Chapter 20
Mrs. Hutchins brought the dress herself.
“Sal’s not got a place for a lady to try on a dress,” she said. “And I know how to fit a dress better than he would!” She winked at Evangeline as Solly opened the dressmaker’s box and folded back the paper.
“Oh, my.” The words evaporated in her throat as Evangeline stared at the dress.
It was brilliant, literally. The bodice and overskirt glowed like a garnet in the sunlight, deep and luscious.
The blue underskirt was brighter, the brilliant blue of a late summer twilight. She’d never had such a colorful dress.
“Sal wanted to do it in parrot green and some shade of yellow.” Mrs. Hutchins made a face. “I told him, you’ll never! What that lady needs is blue, to make the most of her complexion. See!” She held up a scrap of the blue silk next to Evangeline’s face. “Don’t you think?” she appealed to Solly.
The other woman tilted her head and nodded. “Yes. I told her blue is a good color for her.”
Mrs. Hutchins nodded decisively. “So it is, and the red will give her a nice pink in the cheeks. And they go so well together, although I did have to make Sal order it. He had the blue already, on account of gentlemen wanting it for waistcoats and such, but they’re not so much for this mulberry color, the gents.
Sal’s got quite the eye for cut and silhouette, I’ll give him that, but his color sense . . .” She rolled her eyes.
Solly helped Evangeline out of her day dress and into the dazzling new creation.
Evangeline hesitated to look at herself in the mirror, realizing it had been a long time since she’d done so with a real hope of being impressed.
She was accustomed to straining seams, extra fabric in the skirt, and muted colors that somehow never looked as good on her as they did in the dressmaker’s sketchbook.
“Look, madam,” urged Solly, tugging the overskirt into place.
Slowly she turned and almost gasped aloud.
The dress didn’t attempt to minimize her bosom or hips.
If anything, it emphasized her curves. The intricate folds of the bodice settled low across her breasts without appearing strained, and the skirt skimmed closer to her waist and hips than more fashionable dresses did, making her appear .
. . not slender, but more trim than before.
“You might have a petticoat made to fit it better,” noted Mrs. Hutchins, fussing over the bodice seams with a chalk. “Long and light until the height of a garter. Then add some fullness, to carry the hem.”
“Yes,” agreed Solly, inspecting the dress from the front. “And the stays as well.”
Mrs. Hutchins joined her and they studied Evangeline’s figure as if she were a mannequin of wood. “You’re right. Who made this corset?” she said, before checking herself and looking abashed. “None of my business.”
“Mrs. Tipton in St James’s Street,” murmured Evangeline, still staring at herself in the mirror.
Her mother had always scolded her about her posture, so she did not slump, but this dress made her want to stand taller.
Her neck looked elegant, rising from the jewel-bright fabric.
Even the sleeves were flattering, not the popular puffed sleeves but a closer fitting cap topped with delicately rippled silk, to give the same look without the volume.
Mrs. Hutchins scoffed. “Mrs. Tipton! She does fine work, if a body is a willowy reed. Well, you can’t stuff a stocking with apples and call it a sausage.” She nodded once. “Go to Louisa Turnbull, in Leicester Square. Not so fashionable as Mary Tipton, but she knows how to make a proper corset.”
“Very well,” said Evangeline, beginning to feel something like giddiness. “I will. And I’ll take another gown from Mr. Salvatore, along with four day dresses.”
“Four—? Truly, m’lady?” gasped Mrs. Hutchins, taken aback.
She nodded. “Send the sketches as soon as Mr. Salvatore can make them.”
As she went about her day, she thought about those dresses.
Of course they were just clothes, and she already had plenty of clothes, most of the highest quality.
But that gown had felt different. It looked nothing like the restrained, respectable garments filling her wardrobe, and she’d loved it.
She’d felt at ease in it, not constricted or awkward. Even more, she’d felt beautiful.
She returned from her visit to Fanny to find a note from Richard. “He delivered it himself,” Solly told her. “And the picture of anxiety he was. He waited nearly an hour before saying he had to go, and begged me to give this to you at once when you returned.”
Evangeline paused before opening it. He’d dined with Allen and his friends the night before; who knew what those men might have told him? Then she shook herself for attributing her own fears to Richard, and broke the seal.
My dearest Evangeline-
My nephew has fallen ill while visiting his friend in Lyme Regis, and my sister is pleading with me to take her to him.
I shall return as soon as she is delivered, and I must speak to you when I do.
In the meantime, I beg you not to credit too fully any story you may hear about me or my actions at Lord Allen’s dinner.
Please allow me to explain before you render judgment.
I remain, as ever, your servant—
RC
She read it again, eyebrows raised. What had he done? And why was he worried what she would think of it?
Because it’s about you, whispered a nagging voice in her head. Somehow.
Oh Lord. She folded the letter and shoved it into her desk, out of sight.
She didn’t want drama from Richard; he seemed so sensible, so even-tempered.
She’d had more than her fair share of volatile men, including one man who pursued her with excessive zeal even after she refused his advances.
That one had been rather terrifying. Her brother George had had to speak to the man before he turned his attentions elsewhere.
She sighed. It was her own fault, she supposed, for carrying on with men like that. Leaving aside the husbands, she’d only had two lovers. Other widows, she knew, had had more, and many were far more public in their relationships.
But for all that she’d tried to be discreet, both affairs had gone spectacularly wrong.
One man had been charming until he lost a considerable sum at a gaming hell.
Then he began hinting, before suggesting, and finally demanding she pay his debts.
She had refused, and he had grown threatening and angry, calling her ugly names and snarling that she deserved to be lonely.
The other man . . . Well, things had begun well, but Evangeline had broken it off when she discovered he’d got his parlormaid with child and turned the poor girl out. They’d had a blazing argument; he’d been annoyed that she cared, and she’d been incensed that he didn’t.
After that, she had told herself she was done with all men . . . until Richard. There had been no one else since he walked out of Lord Allen’s ball with her, not even in the four years he’d been away and she’d had no thought at all of there being any future contact.
Well. There was nothing she could do about it, so she resolved to do nothing, and to forget about it until he returned to explain.
Richard’s intention to tell Evangeline was thwarted almost from the start.
A frantic message from Clemency had arrived before breakfast the day after his disastrous dinner with Lord Allen.
Gabriel, who had gone with a school friend to Lyme Regis, had come down with a fever after swimming in the ocean.
The friend’s mother, Mrs. Putney, had written to her that he was asking for her, and Clemency had flown into a state of pure terror.
It’s just how Daniel died, she’d written in her tear-stained letter.
I must go to my precious boy. Oh, Richard, you must take me to him!
Of course he would. Of course he must.
He’d planned to call on Evangeline and disclose all his sins of the night before; now he had only a few hours.
He went to Wyndham House as soon as he’d made the directions for his hasty departure, but she was out.
He waited as long as he dared, then was forced to leave a letter begging her to give him a chance to explain.
There hadn’t even been a chance to explain to Clemency on the drive to Lyme Regis.
Her fears for Gabriel had driven everything else from her mind, and he wasn’t about to upset her further by telling her he’d likely offended not only Allen, but several other gentlemen as well.
That knowledge had lodged like a stone in his heart as his sister worried and wept over something far more important: her son’s life.
After driving his horses harder than he should have, and changing teams at every available posting inn, they reached Lyme Regis at twilight the next day.
The Putneys received them with relief. Gabriel had been ill for three days now, and the doctor was worried.
Clemency ran into the sickroom, where Gabriel opened his eyes and smiled weakly at her, and didn’t even protest when she gathered him into her arms as if he were still an infant and stroked his hair and called him her little lamb.
Mr. Putney ushered Richard into his study.
“The lad didn’t seem that poorly for the first day,” he explained.
“The two of them were at the shore with my son’s tutor, young Gabe and my William.
They came home pink from the sun but nothing worse, both of them tired unto exhaustion.
But Gabriel woke early in the morning complaining of a headache, and stayed in bed.
When my wife looked in on him, she discovered he was hot with fever.
We summoned the doctor, of course, but he said it looked mild and not to be alarmed unless it persisted more than a day.
Well, the moment it did, my wife wrote to Mrs. Murray.
We’ve been worried fair out of our minds. ”
Richard nodded. The man did look anxious and worried.
“It sounds as though you did everything correctly. Boys get fevers. I am sure my sister would have done precisely the same, with the same effect.” He paused.
“Do not tell her I said that. All the way here she wept of him needing his mother’s care. ”
Putney smiled in relief. “And so he does! I would never suggest otherwise. If there is anything she requires or wants for his care, you have but to ask.”
“Thank you.”
He went to the sickroom. Gabriel looked small and pale in the white bedlinen, with Clemency almost lying next to him. At the sound of the door, Gabe opened his eyes. “Ahoy, Uncle,” he said in a whispery-soft voice.
“Shoals spotted,” returned Richard. “Steer carefully, Captain.”
The boy grinned. “Hard to port, mate.”
Richard laughed quietly. He came to sit beside the bed. Clemency looked at him with anguished eyes, and he tried to exude calm in reply. “It seems you’ve run aground, Captain Gabriel.”
“I have, sir.” The boy looked at his mother. “But I’ll come about, Mama. I promise.”
“Oh, Gabriel.” She petted his hair and he closed his eyes. “Of course you will, my darling.”
Richard picked up a cup sitting on a nearby table and sniffed it. Weak tea. “Have you been eating and drinking?”
Gabriel made a face without opening his eyes. “Some. I’m tired of tea. And my stomach hurts.”
“Perhaps you would like some switchel,” Richard said.
The boy forced his eyes open. “What’s that? Is it from a foreign land?”
“Naturally,” said Richard, knowing this would make it appealing. “A ship captain taught me the receipt, and said it was the best thing to drink in hot climates. But I also found it excellent for settling an unruly stomach. Would you like some?”
Gabriel nodded. Clemency stroked his hair a moment more, then rose and took herself into the hall, motioning for Richard to follow. “Will it help him?” she asked anxiously.
“It can’t hurt him, and the more he eats and drinks, the stronger he should be. He is awake and lucid, Clemency. Those are very promising signs.”
She seemed to wilt with relief. “They are, aren’t they? But he’s still so pale and weak—”
“So let us get some food into him. The switchel should calm his stomach and allow him to eat more.”
She nodded. “Thank you, Richard. I know you think I am worried excessively—”
“Nonsense,” he soothed. “He is your child.”
“But after Daniel . . .” She bit her lip, tears welling in her eyes.
“I know you have no wife or child, so perhaps there is no way to explain it to you . . . It’s as if a piece of my own heart lies in that bed, and I feel his suffering like a physical pain here.
” She laid one hand on her bosom. “It’s not like when Father died, or Mama, or anyone else.
I think it was only because of Rafael and Gabriel that I survived it when Daniel .
. . But it would be so much worse if Gabriel—” She choked back a little sob, and Richard put his hand on her shoulder in comfort.
“Thank you,” she whispered, and ducked back into the room where her son lay.
Richard stood there for a long moment. Of course he didn’t know a parent’s anguish, with no children of his own. And he had no wife, but he’d seen enough marriages to know that didn’t always indicate strong attachment.
But he was beginning to know the feeling that a piece of his heart had cleaved to someone else. That his happiness would be permanently reduced without that person in his life. And unlike Clemency, he also knew the dread of knowing that he might be the reason she left him.
Time would tell; it always did. If Evangeline flew into a rage over his actions at White’s .
. . she wasn’t the woman he thought her, and it was best to know now.
If it mortified her and she could never speak to him again .
. . perhaps it had always been doomed, eventually.
But if she waited and gave him a chance to explain . . .
Finally he turned and went down the stairs to ask Putney where he could find ginger root and cider vinegar for the switchel. Tomorrow he would promise to send Gerhard, because he was going home to see Evangeline.