Chapter 12
Chapter
Twelve
E zra tolerated Mr. Fournier on the journey out to Richmond, but the Frenchman made no secret of his annoyance over the duke and duchess inviting others on their outing.
Had the gentleman stated clearly that the picnic was to be a party of four, surely he would have said as much to the duke. Ezra could not see Ravensmere going against another man's expressed wishes.
They arrived at Richmond, and Ezra was glad there were other people to speak to finally—namely Lady Evangeline. Her company was always welcome.
Not that he intended to court the chit or do anything expected of a gentleman during the Season, but he did enjoy her presence. And as she was Ravensmere’s sister-in-law, there would always be a natural association between them. He suspected they could be lifelong friends—something he was in short supply of, having lived abroad for so long.
The duchess and Lady Evangeline alighted from the carriage, and Ezra found himself unable to look away as she approached her horse, a sixteen-hand gelding tied at the back. She patted his nose gently and pressed a kiss to his muzzle.
Goosebumps rose on Ezra’s skin.
He jumped when Ravensmere clapped him on the back.
“Would you care for a wine, St. George? I know I’m parched.”
“Yes, thank you.”
He joined the small gathering at the table set with several chairs brought along from London. Mr. Fournier, however, forewent sitting—at least beside him—and made a beeline for Lady Evangeline, who was still chatting with the groom.
Ezra watched them, unimpressed. He failed to see the appeal of the whiny Frenchman. And nothing over the past hour, spent enduring sly remarks aimed at him, had changed his opinion.
He would hasten his inquiries once they were back in London and report to Ravensmere. Not that he expected to uncover anything scandalous—Fournier seemed harmless enough—but Ezra still found him a rather irritating gnat underfoot.
“You seem preoccupied with Lady Evangeline, St. George,” Ravensmere said. “You’ve not stopped watching her since we sat down.”
Ezra met the duke’s eyes and tried to school his features, but the knowing smirk on Ravensmere’s face told him he’d failed miserably. “Not at all. I was just thinking Mr. Fournier is not very discreet when he’s put out.” He leaned forward. “I don’t think he wanted me here.”
“I don’t think he did either,” the duke replied, unconcerned. “But alas, he never stated I couldn’t invite others.”
They both glanced in the direction of Lady Evangeline and Mr. Fournier.
“I think he’ll propose,” Ravensmere murmured. “How long do you think it will take before you hear back from the Foreign Office about him?”
“I’ll draft the letter tomorrow. With any luck, I should have word within the month.”
The duke cringed. “That’s a long time in society.”
“It is,” Ezra agreed, “but expected. I wouldn’t worry unless the man proposes—or Lady Evangeline makes it known she wishes to accept.” Ezra flinched inwardly at the thought of such a woman marrying such a man. Fournier was not her equal. Not in character, not in wit, not in rank. And certainly not in what a woman ought to feel for the man she planned to marry.
“Come, Lady Evangeline,” Fournier called. “We shall go for a walk. You’ve been cooped up in the carriage long enough.”
Ezra watched as the Frenchman grabbed her arm and tugged her away from the horse.
His jaw clenched.
The move was too firm, too assumptive. Lady Evangeline may have gone along willingly, but the way he yanked her forward grated on Ezra’s nerves.
Whether Fournier was as wealthy as he claimed or was simply here to snatch a rich wife, Ezra did not care. One thing was clear—he was not the man for Lady Evangeline. And if Ezra did nothing else this Season, he would ensure no betrothal occurred between them.
“Your Grace, would you care to accompany Mr. Fournier and Lady Evangeline while luncheon is served?” Ezra asked, standing and offering the duchess his arm.
She smiled and slipped her hand into the crook of his elbow. “Thank you. That will suit me very well.”
They followed the pair at a distance. Lady Evangeline never wandered too far ahead, but even so, Ezra noted the way Mr. Fournier kept glancing over his shoulder, clearly irritated by their presence.
Did the man not know that he could not simply disappear into the trees with a debutante for his own amusement?
The cad.
“Are you enjoying your time back in London, my lord?” the duchess asked. “Evangeline speaks highly of you. We’re very happy to have you back. The duke especially appreciates having his closest friend in town.”
“It has been enjoyable thus far, Your Grace. I believe I’ve settled in well enough. My mother is, of course, as pleased as the duke.” He chuckled. “In fact, the Wilcox ball is tomorrow evening, and I believe everyone who is anyone is attending.”
“Oh yes—the masquerade. We’re quite looking forward to it. Neither Evangeline nor I have ever attended one before. We had gowns made especially.”
She smiled, and Ezra’s eyes shifted back to Lady Evangeline. The sisters were so similar in appearance it was uncanny. Still, only one stirred his blood. He frowned, annoyed not just with Fournier, but with himself—for becoming somewhat obsessed with Lady Evangeline’s presence.
They caught up to the couple near a copse of trees where a small group of deer grazed. Lady Evangeline pointed out a young fawn nursing at its mother’s side.
“How lovely they are,” she murmured.
“They are friendly, are they not?” Fournier said, before stepping into the trees.
Most of the deer fled, leaping away in alarm. All but one—a muscular buck with large antlers—held his ground.
Ezra’s spine straightened.
“I think you ought to come back, Mr. Fournier,” he warned. “That buck does not appear pleased.”
“No, all will be well,” Fournier replied. “I shall see how close I can get.”
Ezra moved to stand protectively in front of the duchess and Lady Evangeline, just in case. Before he could say another word, the buck did exactly as feared.
It charged.
Fournier tried to dodge, but he wasn’t quick enough. The animal gored his thigh before retreating and bounding after the others into the woods.
“Mr. Fournier!” the duchess cried, running forward.
The Frenchman writhed on the ground, clutching his leg and shouting a string of profanities no lady should ever hear.
Ezra knelt beside him, took in the damage, and pressed his hand firmly to the gash. The bleeding wasn’t excessive—which was a good sign—but the wound was deep.
“Lady Evangeline,” he said sharply, catching her attention, “untie my cravat and pass it to me. I need to wrap it around his leg.”
She froze, eyes wide in shock.
“Evangeline.” He spoke more firmly this time. “My cravat. Please.”
She blinked, finally registering his words, then kneeled beside him. Her fingers trembled as she reached for his neckcloth.
She was so close, he could feel her breath against his skin.
Even now—at a wholly inappropriate moment—he could not help but marvel at her beauty. A part of him, deep down, whispered that perhaps Luisa had returned to him in some strange, impossible way.
She fumbled with the knot, her lip caught between her teeth. “I’m sorry, my lord. I’ve never untied a man’s cravat before. I’m not the fastest.”
He groaned inwardly—though not entirely in pain. God help me . Let her never untie another man’s cravat but mine.
Now who’s the cad?
“I’m dying! I’m dying!” Fournier cried.
“You are not dying,” Ezra muttered, winding the cravat tightly around the injured leg. “But in future, perhaps refrain from trying to pet wild animals.”
Fournier groaned, then flopped back onto the grass.
“Oh no! He’s dead!” the duchess cried.
“He’s not dead, Your Grace.” Ezra smirked. “He’s fainted.”