Chapter 11
Chapter
Eleven
T he ride down to Richmond was a pleasant way to spend an hour or so, particularly in the company of Rosalind, while the duke rode alongside Lord St. George and Mr. Fournier.
As much as Evangeline tried not to, she could not help but continually glance out the carriage window—ostensibly to admire the countryside, but in truth, to admire the sight of Lord St. George laughing and speaking with the duke.
She’d never seen him appear so relaxed or at ease. Not that she had known him long, but he always seemed severe, lost in thought—as though burdened by something heavy.
There was, of course, the person he had lost. That sort of grief did not fade quickly. So it pleased her to see that, at least for today, he looked content—happy, even.
Mr. Fournier, on the other hand, rode alongside them but looked far from pleased with his lot in life. In fact, he looked rather put out. Whether that was due to having to ride on horseback longer than he preferred, or due to being forced to make conversation with Ravensmere and Lord St. George, Evangeline could not say. But even from her seat, she could see Ravensmere and the earl making an effort to draw him into conversation.
Mr. Fournier didn’t appear the least bit interested.
Evangeline frowned, wondering at his surly mood. After all, he had invited them on this picnic. Perhaps he regretted extending the invitation and was now angry about it.
But that would be absurd and make little sense.
She too had her horse tied to the back of the carriage, along with her sister’s, so they could ride after luncheon. There was nothing unusual or improper about their arrangements.
She sighed and leaned back into the squabs, her gaze returning—almost involuntarily—to Lord St. George. She watched the way he sat in the saddle, relaxed yet upright, his form commanding. He had a particularly fine seat, and the way his thighs flexed with each movement of the horse did nothing to diminish her appreciation for the view.
Rosalind grinned and leaned over to peek through the window.
“He’ll catch you staring at his—how shall I put this delicately— mount, and then you’ll be as red as a beetroot.”
Evangeline laughed and covered her mouth with her hand. “Are we talking about the horses, sister, or something else entirely?”
Her sister waggled her brows but did not answer. She merely sat back with a smug grin. “I must ask,” she continued, “for if I didn’t, I would not be doing my duty as your sister. Is your cap set on Mr. Fournier? Or on another gentleman riding alongside us this very moment?”
“I’m not interested in Ravensmere.”
Rosalind scoffed and slapped her knee in mock offense. “I know you’re not interested in my husband. But there are two other gentlemen outside. One, we know, is interested. The other —I suspect—believes he is not, but is, even if he does not realize it yet.”
“I will not lie,” Evangeline admitted. “I do find Lord St. George most intriguing. That Ravensmere thinks highly of him is in his favor. But I do not believe he’s looking for a wife—not this year, at least. So I would be a fool to overlook the many grand qualities of Mr. Fournier.”
“Of course. It would be foolish to ignore a good prospect. But we know very little about Mr. Fournier. Until he has proven himself sound in character…”
Evangeline frowned. “What are you saying, Rosalind? Everyone says he is wealthy. A gentleman from a good French family. What do you know that I don’t?”
Her sister’s lips pressed into a firm, concerned line. “We’ve heard those things, yes. But no one can confirm them with certainty. And until they can, I advise caution. Do not allow Mr. Fournier—or Lord St. George, for that matter—to persuade you into forming attachments prematurely.”
“You suspect Mr. Fournier of being a fraud? That he’s here in London, pockets to let, searching for a rich wife?”
“I don’t know that to be true,” Rosalind replied. “But I know Ravensmere is looking into his background to ensure you do not make an error we cannot undo.”
Evangeline nodded, grateful for their protection. “To marry such a man would mean living in France. With no family nearby…should things not turn out well…”
“Exactly.”
“I shall not show more interest than I ought,” Evangeline said. “The Season has just begun. And I’ll be certain—through action if not words—that Mr. Fournier understands I have not chosen anyone. Nor may I do so this year at all.” She paused, her gaze drifting back to St. George and the way he rose and fell in his saddle. “I know you do not have concerns about Lord St. George—even though you included him in your advice.”
Rosalind picked up the book beside her and opened it with studied nonchalance. “I didn’t want to seem unfair toward Mr. Fournier. But yes, it is only he that Ravensmere is cautious about. I think, should Lord St. George offer for your hand, my husband would have you walking down the aisle by tomorrow morning.”
The idea was not an abhorrent one.
In fact, it was quite the opposite.
“I won’t do anything that would disappoint you,” Evangeline promised. “Or lead to a marriage I’d regret. I will choose wisely—just as you did. And find a husband who loves me as much as Ravensmere adores you.”
A blush colored Rosalind’s cheeks, and she smiled into her book, making no reply.
“Sister…” Evangeline hesitated.
“Yes?” Rosalind lowered the book to her lap.
“I want to ask something. It’s been on my mind since I met Lord St. George.”
Her sister tilted her head, waiting.
“If I were to fall in love with a gentleman—and if we were engaged or expected to be soon—is it…acceptable for an engaged couple to share a kiss?”
She felt ridiculous asking the question. But the truth was, she wanted her first kiss. She longed for it. And the idea that Lord St. George could be the one to bestow such a thing made her heart flutter with anticipation.
Rosalind blinked at her, then glanced out the window again, toward the duke. “I will admit,” she said slowly, “I kissed Ravensmere before we were officially engaged. A lapse in judgment, perhaps, but not one I regret.”
Evangeline leaned closer. “So…?”
“If you’re in love with the gentleman,” Rosalind said, “and believe him to be your future husband, I do not think a stolen kiss—so long as no one knows—would hurt anything.”
She grinned.
“But do not tell Ravensmere I said such things. He’ll scold me for encouraging you to be fast.”
“But if I do act fast, I can always say you and Ravensmere were the same.”
Rosalind huffed a laugh. “True. But he would still be mortified. He wants you to make a good, love match, and he’d hate for scandal to ruin that chance.”
“I’ll be careful. I won’t kiss anyone unless I’m certain a proposal is forthcoming—or we’re already engaged.” She hesitated, then added softly, “Do you enjoy kissing Ravensmere?”
A secretive, almost shy expression crossed Rosalind’s face before she masked it. “When you kiss a man you love, there is nothing sweeter. You shall like it very much.”
Evangeline leaned her temple against the windowpane and gazed outside. Her eyes found the gentleman she was already far too fond of—the dark-haired, secretive lord she ached to know better.
If only he were open to courting a lady this year.
What a shame that he was not.
Maybe she too would require a second Season.
And wait in hope…
For him.