chewing on his cheek. “Who. Is. It?” he asked taking a sip from his tea.
Xander stifled his displeasure at being questioned. He’d have to deal with this sooner or later, especially if the man was Lady Evelyn’s family. “A maid here, from the village. She was stationed in a London household for some time and has all sorts of useful knowledge as a result.”
At Xander’s first words, he spewed his mouthful of tea back into the cup, choking.
Setting the cup down on the table next to him, he barked a laugh.
“Ha. This is rich. You want to throw over a duke’s grandniece for a maid?
I don’t suppose it’s the one who was in the front hall—petite, auburn hair, about twenty? ”
Xander frowned. Jealousy consumed him at the detailed description. The marquess had no business noticing such details about his Evie. “Probably.”
Wiping his face of tea with his handkerchief, the marquess shot his still silent companion an unfathomable look and said, “I really think you owe it to Lady Evelyn’s family to meet them and her before making a decision.”
Xander heaved a sigh. Another delay. “Fine. I shall write to them this afternoon. In the meantime, would you like a stroll of the gardens? I have other questions for you whilst you’re here but they can wait until the morrow, as ’tis such a nice day.”
* * * *
Xander lay awake for hours that night, waiting and hoping Evie would sneak into his room.
The need to warn her of Hollibrook’s requirements to respond to the betrothal was top of mind, but he was uncertain how to do so.
And he wanted one more night of sensual exploration before having that conversation.
But she never came, despite his guests’ rooms being in the other wing. The other servants seemed to accept their meetings, suppers, and dancing with equanimity, but he did not want to push his luck or her reputation by being caught sneaking around the servants’ sleeping quarters on the third floor.
He’d told the guests that the house kept country hours but that they could of course request breakfast from the kitchen at whatever time they chose to arise. Their manservants had arrived a few hours behind them with their bags for their short stay.
So Xander awoke late and his guests rose early, and by the time they’d breakfasted and adjourned to the library to discuss farming issues they shared, he hadn’t spied Evie.
Unfortunately, they referred him to Lancaster regarding the transferring the title for the pub to Banks, as documents such as that were filed through solicitors.
The rest of the morning was spent on tenant farming disputes.
For the most part the tenants were self-sufficient.
When disputes arose, he didn’t mind stepping in to settle them; it was similar to breaking up bar fights from his pub days.
However, there were a few that were complex enough that recommendations on resolution from men with more experience were appreciated.
If only his stepfather were closer. North was a gruff but fair man and was always happy to lend an ear or an opinion.
After lunch, they’d answered all his queries and offered to entertain themselves with a ride while he continued working through correspondence, in case he had more questions.
He was deep in Parliamentary language when a knock on the open library door brought his head up. Evie stood there, wringing her hands, that infernal cap askew on her head. “Your Grace, might I have a word?”
She was back to using his formal address, and he’d never seen her nervous before.
Something was on her mind. His mind shifted from concern over the conversation he needed to have with her, to worry about whatever was bothering her.
He gestured to a chair then the teapot on the corner of his desk.
“Evie. Come in, come in. Tea? I can order fresh.”
Despite her discomfort, she rolled her eyes. “I shall remind you I’m not a guest. Although…”
When her voice trailed off, he tilted his head. “What is it? I missed you last night. Is aught amiss?”
Gazing at her hands twisted in her lap, she shook her head, nodded, then glanced up at him. “About being a guest—”
Again, a knock on the open door came. They both looked over. Rogers stood there looking perplexed. “My lord, you have guests, all the way from London. They seem to believe their daughter is here. Perhaps that is why they arrived without notice or invitation.” The last sentence was grumbled.
Xander managed not to snicker at his servant’s attitude when Xander himself was the most frequent breaker of societal mores of any titled nob.
Evie was up and standing by the door, peering out.
He hadn’t seen her move. Something was definitely amiss. She was twitchy with nerves.
“Did you get their name?”
“The Earl and Countess of—”
Evie closed her eyes and held her breath, mouthing, “No, no, no, no.”
Xander almost didn’t hear Rogers’s completion of the visitors’ titles. “Craven, and Louisa Mullens.”
He’d heard that last name before. Evie had given Mullens as her surname. But then why was this woman here with an Earl and his wife? And Craven was the title on the marriage contract. It appeared he might fulfill Hollibrook’s wishes around breaking the betrothal quicker than he’d dared hope.
“Evie—” he started, but she’d slipped out past Rogers, tucked her head down, and run for the kitchen. “Rogers, please let Mrs. Betters know we have new guests who may or may not be staying. And I’ll see them here. Ah, I guess do that in the reverse order. Thank you.”
Rogers smiled. “Certainly, my lord.”
Whatever their attitude toward his guests, Xander appreciated the servants’ patience with him.