Chapter 3
Chapter
Three
“ A h, here you are, my dear.”
Evangeline stood at the sound of her sister’s voice just as the duchess and duke entered the library. “I am here, Rosalind, and I’ve just met Ravensmere’s good friend, Lord St. George.”
Evangeline went over to her sister and stood beside her as the duke poured two glasses of whisky before handing one tumbler to his lordship.
“Come, Evangeline. We shall leave the gentlemen to catch up. You have a coming-out ball to attend.”
“Good evening, my lord. It was a pleasure meeting you.”
His lordship tipped his head in acknowledgment. “And I you, my lady. Enjoy your ball.”
Evangeline left with Rosalind, a little disappointed that she would no longer be talking to his lordship. “What kind of lord is St. George?” she asked. He had never said, and she had completely forgotten to gain that insight.
“He’s an earl. You’ll meet his mama this Season—she’s lovely. Although I daresay now that she has her son back in London, she will be keen to see him married and settled.”
“I do not think his lordship will be so keen. But perhaps he shall find a woman who captures his attention and heart and make his mama very happy.”
Her sister threw her an odd look just as they reentered the ballroom. “You sound a little wistful, Evangeline. Are you curious about St. George? I daresay he is handsome, eligible, and very appropriate should you set your cap in his direction.”
“Oh no. I do not see him in that way at all,” she lied. Knowing full well that the entire time they were having a conversation, she could not stop imagining what it would be like to be loved in a passionate way by such a man.
Her stomach fluttered at the thought. She had caught glimpses of her sister and new brother-in-law touching, or looking at each other in a way that only married couples were privy to know—and she wanted the same for herself.
To think of Lord St. George as the man who adored her was something she could never imagine as coming true. Whomever caught his heart would be lucky indeed. He appeared stable and kind, handsome, very much appropriate by the ton’s standards…
“There are worse options available,” Rosalind said, as her gaze locked on Lord Templeton, who was walking about the room with a glass of wine he had managed to spill all over the front of his white linen shirt and silk cravat.
“I do not know what I want just yet, and I have several weeks to decide—if I choose any at all this year.”
“That is correct.” Rosalind linked their arms and threw Evangeline a small smile. “And I shall not rush you, my dear. You shall only pick the man who captures your heart, and nothing else will do. And if you have to commit to one, two, or even three Seasons more to make your choice, then so be it.”
“Thank you for being such a good sister. And my standards are high. I must find a love as grand as you have with Ravensmere.”
“And you shall find it.”
Her sister glanced up as a gentleman Evangeline had never seen before started toward them. He had olive skin, was tall, and wore a shadow of a beard along his jaw. Handsome, too, but would he be as kind as Lord St. George? As personable and open? That was the question.
He bowed before them and Rosalind made the introductions.
“Evangeline, may I present Mr. Fournier. Mr. Fournier, my sister, Lady Evangeline.”
The handsome gentleman—although Evangeline did note that he was not as tall or broad-shouldered as Lord St. George—bowed before her, then smiled as if she were some sweet morsel of food he wanted to gobble up.
Not that she was convinced just yet that she wished to be gobbled up by him or anyone at this ball.
However, the gentleman in the library currently sipping whisky with Ravensmere was another matter altogether.
“I’m very pleased to meet you, Lady Evangeline. And I’m thankful to the duchess for the invitation.”
“You’re very welcome, Mr. Fournier. But if you’ll excuse me a moment, I see one of the footmen has had a little accident with the wine.”
Evangeline watched her sister float away as hostess to sort out whatever small disaster had occurred. She turned her attention back to Mr. Fournier, who stood before her, blocking out her view of the dancers.
“You’re spending the Season in town, Mr. Fournier? Are you from London, or do you have property in the country?”
He came and stood beside her, his hands behind his back—which many gentlemen tended to do. She inwardly chuckled, knowing all the little nuances men participated in when in company of a lady.
“I have a country estate, but not in England. A chateau in France, in fact.”
“Ah. I thought I heard the slight intonation of an accent. So you live in France when you’re not scuffing the boards here in England.”
“I do indeed, my lady. My father is French, but my mother was English—the daughter of a viscount.”
“And your home in France—it’s a chateau, which is another name for a castle, if I’m not mistaken.” Evangeline could imagine such a pretty house, so very different to the grand homes that spotted the English countryside. A castle was so much more intriguing.
“You are correct. And my home is no exception. It is a very large castle indeed, and will take some filling up—which, before my mother passed, she was urging me to get on with.”
Evangeline chuckled, liking how forward and open he was already. “I should imagine there are many mamas just like yours who would like the same for their charges—male and female. I suppose that’s what brings you here to London for the Season.”
“Yes,” he sighed, looking out onto the throng of guests. “But up until my present company, I’ve been very much left wanting. However, I do believe the Season is on the up—especially with you now in society.”
Evangeline smiled, enjoying his flirtatious words. “Why thank you, Mr. Fournier. That is very kind of you to say.”
“And true.”
He picked up her hand and kissed her gloved fingers. Although her stomach did not flutter at his gesture, she was flattered and intrigued by the interest she noted flickering in his brown gaze.
“Would you care to dance with me, my lady? I cannot move on to my next entertainment without waltzing with the most beautiful woman here this evening.”
“I would like that very much.” Mr. Fournier led her out onto the ballroom floor, and they were soon floating and weaving within many other dancers partaking in the first waltz of the night.
“You dance well, Lady Evangeline. We seem to fit perfectly, do you not think?”
She grinned, trying not to blush at his forwardness. Instead of replying—and possibly making the situation more awkward than it already was with his flirtatious manner—she turned her attention to those watching the dancers.
Her heart gave a jump at the sight of Lord St. George standing with Rosalind and Ravensmere, his attention fixed on her, his face severe and expressionless—and yet his eyes watched her every nuance.
Evangeline felt as though, should she make even one miniscule movement, he would know of it.
The dance moved her away from the view of St. George, and she was glad of it. The man was the very essence of the word gentleman , and she wasn’t entirely sure she was ready for such a presence in her life.
They had spoken of her marrying a man, not a boy—much like Mr. Fournier, who danced with her now. While he spoke very prettily, paid her attention, and said all the right things, he did not spark much else within her. But perhaps that would change the more she grew to know him.
Certainly, there were gentlemen she had once thought herself a little smitten with who were now cast aside—especially after hearing their atrocious words regarding their nightly pursuits outside of good society.
“I have shocked you with my statement. My apologies, Lady Evangeline.”
Evangeline met Mr. Fournier’s eyes and shook her head. “Not at all. But the Season is young, and I’m not looking to make a hasty match. You ought to know that before you say such things.”
“So in essence, you’re telling me to stop my bombardment of flirtations or you’ll grow bored of me and send me packing for being an annoyance.”
She nodded, laughing. “You state it so perfectly that I could not have said it any differently, Mr. Fournier. I hope you’re not disappointed that you will have to stop your flirtations and just be yourself. I much prefer a natural conversation over something forced and stilted.”
“As do I. And I shall promise that I will halt the pretty words. You have my wholehearted promise on that.”
“Then we shall get along well—as friends. To start,” she said, giving him a little hope.
“Indeed we will.”