Chapter 16
Evangeline found herself looking forward to Richard’s visits with great anticipation, but he surprised her.
He did not come every day. When he did, he usually came on foot, a satchel slung over one shoulder and a walking stick in hand.
He often brought flowers, cheerful bunches of whatever bloomed in the local lanes.
And he insisted they would have tea and talk, opening his satchel to bring out a notebook or two which he’d kept on his travels.
His handwriting was impossible to decipher, and many passages were in German, but he read them aloud to her, stopping for additional anecdotes and amusing stories—often involving his friend Mr. Rieger.
And the sketches. Evangeline stared, rapt, at the pencil sketches of towering waterfalls, wide plains under starry skies, lions lying in the shade of strange umbrella-like trees. There were spiral-horned creatures called kudus, and enormous hippopotamuses, and an entire herd of elephants.
“We only saw them from a distance,” Richard told her. “They are magnificent creatures, intelligent and feeling. When one of their own is in distress or dying, they all gather to help or to mourn. When a calf is born, the herd welcomes the young with almost congratulatory flapping of ears.”
“How fascinating,” said Evangeline, studying his drawing.
There were several sketches of the large animals beneath a tree, with a river in the background, on the vast open land Richard called a savannah.
Some of the elephants were obviously young, even babies.
“I saw an elephant years ago, at Mr. Pidcock’s menagerie.
It struck me as magnificent, but . . . lonely.
I wonder if an animal can miss his fellows, the way a man or woman would if confined alone in a small room. It is hard to lose one’s society . . .”
Richard made a quiet sound, and she looked up at him. “What?”
He was watching her, thoughtful and quiet. “I think a single elephant must be very lonely. They are herd animals. And they are not meant to be caged. Perhaps no one is.”
“But we cannot all journey to Africa or India to see them, as you did. And if we were to attempt it, surely that would frighten the poor beasts into hiding.” She gave a short laugh.
“I can only imagine it—carriages full of London ladies trundling across a savannah demanding to see the lions! The lions would flee in terror.”
Richard did not laugh. “No, that would be unwise.” He took the book back from her.
“People adore seeing the unusual,” she said, draping her arms over the side of the chaise she reclined on, so she could better see him in the chair beside her.
“And you must admit, the tales you and Mr. Rieger tell only incite the desire to see those foreign things and places. Yet most of us have neither the skill nor desire—nor the bravery, it must be frankly admitted—to go to Africa or to Athens ourselves, so we must content ourselves with menageries and museums.”
“As Mr. Wayles-Faire scorned?” He closed the notebook.
“I agree with him about the Parthenon sculptures. They would be better off where they were originally created, where they were designed to be. But I credit less cruelty to removing a statue than to capturing a living creature and bringing it far from its home to be an object of curiosity. Simply because it is a beast, without speech or human thought, does not mean it doesn’t suffer when taken from its fellows and its land. ”
“Such as a dog bred for herding cattle in the mountains?” she teased.
Richard’s head came up, and then he smiled ruefully.
“Yes. Something like that, I suppose.” He gave a theatrical sigh and looked at Hercule, who lay in a patch of sunlight on the conservatory floor, with Louis curled up next to him.
Evangeline had invited him to bring the dog whenever he came to visit, since Louis loved the big beast. “She has hoist me with my own petard, Hercule.”
The big dog raised his head and thumped his tail, but then lay back down when no bacon was forthcoming.
Richard turned to Evangeline. “He was the runt of his litter. The farmer said he would have no use for such a small dog. I saved him from being unwanted.”
She glanced at the huge dog in surprise. “The runt!”
“Yes. I could hold him in one hand when I took him.” Richard looked toward the dogs. “Now he is ruled by the bacon you feed him, and look how he has grown.”
She laughed. “He was quite that large before I ever saw him! You shan’t blame his size on me, sir.”
“Of course not,” he said with a smile. “But I do think he has never been happier than with his new companion, Prince Louis.”
“And is that why you come to see me?” she asked, still smiling. “So that your dog can be with my dog?”
“That is a very convenient benefit, but no.” He put aside his notebook and leaned toward her. “It is much more selfish than that.”
“Is it? How so?” She stretched her neck, turning her face up to his, almost begging him to kiss her.
So far her plans to have a torrid affair were going splendidly; Richard had proven as generous and charming as she’d thought, and she certainly felt in command of the relationship.
Both times he’d come before, she’d had to tempt him into lovemaking.
He smiled. “You know what. I want to be with you.”
“You are,” she whispered. “Right now.”
“Hmm.” He leaned forward and gave her the kiss she wanted, but then pulled back. “But so far you have listened to me talk about myself, when I wish to hear about you.”
“A pox on that,” she said lightly. “I’m not half so interesting as you are.”
His faint smile had come back. “To me, you are fascinating.” He kissed her again, deeper this time, and she melted. However, to her disappointment, he raised his head and glanced at the sky. “Alas, my darling. I must go. Perhaps you will join me for a visit to town tomorrow?”
Evangeline’s smile stiffened. She had expected this affair to be conducted in discreet privacy, out in Chelsea. “I really have nothing to do in town, Richard.”
“No?” He was smiling again. At some point he’d taken hold of her hand, idly stroking her fingers and wrist. Now he brought it to his lips.
“My sister tells me there is a vast deal of entertainment to be found there. Won’t you come with me?
I must visit some shops, but I have heard tales of the ices at Gunter’s .
. . They are a great favorite of my nephews.
And I must confess, Lord Edward has offered me his box at the Theatre Royale tomorrow evening, which I have accepted but I have no companion. ”
She hesitated. It would be one thing to join him for the theater, which she adored and made no secret of.
She had been to the theater often, with many different people.
But to stroll through London and do something so public as eat ices at Gunter’s with him, and then attend the theater with him, would be highly suggestive to the gossips of society.
Did she dare announce it so clearly? It had only been a few weeks. She was still in the flush of infatuation, still enthralled by his company and humor and the stories he told her. And, obviously, by the multitude of pleasures he gave her physically.
Unaware of her inner turmoil, he rose to his feet, still holding her hand. “Will you? I could call for you at ten.” At her continued silence, he leaned down, his lips curving in the coaxing smile that never failed to persuade her. “Come with me, Evie,” he whispered, brushing a kiss over her mouth.
And despite her misgivings, she heard herself say, “Yes.”