Chapter 1 #2
Alice had arranged a party in the gardens of the house; it was one of those gatherings that belonged neither entirely to the aristocratic world nor to that of the common neighborhood, and for that very reason demanded more care than a ball in London.
She had invited respectable families from the area, enriched merchants, bankers’ wives, lawyers with daughters of an age to show off their muslins, a locally renowned physician or two, and several landowners who had amassed money faster than influence.
Oliver had accepted the list without argument.
Eveline, by contrast, was delighted.
The local bourgeoisie struck her as far less hypocritical than the ton.
Perhaps because their ambitions could be seen from a distance and did not pretend to have been embroidered on the family crest for four centuries.
The ladies regarded Hounslow Park with great admiration, the gentlemen treated Alice with respect, and everyone tried so hard not to make mistakes that the result was exactly as expected.
The party spread across the western terrace and the meadows that sloped down towards the pond.
Alice had ordered tables set out under pale awnings, musicians by the colonnade, and benches along the paths, so that the mothers could watch their daughters without admitting they were keeping guard.
Henry had been displayed for ten minutes, in his white suit, before tiring of the general adoration and demanding to go back to playing with his wooden horse.
At that moment, Eveline was carrying Henry in her arms to leave him with the nurse. The child laughed as he tangled his fingers in a curl that had come loose from her coiffure.
‘Traitor,’ she whispered, kissing him on the cheek. ‘What will they say of me if I appear disheveled because a gentleman—a marquess, no less—is determined to wreck my attire? Do not aid in my downfall, you little traitor.’
Henry answered the accusation with a triumphant syllable that could have meant anything, though his aunt chose to interpret it as a declaration of eternal love.
They reached the nurse, and she handed him over. Eveline would not leave without giving him a resounding kiss that set the child laughing.
Was there anything more glorious than a baby’s laughter? No.
When Eveline returned to the terrace, Alice was waiting for her beside the lemonade table.
The duchess wore a pale gown, simple in appearance, costly in its making.
Beside her, Oliver was talking with a gentleman from the neighborhood, though his attention strayed now and then towards his wife with a constancy that would have looked ridiculous in another man of less imposing bearing.
‘Eveline, my dear,’ Alice said as she saw her approach, ‘I need you to look a little more cheerful over the next half hour, or our neighbors will think we keep you in the country against your will.’
‘What an unjust request. I had planned to be so for twenty minutes and to reserve the rest of the afternoon for looking down my nose at the hydrangeas you’ve arranged in the vestibule vases.’
Alice smiled.
‘The hydrangeas will survive without your admiration. Mrs. Pritchard, perhaps, will not. She has three daughters, two highly questionable opinions on the education of women, and an urgent need for someone to assure her that her hat is not too ambitious. She has already told me, very subtly, that she finds it unacceptable for a duke’s marriageable sister not to set foot in London. ’
Eveline followed the line of her gaze to a stout lady who held a fan with the concentration of a soldier before a charge.
‘Am I already considered a spinster?’
‘You are nearly three-and-twenty, my dear. And although I am the last person fit to lecture anyone on marrying past the age of twenty, since I was no young girl myself when Statony claimed me, I do not think you can stay hidden in the country much longer. Your brother will not allow it,’ she warned.
‘I know I’ve had several years of a grace period, so to speak, but I am only two-and-twenty.’
‘I never thought your brother would approve my suggestion to let you rest from the pressures of the marriage market.’
‘Never underestimate the love he feels for you, Alice.’
‘Nor should you underestimate what he feels for you, Eveline. He does not want to watch you wither. I am not the only one who has noticed how your face lights up whenever you see Henry. Your brother wishes you to be happy, and so do I.’
‘Do you mean me to marry? Is that what you are telling me?’
‘Not entirely. What Oliver and I would like is for you to find love and, as the fruit of that feeling, for a pair of children to be born whom you might love even more than your own husband.’
Eveline arched a brow, just as the duke did when he turned sardonic.
‘Does Oliver know you love Henry more than him? Be careful, or you’ll soon have him stamping his feet over such an injustice.’
‘Are you joking? It was he himself who decreed that I must love our son above all others, because he intended to do the same.’
Eveline burst out laughing.