Chapter 23
“Solly! Goodness, where did my straw bonnet with the blue ribbons go? Do you think I shall want it, if we drive in the park?”
“I’m sure I don’t know,” returned her companion, who was folding stockings. “But it will be possible to send for it, if you want it later.”
“What? Oh, yes,” said Evangeline in distraction. She went into her bedroom, then turned around and came back out. “And my satin slippers. I suppose it’s very likely I shall have to attend a ball—”
“They are already packed,” Solly assured her.
Evangeline pressed one hand to her temple. Good Lord. One would think she was moving her entire household permanently to London, instead of just herself for a few weeks. “Do you think—?” she began at the same time Solly held out her bonnet and gloves.
“Perhaps,” said Solly gently, “you should go on, and I will follow with the baggage.”
Evangeline looked at her and grimaced. “I’m interfering terribly with the packing.” Solly agreed with a wry smile. “Then I shall go. Oh! I must deal with Louis . . . Louis! Where is he?”
“He must be here. Perhaps he has tucked himself into a trunk and hopes to be spirited along.”
Evangeline laughed, but it was bittersweet. She couldn’t take the dog with her. Marion would never want a dog in her house. But Louis was a perceptive little creature. He was almost surely hiding from the tumult in the house, afraid of what it presaged.
She told her coachman she wanted to go to Humberton Hall before departing for London, then went in search of Louis. She found him in the conservatory, under the chaise. “There you are,” she said, getting down onto her knees and leaning down to look at him. “Come out, sweet pup.”
He just looked at her.
“Come here, my Louis,” she crooned, extending her arm under the chair to stroke his fur. “Come to your mama.”
He gave a little whimper and refused to move.
“Oh, darling.” She sighed, resting on her elbows. “You cannot come with me. You’ve realized that, haven’t you? But you’re going somewhere even better, I promise.”
Richard had agreed to keep the dog. He was being very good about the whole thing, not making any protest when Evangeline said she must cancel plans to attend dinner at his sister’s, and that she would not be going to the opera with him next week, as they’d planned.
Opera was the one public entertainment they still attended together, where they could sit together in the privacy of a dark box.
“Come with me to Richard’s,” she said to her dog. Louis looked at her, then put his head down on his front paws. “And Hercule,” she coaxed. “Wouldn’t you like to stay with Hercule?”
His tail gave a twitch.
“I’m sure Richard will have bacon for you,” she went on in the same warm, confident tone. “He always does. He scolds me for spoiling the pair of you, when he is far more generous with the bacon. And the cheese, now I think of it.”
Louis’s head came up. He knew the names of all his favorite treats.
“Come,” she said eagerly. “Let’s go to him now.”
Louis stood and gave himself a full-body shake. Slowly he came out from under the chaise, sniffing at her hand and giving it a lick before letting her scoop him up. She kissed his furry little head and cuddled him close. She would miss him.
She went into the hall, and saw with relief that the carriage was waiting.
She had already packed Louis’s things—his sleeping basket, his cushion, the old bit of wool blanket he liked to chew on and the rope toys she had knotted for him.
She had also made a list of his favorite things and his habits, as if Richard didn’t already know these things perfectly well.
On the drive over, Louis stood in her lap and put his paws on the window, peering out and panting with excitement.
He did like carriage rides, even more than he liked walks in the woods.
She made the most of petting him and telling him how much she would miss him, and she resolutely blinked away the tear that formed in her eye.
“Ah, our guest has arrived,” said Richard when she reached Humberton Hall. “Come in, Prince Louis, come in.” Hercule trotted forward, tail wagging, and the two dogs sniffed each other complacently. “You are leaving,” Richard said to her.
She nodded. “Solly has cast me out. I am too much in her way, fretting over what to take. She pointed out that I am only going four miles into town, and anything I want later can easily be fetched, and so I should stop pestering her to death and simply go.” She smiled as she imitated her companion’s stern tone.
“As usual, she is correct in every detail. And the same applies to me: if ever you want me, simply send word and I shall come at once.” He raised her hand to his lips.
She sighed, but happily. “You are too good to me. I’ll write to you as soon as I arrive and acquaint you with the lay of the land.”
“To let me know when it is safe for me to show my face about town,” he teased.
Evangeline laughed. “That’s too harsh!” He cocked a brow, and she laughed again, a little more ruefully. “She’s very ill,” she said in apology for Marion. “I don’t wish to upset her even by asking—”
“I know. I admire your generosity.” He squeezed her hand and released her. “Now, how shall I occupy this fellow in your absence?”
Louis was standing watching them, and at Richard’s regard, he gave a little yip.
“Long walks, every morning,” said Evangeline firmly. “No bacon. And he must be combed from head to tail every other night.”
Louis barked in disagreement, and both laughed.
“Thank you,” she said.
“I know how important this is to you.” He drew her into his arms. “I hope Lady Bennet recovers swiftly and is home soon, although my reasons are partly for her family, and partly for my own selfish gratification.”
She leaned against him, sliding her arms around his waist. She would miss this—him.
They had been separated before, naturally.
He had delivered his nephews to their various schools.
She had gone for a fortnight’s holiday at a spa with Fanny.
They would be only four miles apart, a distance easily covered in a day.
But still it felt different. Perhaps because she was facing a nebulous but daunting task, chaperoning a young lady on the ton with no warning or chance to prepare, for who only knew how long.
It would all seem so much easier if Richard would be with her, laughing with her over her inevitable mistakes, comforting her if she and Joan didn’t get on as well as she hoped.
But he would not be there, because that was a favor too much. Marion was trusting her, and Evangeline didn’t dare push her luck.
“I will miss you,” she whispered, to keep her voice from breaking.
“And I you.” He tipped up her chin. “But I have faith you will be a marvelous chaperone and an excellent companion to the young lady. I hope you enjoy it immensely.”
“I hope so!” She kissed him quickly, beginning to smile. “I am sure you can come visit at least once. I’ll write and tell you when.”
“Rest assured, I will come.”
She stepped away, blinking hard, and scooped up her dog. “Be a good dog,” she told Louis, who wriggled wildly. She handed him to Richard. “I fear he will run after me.”
Richard took the protesting Pomeranian to the morning room, deposited him inside, and closed the door. Louis began barking, and Evangeline blinked again as she turned to the door. “Good-bye.”
“One more thing,” he said, and caught her in his arms and kissed her, deeply, passionately, and when he finally released her, Evangeline could barely hear Louis’s barking.
“You do know how to make a woman miss you,” she said unsteadily.
“It would be only fair,” he replied. “I will be desolate without you.”
It was almost noon by the time the carriage turned into South Audley Street, where the Bennet house stood. Evangeline found herself peering out the window, curious to see it again. It had been several years since she’d last been there.
She’d grown up in that house, with the curving staircase she and her brother had rolled balls down and pretended to be pirates climbing aboard a ship and once slid down atop a large atlas.
Her nephew Douglas must have heard the story, for he’d done the same as a boy.
Unfortunately, he’d done it when George and Marion had guests for dinner, and Evangeline would never forget the expressions on their faces when he crashed into the entry hall with a mighty shout of triumph.
Marion had been shocked, her face white with embarrassment.
But George . . . Evangeline had seen him smile for a moment before agreeing with his wife that it was of course very naughty behavior.
She sighed. It was wrong to think of the times Marion had been too strict, when the woman was so ill now.
Even though she had stopped inviting Evangeline to dinners or parties, she still wrote to let her know how Joan and Douglas were getting on.
George still came to see her now and then, so the breach had never been complete.
And now, finally, was a chance to put it behind her.
She straightened her shoulders, summoned a smile, and climbed down from the carriage.
She was here for Joan, to comfort her and guide her and offer an understanding ear for any of Joan’s worries.
She was not here on her own agenda. She was going to keep Marion’s feelings and strictures in mind at all times, and not do anything that would upset her.
It took her only twenty-four hours to smash that resolution to bits.
When the butler came to take her pelisse, she recognized him as the young footman she had schemed with in her youth. “Smythe,” she’d cried in delight, and then told Joan how Smythe had helped her sneak around her parents, years ago.
When Joan cast a covetous eye on her dress—a new one of saffron cotton, with some charms Mrs. Hutchins had found in a warehouse on the India docks—Evangeline had heard herself saying “You mustn’t tell your mother .
. .” before telling Joan all about Mr. Salvatore, who made all her gowns with the same disregard for conventional fashion, and then offered to take Joan to see him about a dress of her own.
And when a handsome young man came to call the next morning, she took one look at him and lost her mind, along with all her vows not to interfere.
“I hope I’ve not ruined things already,” she fretted to Solly, who had arrived with her trunks and hatboxes.
“What did you say to him?”
She sighed. “I told him to come to tea.”
“Why?” Solly would have made an excellent attorney, with her patient tone and open questions.
Evangeline checked that Joan wasn’t nearby before answering. “What else should I say? A handsome, well-dressed man calls on my niece—and she never sent for me to join her, by the by—and departs looking enormously pleased about something.”
Solly raised her brows. “Isn’t that what every young lady, and her mama, wants? A handsome, eligible gentleman coming to call?”
“Yes, but I don’t know that she would approve of this gentleman.” Evangeline sighed. “He said my nephew asked him to call on Joan and see to her contentment. Was I supposed to call him a liar and throw him out?”
Solly raised a brow. “If your actions were purely logical, why are you alarmed?”
She bit her lip. Viscount Burke had been the young man’s name.
She remembered his father, who had been one of the most dashing—and outrageous—gentlemen in London when she was a girl.
Despite not being in London anymore, Evangeline still heard some of the gossip; Fanny brought it with her on her weekly visits for tea.
She’d heard Burke’s name, which meant he’d done something scandalous, though she couldn’t remember what. “He might be a rake.”
Solly just looked at her. She knew very well that Evangeline knew plenty of rakes and enjoyed their company at times.
Evangeline threw up her hands. “How do I know? I don’t. If he is, I shall have to throw him out.” She paused. “If he is not . . .”
“If only you had some way to learn more,” said Solly somberly. “If only you had someone you trust, who would tell you anything and everything you want to know about a man. That would certainly be very useful, at times like these.” The woman was definitely laughing at her.
“You’re right.” She sat down at the desk and took out paper, aware that she was about to break another of her own guidelines for this stay in London. “I must ask Richard.”