Chapter 9
Chapter
Nine
E vangeline could feel Lord St. George’s gaze drifting to her again and again.
She purposefully tried to ignore the emotions he stirred within her each time she became aware of his watchful eyes.
Excitement.
Expectation.
Hope.
Any friend of Ravensmere’s meant that his lordship was trustworthy and well respected. Therefore, should she set her cap for him—should she desire him above anyone else she met this Season—there would be no objections. No reason not to pursue him.
"I cannot thank you and the duke enough for inviting me. It has been far too long since I’ve enjoyed such fine company.”
Evangeline smiled at Mr. Fournier, seated to her right. Of all the gentlemen her sister might have placed beside her, he was by no means the worst option. But his continual need to talk—endlessly—had grown a touch exhausting.
Some people liked to eat in peace.
“We are happy to have you, Mr. Fournier.” She paused to sip her wine. “Tell me, how did the event go after my coming-out ball? Was it as exciting as my own?”
He smiled, and though he talked a great deal, she could not deny that he was handsome.
Still, out of the corner of her eye, she noticed Lord St. George leaning back in his chair, drinking what must have been his fourth—or was it fifth?—glass of wine. He was watching her again.
For a man who claimed he wasn’t looking for a wife—and therefore uninterested in her—he certainly looked at her rather often.
Perhaps there was hope for him after all…
“I was wanting to ask if you would care to ride out to Richmond when you are free. We could make a picnic of it, and you may bring your sister and the duke as chaperones, if they’re willing.”
The idea of visiting Richmond Park—where she had never been—sounded heavenly. A small taste of countryside she had missed during the past few weeks in town.
“I would welcome such an outing, Mr. Fournier. I shall send word when the duke and duchess are available. Perhaps the day after next, if the weather holds?”
“I think that would suit perfectly. We shall aim to leave London by ten and arrive in time for luncheon.”
Thankfully, Mr. Fournier allowed her to finish the fourth course of roast pheasant before Rosalind rose after dessert and invited the ladies to the withdrawing room for music and conversation, leaving the gentlemen to enjoy their port and cigars.
Evangeline joined her sister moments later. Miss Pembroke, who had played the piano earlier, had taken up the keys again, while the other ladies grouped off for soft conversation and tea.
“I think dinner went well,” Rosalind said, taking a seat beside her. “I saw you speaking at length with Mr. Fournier. Do you think he is a prospect for your hand this Season? From what Ravensmere found, he’s perfectly acceptable. Not after an heiress either.”
“That is good to know—that he doesn’t have pockets to let.” She paused. “He’s asked us on a picnic to Richmond. Will you come and chaperone? I would so like to see the park. I’ve never been.”
“Nor I,” her sister said. “I will speak to the duke but I cannot see it as being a problem. It’ll be an enjoyable day.”
Evangeline nodded, happy he sister agreed. “Still, as much as I like him, and look forward to the picnic, there’s no…pull.” Her gaze drifted across the room to where Lord St. George had stood earlier with her and the emotions that rioted within her whenever she was around him. “There’s no spark,” she added. Nothing like what I feel when Lord St. George looks at me.
“And St. George?” Rosalind stated as if she could read Evangeline’s mind. “I saw you speaking with the earl before dinner. How do you feel now about what happened yesterday?”
“Still mortified,” she admitted. “But he told me the same as you—that I shouldn’t concern myself. He’s being very generous. I don’t believe many gentlemen in London would’ve handled it the same way.”
“That is possibly an unfortunate truth.”
The gentlemen returned, the scent of cigars lingering in the air as they rejoined the ladies. The duke came to speak with Rosalind, leaving Evangeline momentarily on her own.
She scanned the room, but Lord St. George was nowhere to be seen.
Disappointment trickled through her. Surely he had not left without saying goodbye…
Unwilling to dwell on it in front of others, she excused herself and left the withdrawing room. Her feet carried her toward the back of the house and onto the terrace. She only meant to walk for five minutes—to breathe, to collect herself, to accept that he had gone.
She pushed open the terrace doors and closed them softly behind her. The evening air was cooler than expected, and she wrapped her arms around herself as she walked the length of the terrace.
Then she saw him.
A shadow at first. Then a face revealed by the dull orange glow of a cheroot.
Her heart stuttered in her chest. “Lord St. George. I thought you had left. Whatever are you doing out here?”
A futile question. It was obvious what he was doing. Still, he had frightened her, and her pulse thundered for reasons she didn’t care to examine too closely.
They were alone.
Quite alone.
“Smoking.” He held out the cheroot to her. “Would you like to try one?”
“No, thank you. I do not want the cheroot.” But there was something else standing before her that interested her much more.
“You appeared to enjoy your dinner…and your partner.”
There was something in the way he said it—slurred slightly, sharp beneath the words—that made her study him. Even in the dark, she could tell his gaze was unfocused. He leaned against the stone wall as if it were the only thing keeping him upright.
“And I think you enjoyed your wine a little too much at dinner, my lord.”
He grinned—a wicked, boyish grin that stole the breath from her lungs.
“How many glasses did you imbibe?”
He swayed and then slumped against the wall again, tossing the cheroot into the garden. “Several glasses.”
He leaned forward, and for a moment—just one startling, charged moment—Evangeline thought he might kiss her.
Instead, he bopped her nose with his finger. “Are you going to tell me off? Tell me I should not drink so much?”
“No, of course not. I merely?—”
“Because I didn’t say a word about your conduct at the end of the table.”
Evangeline frowned. “My conduct? What do you mean?”
“It is nothing. Forget I said anything.”
She stepped closer, chin high. “I behaved perfectly respectably at dinner. I did not trifle with anyone’s feelings. I did not gossip. I did not drink to excess or speak out of turn. I played the part of the perfect debutante, as I am expected to this Season. If you do not like the person I am, perhaps we should not be friends.”
His features softened, and then—before she could stop him—he reached for her, his hands cupping her face.
“I do not think it’s possible for us to be friends. Not without…” He let her go and stepped into the darkness.
Evangeline exhaled slowly, but she did not follow. “You cannot keep touching me like that. It’s inappropriate. Should you be caught, we will be married—whether you wish to be or not, my lord. I did not suffer all those years under a cold and neglectful father only to be ruined during my one chance to build a good life. An independent and happy future.”
“I know. I’m sorry. I lose myself…in the past. And you…”
“I remind you of someone you used to know. Yes, I know,” she said quietly. A wave of remorse swept over her. He looked foxed and wretched and while she wanted to reach out, hold him, give him leave to touch her, she could not. Not without some promise from him. And that promise, he had been more than forthcoming it would not be said. “But I am not them. And you cannot be familiar with me as you have been. Do you understand, my lord?”
“I do. It will not happen again.”
“See that it does not.”