Chapter Twenty-Eight
After her father’s mandate, the family had been packed and whisked off to London posthaste. Evie spent the entire trip and the fortnight since missing Xander and worrying that she’d never convince him she’d meant well.
Her mother attempted once again to convince her to join her on an outing to the modiste, claiming Evie desperately needed new gowns.
Evie pictured the wardrobe in her room and her dressing room and could not imagine why her mother thought such a thing.
Regardless, she was not interested. She’d worn two dresses up north, swapping them out to clean and air them, and hadn’t expired from lack of variety.
Mama had brought her jar upon jar of creams for her hands.
Evie used them when she remembered. She did enjoy having her skin be soft and supple again, rather than chapped and feeling as though it was stretched too tight over her hands.
But she was out of the habit of these time-consuming, inane rituals and couldn’t find the interest to re-engage in them.
In so many ways, London and its expectations seemed far shallower and senseless with her recent experiences and seeing it through Xander’s eyes.
Indeed, she hadn’t mustered up interest in any of her old practices, except one. She read the newspapers manically, and even sat in her father’s office reading Parliamentary bills when he didn’t have need of them.
The rest of her days, she moped. There was no other word for it.
She knew her parents worried. And she should likely join them for a few of the parties they attended, to show London society she was happy and carefree.
Assuming Xander would eventually decline the contract, she needed to remain fresh in the London set’s minds in order to find another husband.
None of it could be imagined, though. Not being happy or carefree and certainly not marrying anyone other than Xander. Her heart was broken, and she had no idea how long it would take to mend, if ever.
Two events loomed that her parents insisted she attend, as they were organized by close political allies.
If she had to socialize, forward-thinking MPs were her first choice.
Perhaps she could mention that Xander’s views lay in their direction, based on a “recent visit to his country home with her family.”
She shook her head, frustrated. After such a thorough rejection, why contemplate ways in which to help him?
She rationalized with herself. ’Tis for the greater good of the country.
So she sat through the primping, patting, and pinning for the first party. In the carriage ride, her mother ran through the names and titles of the people most likely to attend. Then came the air kisses, and gloved hand squeezes, and empty platitudes.
Evie snuck a glass of champagne when her parents were pulled away and sighed.
Another of her father’s friends who was standing nearby smiled and said, “That is a rather heavy sigh for such a young lady.”
“La, sir. We all have our troubles. My hair didn’t curl correctly tonight.”
“Now, Lady Evelyn, I know you better than that. You are your father’s daughter. I’m guessing it was something weightier than that.”
“Well, yes. Have you corresponded with the new Duke of Rutland, sir?”
“Rutland, Rutland,” he said with a pensive look. “I believe so.”
“I think you’ll find his politics similar to your own; you might find him an ally. And when he visits London, he’ll be looking for an entrée into the clubs and soirées.”
“How do you know this, child?”
“My family visited him briefly last month. I…overheard the men discussing Lords’ business one afternoon.”
He chuckled. “Truly your father’s daughter.”
The servant at the ballroom doors announced the next guest. “The Duke—”
The crowd hushed. Evie managed not to roll her eyes. Ah, London. No wonder Xander had no patience for it. The man could be the cruelest, most horrible person in the world but they’d pander to him based on that four-letter word.
“—of Rutland.”
Evie’s jaw dropped even before Xander stepped through the door, clenching and unclenching his hands by his sides. He wanted to fidget, to rip the cravat from around his neck, she could see it all flit through his eyes.
Instead, he stepped into the room without meeting anyone’s eyes, as his stepfather and mother were announced. Murmurs rose on a swell as heads leaned toward each other, reminding their companions who North was to Xander and how it all came to be.
The older statesman turned to her. “That was quite the party trick, Lady Evelyn. ’Tis as though you conjured him.” He bowed his head. “If you’ll excuse me, I shall find your father and ask for an introduction.”
Within a quarter hour, Xander and North were surrounded by Members of Parliament, talking and gesturing.
Evie pictured standing by his side listening, or more likely rousing, the wives on whatever subject was at hand.
Dragging her gaze from him, she saw North’s wife sitting against the wall chatting with another lady.
Evie’s mother, standing with a beautiful lady somewhere between her and her mother’s age, gestured Evie over.
“Countess, may I present my daughter, Lady Evelyn. Evie, this is Lady Charlotte, Countess of Harrington.”
Evie curtsied. “My lady, ’tis a pleasure.”
“Lovely to meet you. Please call me Charlotte, and may I call you Evie? I hate standing on formality.”
Evie blinked. She liked this woman already.
She’d heard about her in London circles, as the former Countess of Peterborough who managed the estate’s finances and was one of the wealthiest people—man or woman—in England as a result.
She had married the Earl of Harrington and brought the Harrington estate back from ruin by the previous earl, in between bearing an heir and a spare.
“Your mother tells me you are betrothed to the Duke of Rutland.”
Evie shot her mother a sharp look. “I was betrothed to the previous duke. The new duke is…well, new.”
Charlotte smiled. “Well put.”
The small orchestra began warming up.
Charlotte said, “That is my cue to find my husband. Ladies, might I presume to call on you tomorrow?”
Her mother accepted with alacrity.
The musical instruments made Evie gulp in fear.
She was not yet ready to face Xander. Worse, she might cast up her accounts if he danced with another woman.
There was no doubt he’d be very much in demand with the débutantes and their mothers.
“Mama, please. I have a sore head, and the music is making it worse. Might we leave now?
Her mother eyed her suspiciously, no doubt wishing to ask if her head had begun to hurt when Xander arrived, but went to find the earl and make their excuses. He stayed, opting to go to his club with a few cronies later.
She escaped to the carriage, sinking into the corner of the squabs and closing her eyes, unable to fathom a time when she would be free of the pain of loss.
* * * *
Evie picked at the skirt of her gown, wiggling in her chair until her mother admonished her. “Do read or knit or something, Evie.”
She could not concentrate, nervous about the Countess of Harrington’s visit. Perhaps she should have claimed that her headache continued.
It was too late, however. She was here and dressed, and someone was knocking at the front door.
There were no less than three calling cards, reading, “The Countess of Harrington,” “Lady Lynwood,” and the scariest, “The Countess of Northumberland.”
Mama gasped and nodded at the footman while Evie reeled. Her head might start to hurt for real at this rate. She did not recognize the name Lady Lynwood, but her bigger concern was why Xander’s mother was with the nice Charlotte she’d met last night and what they wanted from her.
She stood stiffly, loitering behind her mother until the older woman turned and grabbed her arm to drag her forward and introduce her.
“Lady Charlotte, you remember Evie.”
“’Tis simply Charlotte, please.”
Her mother nodded and simpered. Evie wanted to step on her toes and run from the room.
Charlotte turned, gesturing to the oldest woman first whom Evie recalled entering with the Earl of Northumberland the night before. Charlotte could introduce her however she pleased, but to Evie, this was Xander’s mother and thus the most important person in the room.
The buzzing of nerves through her made it difficult to hear the introduction, but she caught the older woman’s words, “…call me Eleanor.”
“And I am Patience, and this is Evie.”
“Last but not least, my best friend in the world, Belle Lynwood. She is also wife to North’s son, Luke. Luke and my husband, William, are the closest of friends, which is super convenient,” Charlotte said with a light laugh.
“Oh yes, I can see how that would be lovely.” Evie swore her mother was going to start drooling, she was so happy to have new friends for Evie.
Her mama was worried about allaying any gossip and future marriage prospects should the contract with Xander fall apart.
She didn’t know how to tell her mother these women would be on Xander’s side, no matter what happened.
Tea was brought and poured as the women exchanged pleasantries about the prior evening.
When the maid stepped out, Charlotte sat back and stared straight at Evie. “I suspect you know why we’re here.”
“I was surprised to see Xan—the Duke of Rutland in Town,” Evie parried. If they were here to condemn her for her behavior, she’d be damned if she bowed and scraped. She stood by her actions.
“I can well imagine. We were just as surprised—pleasantly so—to see Eleanor and North. Right, Belle?” she asked with a sly grin.
Belle shot her a look, and Eleanor snorted and coughed into her teacup.
Interesting. There was some story there, but Evie was certain she wouldn’t be privy to it anytime soon.
“Of course. It’s always lovely to have one’s husband’s parents appear on your doorstep with one day’s notice,” Belle said, making a silly face at Eleanor.
“Now, now, dear. It could be worse. We could stay in your guest room instead of having our own home here,” Eleanor replied smartly. She turned to Evie, “But we digress. My son has explained what transpired over the past two months, or at least his version of it. We’ve come to hear your side.”
Evie ignored her mother’s gape at Eleanor’s boldness and squared her shoulders.
These women were Xander’s family and friends.
It would do no good to speak badly of him, not to mention her lingering desire to regain his trust. “There aren’t sides.
I lied to him. I am sure what he told you was the truth; he’s a very fair man. ”
Eleanor’s brows rose, and a slow smile grew on her lips. “He is. But he’s had some unpleasant experiences with “nobs” as he likes to refer to them, and I worry it’s colored his view of events.”
“That’s right—” Evie turned to Belle—“your husband began a recovery program for those with…dependencies. How is that progressing?”
Belle raised a finger and wagged it. “Eh, eh, eh. We can discuss that next visit. First, let’s see what the situation is and how we can help.”
“Shouldn’t you be talking to Xa—His Grace about that?”
“We have,” Eleanor reinserted herself in the conversation. “He’s quite upset, and as his mother I can see a good portion of that is hurt rather than anger.”
Evie dropped her gaze to her lap. “I am very sorry I hurt him. I’d do anything to change that. I felt so powerless after choosing the wrong man the first time around. The ruse was meant for my protection, but not at the cost of hurting him.”
“Have you told him that?” Belle asked gently.
“Yes. I begged him for his forgiveness and told him I wasn’t after his wealth.” She gestured around her. “As you can see, I have no need of it or a title. I simply wanted to ascertain that he was a good man with good politics. Which he is.”
“Ah. You’re in love with him,” Eleanor said.
Although it wasn’t a question, Evie answered with a glance at Belle. “Yes, and before you ask, I told him that, too.”
“You did? What did he say?” Belle leaned forward.
“He laughed and said he didn’t believe me and shut the door in my face.” She left out that it was his bedroom door.
Xander’s mother sucked in a breath.
Charlotte spoke for the first time since the inquisition had begun. “This is exactly why we’re here. Your son conveniently left that part out.”
Eleanor replied, “Agreed. He also left out the part that he’s in love with her as well, despite the fact that ’tis fairly obvious.”
Evie’s mother leaned in. “Word has it he spoke to a marquess about marrying her when he thought she was a maid. Before he learned of the subterfuge.”
Evie’s mouth dropped. Her mother must mean Hollibrook, but he hadn’t shared that tidbit with her, so how had her mother learned it? “He did what?”
“Oh?” Eleanor’s face lit up. “So there is hope.”
Evie shot her mother a look. They’d have words about Xander’s consideration of marrying her alter ego later.
Belle was tapping her lip with a finger.
“All of this makes me think his reaction was as much about the title as trust. As women, we all recognize the limitations on our choices. No one can condemn you for doing a little investigating. More than a month’s worth might have been excessive, but I do understand.
Perhaps more than anyone else in this room, although that is a story for another day as well. ”
“So what can we do?” Eleanor asked.
“We need to ensure he understands our stories, our fears. And maybe we introduce him to Penelope as well. She’s an excellent example of someone trying to take their future into their own hands at a steep price.
It just happened to pay off when Michael found her.
” Belle added to the hosts, “The Earl of Mansfield.”
“Right, then. We can easily do that at our little gathering in a few days.” Charlotte turned to Patience. “What is your next social event?”
When Evie’s mother named the ball, Charlotte nodded. “We will ensure Xander attends. If nothing is solved by the end of that night, we shall call again, if that is all right?”
Everyone rose and exchanged cheek kisses.
Nothing had been resolved, but Evie’s heart ached a little less. It had felt like these women were on her side as much as Xander’s.
And they had a plan.