Chapter 17
Before she reached the breakfast room the next morning, Joan could tell her aunt had a visitor. She could hear a soft rumble of conversation, a man’s voice as well as her aunt’s lighter tone, and then, just as she turned the knob to enter, a sharp bark.
Evangeline and a very handsome gentleman glanced up like two guilty lovers at her entrance.
Her aunt looked happy, flushed pink with laughter and one hand stroking a small dog curled up on her lap.
She had been leaning forward, her whole body tilted toward her guest, but now sat back in her chair.
“Good morning, Joan!” She gave her companion a rueful look.
“I didn’t expect to see you so early. This is Sir Richard Campion.
Sir Richard, my niece, Miss Joan Bennet. ”
Sir Richard was already on his feet, and swept a gallant bow. “A very great pleasure, Miss Bennet.”
“And mine,” she replied, eyeing him with interest. So this was the fearless explorer who had climbed mountains in Switzerland and traveled into the dark recesses of Africa—and who was also her aunt’s reputed lover.
According to rumor, he was far younger than Evangeline, but Joan wouldn’t have guessed it to look at him.
He was about Papa’s height, and very fit, almost lean.
His light brown hair was streaked with silver threads, and his face was tanned and lined, especially around his eyes.
But those eyes, a startling blue, were keen and alert, and his whole manner crackled with energy.
He was dressed like a country squire but moved with the grace of a London gentleman.
The ginger dog in Evangeline’s lap barked again, a sharp little yip. Evangeline smiled fondly as she scratched the dog’s ears. “And this is Louis. Sir Richard has been caring for him while I’m here. He brought my Louis for a visit.”
“He missed you so, my dear,” said Sir Richard, smiling at her. He spoke with a trace of accent, clipped but soft.
“You must meet him properly, Joan. Here; take a bit of bacon and call him.” The little dog, his fur bristling, jumped to the floor as Joan got a piece of bacon from the sideboard.
He trotted over to her feet and sat, his tiny tail wagging furiously and his dark eyes fixed on the bacon.
“Good boy, Louis,” said Evangeline. “Be polite!”
Louis sat back and raised one front paw, holding it in front of him like a cavalier begging for a lady’s hand for a dance.
“Oh, how darling you are, Louis,” cried Joan.
She stooped and held out the bacon. He delicately nipped it from her fingers and settled down to chew it.
Joan looked up. “Why didn’t you bring him with you, Evangeline? ”
Her aunt waved one hand. “He’s a demanding little fellow. I knew he wouldn’t have enough exercise here in town. He’s much happier in Chelsea.”
“Oh.” Louis had finished the bacon and was regarding her hopefully, tail wagging once more.
Joan let him sniff her hand and lick her fingers, then stroked his fur.
He stretched his neck and his eyes drooped closed as she scratched under his chin with its ruff of soft fur. “I wouldn’t mind if he stayed.”
She looked up in time to catch the wary glance exchanged between her aunt and their visitor. “You promised me I might have him for a month at least,” said Sir Richard lightly. “Who else will keep Hercule in line?”
Evangeline smiled—gratefully, Joan thought. “Poor Hercule! I imagine he cannot wait for Louis to be gone.”
“Who is Hercule?” Joan came and took a seat, held out for her by Sir Richard.
“Hercule,” said Sir Richard as he returned to his own seat, and there was a scratching from the far side of the room.
To Joan’s shock, the biggest dog she had ever seen came padding around the table.
Mostly black with brown and white markings on his head and legs, he sat obediently next to Sir Richard’s chair, where his head was almost level with his master’s shoulder.
“He’s enormous,” she said faintly.
“But very amiable in temperament.” Sir Richard took a sausage from his plate and offered it to the dog.
Hercule sniffed it and ate the entire sausage in one bite.
“I brought him back from Switzerland,” Sir Richard added, leaning over to scratch the dog’s throat.
Hercule put his head back and gave a gusty sigh of pleasure.
“He was born to climb mountains and herd goats, and all I give him is London streets.”
“And a pestilential little dog to plague his every waking moment,” Evangeline said wryly as Louis wormed his way between Hercule’s massive paws and began sniffing for a stray bit of sausage, walking all over the bigger dog as he did so. “Louis! Come here,” she scolded her pet.
Louis gave a sharp yip, but returned to her. Evangeline scooped him up and rested her cheek in his fur, only smiling as the little dog licked her chin.
“We must be on our way,” said Sir Richard, taking one last sip from his coffee cup before rising from the table. “The streets should be safe from geese now, and we can make it home without peril.”
“Very well.” With a sigh Evangeline put her dog on the floor, and Sir Richard slipped a lead over his head.
“Good day, Lady Courtenay.” Sir Richard raised Evangeline’s hand to his lips.
From her chair, Joan caught a glimpse of her aunt’s glowing face.
Whatever rumor had got wrong about them, it was very clear that Evangeline adored Sir Richard.
He bowed to her as well. “Miss Bennet.” He went to the door, Hercule following close behind.
Louis went willingly as well, but doubled back around Hercule to plant himself in the doorway and bark sharply at Evangeline.
Joan could almost hear the demand in that bark: come along!
“Louis,” said Sir Richard firmly, nudging the little dog with his foot. Louis ignored him, dancing out of the way of his boot to bark again at his mistress. Sir Richard gave Evangeline an exasperated look.
“Louis,” she said in reproach, and her pet’s tail drooped. He gave one more bark, dispirited, and then went with Sir Richard and Hercule, his tiny feet tapping on the polished floors.
It was very quiet in the room after they left.
Joan filled a plate at the sideboard, noticing how the maid came at once to clear away the complete setting from Sir Richard’s place.
His visit had not been a short one. It was early now; he must have arrived at least an hour ago.
And Evangeline must have expected him, for her to be up so early and already dressed—and very becomingly, for a morning.
“Why didn’t you bring Louis with you?” she asked as she took her seat again. “I’m sure Papa wouldn’t mind.”
Evangeline, still gazing at the door, started at Joan’s question.
“Why, my dear, it would be the height of rudeness to bring a dog when one is a guest! Louis is well settled with Sir Richard at his house in Chelsea; he can run in the garden and not be chased by geese, who frighten him to no end. Sir Richard nearly had to carry Louis in his coat pocket when they met a pack of geese on the way to market this morning.” She smiled and reached for the teapot.
“Can you just picture it? Louis’s head peeping from Sir Richard’s greatcoat pocket, yapping frantically at a marauding goose? ”
Joan buttered her toast with great care.
She had told enough evasive truths in her life to recognize one when she heard it.
Evangeline had given up her dog and her companion to come play at chaperone, and there was no mystery why.
It was surely no accident that both had come very early, before Joan was expected to rise, before the neighbors would remark a man or dogs visiting.
Joan couldn’t see her father protesting the dogs, but now that she thought about it, her mother disliked animals in the house.
And she could only imagine what Mother would say about the gentleman.
She waited until the maid had left the room with the tray of dishes. “Are you going to marry Sir Richard?”
Evangeline’s eyes flew to meet hers, wary and unreadable.
Joan bit her lip and forged on. “I know it’s rude to ask, but .
. . well, I could see you care for him, very much, and he must care for you to bring your dog to visit so early in the morning.
My mother keeps assuring me that I’ll find a man who cares for me and then marry him, so I only wondered why, when you’ve found a man who cares for you, you haven’t married him. ”
Evangeline slowly set down the teapot. She added sugar to her tea and stirred it, then added more sugar, all without looking at Joan.
“It’s not as simple as that. Sir Richard .
. . I . . .” She took a deep breath and seemed to give herself a tiny shake.
“The truth is I don’t want to marry again.
I’ve buried two husbands already.” She smiled ruefully.
“It’s bad luck to marry me! Everyone who’s done so has died within ten years of the wedding. The poor man is better off as he is.”
“Did you care for your husbands?” Joan asked softly.
Her aunt took a long sip of tea. “No. The truth is, Joan, you are very fortunate your parents want you to find someone you care for, who cares for you in turn. Not everyone views marriage so tenderly.”
“It sounds so simple when you say it that way—find someone you care for who returns your regard—but it really isn’t,” she said with a sigh.
“My mother wants me to find a man who cares for me .
. . who also has the right breeding and manners, good connections, and with some fortune of his own. While I—“
“Yes?” prodded Evangeline gently when she stopped speaking. “What do you want?”
Joan shrugged. “What every girl wants, I suppose. A man who is kind and considerate, handsome and graceful, tall and strong. There seems to be a terrible shortage of such men in London at the moment, sadly.”
“And Lord Burke is none of those things . . . ?”