Chapter 22
Richard strode up the drive to Wyndham House, heart thudding.
Lately he’d begun walking through the woods, arriving to her garden with Hercule at his heels. Not today. Hercule was at home, and Richard walked up to the front door and rang the bell, like any visitor uncertain of his reception.
When Solly opened it, she gave him an appraising look. “Welcome back, Sir Richard.”
I hope I am welcome, he thought as he came in and removed his hat. “Thank you, Solly. Is she in?”
“I think she will be, to you,” replied the woman, gesturing for him to go into the front drawing room. “Wait here. There is brandy in the cabinet, if you feel in want of any.”
He did, but he smiled and shook his head. She closed the door behind him, and he let out his breath.
He liked this room. It was the most formal in Evangeline’s house, but even here it was relaxed and comfortable.
By now he had seen enough drawing rooms in London to know that hers was different.
It was the room, he realized, of a woman who had decided to live life on her own terms, regardless of what fashion and style dictated.
Who didn’t mind leaving out her embroidery spilling across the table, or a little basket of toys for her dog, or hanging a watercolor of haphazard skill on the wall.
He knew the last had been done by her niece as a girl and given as a gift, and Evangeline had hung it in the most public room of her home, opposite a large painting he suspected was by Canaletto.
On the mantel beneath it was a roughly carved wooden ship.
She had told him that her nephew had made it with the penknife she’d given him for his twelfth birthday, all the while beaming proudly at the carving as if it were a priceless sculpture.
She cared for those children as he did for his nephews. Surely she would understand why he’d been away so long. His actions at White’s . . .
Perhaps she would not understand those.
Behind him, the door opened with a bang. “What did you do?” she demanded without greeting.
Richard turned, and his heart soared at the sight of her. She wore a new dress of soft peach, with her hair tied up loosely, and he’d never seen a more beautiful sight in his life. But her expression was severe, and he knew without asking that she’d heard about the disastrous dinner at White’s.
“You mean at Lord Allen’s dinner,” he said. “I lost my temper. I was rude to Allen’s guests, and I can only humbly apologize.”
Evangeline shook her head. “Not that. I don’t care a fig for Allen’s guests. What did you do?”
For answer he took the khukuri from his jacket and held it out. “I showed them my souvenir of Nepal.”
Eyes wide, she closed the door and came into the room and touched the sheath gingerly. “I heard it was a sword.”
“No.” Holding it well clear of her, he drew the knife. “It is a soldier’s knife. They wanted to hear of my adventures, so I took it to show them the weapon of a Gurkhali soldier. That is all.”
She gave him a suspicious look. “Then why did you leave a note begging me to reserve judgment until you returned?” Then her face changed and she quickly said, “Oh no—how is the boy? I quite forgot . . .”
“He is recovering and will soon be well again,” he told her.
“My sister was frantic with worry, but with her care, he has come through it. When I departed, Gabriel was playing cards with his mother and asking for pudding again. Gerhard will bring them home from Lyme Regis in a few days.” He hesitated.
“I came back as soon as I could, after assuring myself he would recover.”
Evangeline closed her eyes for a moment. “Thank heavens. I am so glad to hear it.” Then her face fell, and she looked tired for a moment. “What happened at White’s, Richard? I’ve heard . . . stories.”
He had rehearsed how he would explain, for four straight days. Now that the moment had arrived, his mind was a blank. “It is no excuse for my behavior,” he said at last, “but I was provoked. I was wrong to allow my anger to get the better of me,” he added quickly. “I am deeply sorry.”
She just looked at him, brows arched. He slid the knife back into the sheath and laid it on the table behind him. She waved one hand, and he sank into his usual chair while she seated herself on the sofa.
“Allen invited several of his friends,” he said.
“Sir Paul Brentwood, Lord Arthur Dunstan, Mr. Edward Parker-Philips, and Lord Halesworth.” He saw her color fade at the last name.
“Gerhard accompanied me. As I anticipated, they wished to hear tales of our journeys, the more daring and dangerous the better.
Many Englishmen do. I brought the knife, thinking it would impress them.
“But one among them began . . .” Again he paused. “He began talking of other matters, and making crude and indecent insinuations.”
“About me,” she whispered.
He bowed his head. “I attempted to deflect him by pretending ignorance. When he refused to cease, I took out the knife, thinking it would distract him, or perhaps intimidate him into silence. Still he persisted. Gerhard even attempted to reason with him, but he only grew more offensive. That was when I . . .”
“What?” she asked warily as he paused again. “Please just tell me, Richard. I have heard so many dreadful things.”
“I slashed the candles with it,” he muttered. “Four candles were decapitated, very neatly. That is all the harm that was done.” She looked at him with wide eyes. “And I assured him I would be pleased to meet him at dawn,” he added with some reluctance.
Evangeline gasped and clapped one hand to her breast. “You challenged him to a duel? Over me?”
“No!” He lurched to the edge of the chair. “He apologized. Gerhard is a very diplomatic fellow when he chooses to be, and he persuaded the man it was all very foolish. Halesworth apologized, and we left.”
She stared at him a moment longer, then shot to her feet and paced away in a swirl of peach skirts. He sat tense and unmoving, not sure if he had been dismissed or was still being weighed in the balance.
“What did he say?” she asked, a slight tremor in her voice.
He shifted uneasily, not wanting to say it, and she repeated her question in a sharper tone. “What did he say? It was about me, I know it was, and I expect it’s being whispered in every drawing room in London by now. I deserve to know!”
“I won’t say those things aloud,” he growled. “Not to you, of all people!”
“Why not?”
“Because they were vile and disgusting, and I would have called out any man who used those terms for a woman—you, my sister, or your friend Lady Woodville!” he snapped, finally losing his temper.
“You don’t want to hear them. He’s filth of the lowest order and I would have gladly shot him, then and there.
For you, I refrained.” He closed his mouth, breathing hard.
She stared at him, open-mouthed.
Richard sighed and flexed his hands, which had curled into fists.
“It was not my intent to expose you to scurrilous gossip,” he said tightly.
“Very much the opposite. But that—that Drecksau persisted, and yes, I threatened him to make him stop.” He took a deep breath.
“I suppose you heard of all manner of dreadfulness on my part.”
Evangeline was pale. “I was told you drew a sword on Allen’s party over some slight to me. They said you threatened several members and were thrown out of the club. Rumor says you threatened to challenge any man who approached me, but for a price you might grant them my favors, like a—”
“No,” he exclaimed in shock. “God above, no! Never! Not a word of that is true!”
For a long moment they looked at each other, he in dismay, she in shock. Then she gave a gasp of laughter, then another. “I know,” she gasped, holding her side. “I knew you couldn’t have done that!”
Impetuously he charged across the room to her and seized her hand. “Who said I did? Tell me, and I will—”
She laid her other hand across his mouth. “Never mind them,” she whispered, still smiling. “They don’t matter.”
“You believe me?” he asked cautiously.
She nodded. “I told myself to be on guard, because men have lied to me and I believed them, to my detriment. But I do believe you. I can see all of it happening just as you said, and I couldn’t say that for the rumors.
” She put her hands on his cheeks and leaned in to kiss him lightly. “Forgive me for doubting you.”
“Forgive me for giving you cause,” he said, kissing her again, feverishly. “Forgive me for being so stupid—”
She laughed. “You haven’t been any more foolish than I have been. Oh, Richard.” She let him pull her into his arms, and as she rested her cheek on his shoulder, the tension seemed to drain out of him. He held her close, gently, breathing deeply of her soft perfume.
After a moment she raised her head to look at him. “Tell me, please. Fanny and my sister-in-law told me what some of the gossip is. I would like to know the truth.”
“I will tell you only because I keep no secrets from you.” He drew a breath. “Halesworth called you names: Lady Lightskirt. The Countess Courtesan. He said you were an enthusiastic . . . whore, and he suggested forming a club of men who had—who had—”
“Been my lovers?” Evangeline’s mouth twisted.
She sighed. “What a mistake I made with Halesworth. I wonder if he ever managed to pay his debts, after I refused.” Richard glanced at her in astonishment, and she nodded, two spots of color in her cheeks.
“It was a long time ago,” she said quietly.
“Not long after Court . . . Well, I was widowed, and somehow a rumor got around that Court had left me an enormous fortune. It wasn’t true, of course—he left my widow’s portion and no more.
I suspect his heir started the story because Court had drained his own fortune pursuing various pleasures, and the heir preferred to think I’d made off with his money rather than that it was gone on drink and cards.