Chapter 10
Chapter Ten
A few days later, Evie wandered into Chudleigh Bottoms. The morning was warm, and she’d enjoyed the mile-long walk from Bottoms House.
Villagers were out and about in the square, and several called out friendly greetings, which she shyly returned.
James’s siblings were highly regarded amongst the locals, and she didn’t want to ruin their reputation.
The way I ruin everything.
The three days since her arrival at Chuddums felt like the longest of her life.
After the devastating row with James, she’d expected he would call off the trip.
Instead, he’d remained committed to supporting Gigi’s ball.
She’d also overheard his cronies endorsing the trip, saying that Chuddums’s central location in the county would be the ideal place to launch James’s campaign.
Evie had never been to the Outer Hebrides, but she imagined it couldn’t be any colder than the atmosphere during the carriage ride over.
In the past, she’d appreciated that her husband seldom lost his temper, yet she was beginning to realize that there were more painful alternatives.
His chilly politeness cut like a blade. He shut her out completely, treating her as if she were a stranger or acquaintance he had to tolerate.
She almost wished he would shout at her—maybe that would stoke some righteous anger in return.
Instead, his indifference pruned her self-confidence, and she felt smaller with each passing moment.
While they could avoid each other at home, doing so in the current situation was trickier.
Xenia had assigned them the same bedchamber where they’d had their night of passion—and the memories and close confines added fuel to their tension.
Since requesting separate rooms would undoubtedly raise questions—especially in his family, where couples preferred the intimacy of a shared bedchamber—they implicitly divided the space.
James slept on the sofa in the attached sitting room and set up a makeshift office there as well.
To minimize their interactions, they adapted their schedules.
Evie went to bed early (or pretended to, at any rate) while James stayed up late with his brothers.
Feeling more alone than ever, she slept poorly, which did not help her mood.
In her lowest moments, she contemplated leaving James.
What good was she doing by staying? In fact, she was making things worse.
He despised her now. Yet her departure would surely cause a scandal and destroy his chances of winning the Reading seat.
She wished being squashed between a rock and a hard place didn’t feel so familiar.
Moreover, she had the blackmailer to contend with.
The possibility of his return kept her in a constant state of vigilance.
Her initial relief at delivering the hundred pounds had long faded, replaced by a horrible certainty that he would contact her again.
She wished she could confide in Harkness, who’d insisted on coming along, but she knew the solution her friend would propose and she wasn’t willing to run. ..yet.
Thus, she stayed, paralyzed by dread and anxiety, waiting for the guillotine to drop.
In her current state, Evie found it difficult to focus on the ball preparations, but Gigi seemed to have everything well in hand.
Gigi’s effervescent spirit camouflaged the fact that she had the organizational skills of a general.
Her airy charm and generous purse had tradesmen and servants eager to do her bidding.
When she ran into a snag, Mr. Godwin was there to assist…
even if they didn’t always agree on things.
This morning, Evie and Gigi had been discussing the speeches to be given at the ball when Mr. Godwin came in. Gigi had informed him of her plan to invite the village nonagenarian, a fellow named Wally, to make a toast.
To which Mr. Godwin had replied, “Duchess, if Wally gives a speech, we shall still be standing there when our grandchildren get married. Absolutely not.”
Gigi had argued, the two bantering back and forth.
Finally, Mr. Godwin had silenced his wife…
by kissing her. The newlyweds had been so lost in each other that they’d forgotten Evie entirely and hadn’t noticed her slip out.
While she was happy for Gigi—no one deserved happiness more—seeing a couple so much in love amplified the misery of her own situation.
She had fled the manor, seeking out fresh air and distraction in the village.
She had errands to run, and luckily, she knew she wouldn’t bump into James.
His campaign was already in full swing. Two days ago, he’d toured a hospital in the neighboring village of Chudleigh Crest, examining the facilities and visiting with the patients.
Yesterday, he’d done the rounds in Chuddums, talking to shopkeepers and listening to their concerns.
Today he’d gone to a pottery to learn more about the goods it produced and the potential for exports.
James had not invited Evie on any of these excursions.
Instead, he’d been accompanied by his stalwart cronies, Lord Dunsmuir and Mr. Friend, and some local Whig matron of influence.
Evie had learned of his activities during the supper conversation with his family.
She understood his decision to exclude her: their discord had grown difficult to conceal.
Having seen the looks exchanged around the supper table, she knew it was only a matter of time before one of the ladies broached the topic with her.
She didn’t blame James for not wanting to put their fractured marriage on display during his campaign.
At the same time, his rejection hurt because she wanted to help…
wanted desperately to be the sort of wife he deserved.
Well, you’re not. You never will be. So stop crying over spilt milk.
She felt a warning pulse at her temples.
Since headaches had been a regular visitor, she resolved to ignore it and focus on her outing.
Throughout the square, she saw signs of bustling commerce.
Cheerfully painted signs and tidy storefront displays declared that the village was open for business.
She peered through the sparkling windows of several establishments that she’d previously visited with Xenia and Gigi.
In Mr. Khan’s bookshop, patrons occupied brightly upholstered chairs, nibbling on sweets as they perused a paper or the latest novel.
The drapery appeared packed, with matrons circling around its owner, Mr. Duffield, an affable blond Adonis who was a particular friend of Gigi’s.
As Evie didn’t share her sister-in-law’s interest in fashion, she continued past the draper’s as well as the dressmaker’s atelier and a newly opened millinery.
Unfortunately, her megrim was getting worse, and she hadn’t come across an apothecary which might have a remedy.
Getting back to Bottoms House on foot was going to be a problem.
She navigated a section of the path that was cluttered with stacked crates and barrels of produce.
When a fellow suddenly stepped from behind a towering heap of lettuce, she collided with him.
“Oh, dear,” she gasped. “I beg your pardon, sir.”
Flustered, she looked down to meet the man’s gaze.
He was a shade over four feet tall, with brown hair and piercing blue eyes.
He wore a crisp white and green apron that matched the colors of the painted sign above the shop, which announced that this was “Pickleworth Produce—Purveyor of Berkshire’s Freshest and Finest.”
“I didn’t see you,” she said apologetically.
He raised his brows. “Haven’t heard that before, have I?”
Before she could think of a response, he held out a green sprig.
“Try this,” he said.
Since it didn’t sound like a suggestion, she took the leafy stalk and sampled it.
“The watercress is delicious, sir,” she said sincerely. “Crisp and fresh, with a peppery bite.”
“It was harvested just this morning.” He gave her a look of approval. “Liam Pickleworth, at your service, my lady. Go on inside, and my Loretta will wrap some up for you.”
Since it seemed rude to decline, Evie entered the shop.
The softer light eased the pounding in her head, as did the scent of fruits and vegetables.
The walls were painted a calming shade of green.
Wooden shelves displayed baskets of the season’s harvest, which included stalwart carrots, tender cabbage, and forced rhubarb.
A long table offered a plethora of prepared treats, from pickled vegetables to jams and honey.
Bouquets of herbs sat in vases of water, and Evie paused to smell the peppermint, inhaling the fresh and cooling scent.
“Good morning, dove. I’m Loretta Pickleworth.”
She turned at the approach of a petite, rosy-cheeked blonde. The greengrocer’s wife also wore a striped apron, but hers had a fanciful green frill along the pockets and hem.
“Oh, hello. I’m Evelyn Harrington.”
“I know who you are, my lady.” Mrs. Pickleworth smiled. “How may I help you?”
“Um, Mr. Pickleworth said I was to ask for watercress.”
“What my Liam says and what the patron wants isn’t always the same, is it?” The proprietress’s emerald eyes twinkled. “I’m pleased to fetch the watercress, which is greener than a schoolboy on his first day. But perhaps you were looking for something else?”
Evie was unable to resist the lady’s smile.
“Actually.” She peered around the shop. “You wouldn’t have any willow bark on hand, would you? I have a bit of a megrim and didn’t see an apothecary in the square.”
“The nearest apothecary is in Chudleigh Crest, my lady.”
Evie’s temples throbbed in protest.
“Luckily, I have something better than willow bark,” Mrs. Pickleworth said. “We’ll have your megrim fixed in no time. Come along now.”