Chapter 17
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Hugo held the reins of the mare, his own horse trailing behind.
He could have ridden, but he wanted to be certain that Evelyn would not come to any further harm, and he could not do that unless the reins were in his hand.
For a moment, he had considered riding with her, but figured she would only protest and potentially ride off of her own accord.
Why did she laugh when I called her impetuous? he wondered as the manor came into view. The lady that he had come to know was as reckless as any he had met, the fire in her seeming to flare whenever he was near.
He smiled at the thought that he was becoming acquainted with a version of her that few others knew existed.
It was not long before they came to a halt outside the manor’s entrance, a puzzled stable boy pausing mid-chew of a sandwich. No one was supposed to be back yet, the hunt still underway somewhere in the woods, in the direction of faint horns blasting.
Hugo raised his arms up toward Evelyn, who stared back at him with the same puzzled expression as the stable boy, as if to say, And what, exactly, do you expect me to do?
“Let me help you,” he urged, a note of impatience in his voice.
She hesitated, and then, with a reluctant puff of breath, she reached back down to him. Her hands fell upon the ledge of his shoulders, bracing herself, and he tried not to think about the intense, almost frightened grip as he pulled her toward him.
It was fortunate that she was riding side-saddle, for he could slide his arm underneath the crook of her knees, bringing her safely into his arms. She felt rather nice there, held against him, and it was a bit of a walk up the porch steps.
Not something that someone with her injury ought to be doing.
So he carried her, wielding her with ease up the steps and into the gloom of the manor where, in an instant, servants swarmed.
The housekeeper sent a footman out directly to fetch the physician from the nearest village, while maids were instructed to fetch hot water and another footman was tasked with the more arduous duty of fetching ice from the ice house.
“Into the drawing room, Your Grace,” the housekeeper said, leading the way.
Hugo followed, Evelyn seeming to nestle deeper into his embrace as he carried her along the hallway, her hand holding tight to his lapel, her head turned inward, her cheek upon his shoulder.
There had been no complaint from her, no protest about how she could manage on her own…
and it worried him rather more than it relieved him.
Was she more badly hurt than he had thought? So badly hurt, in fact, that the fire in her had gone out?
He took her into the drawing room and settled her down on the settee while the housekeeper bustled about with cushions, before heading back out into the hallway to see what was taking the other servants so long.
“I suppose I should leave you in their enthusiastic care now,” Hugo said with a smile, noting that Evelyn looked a little pale, a little shaken. Perhaps the events of what had just happened were catching up to her; it could take time for that sort of thing to happen.
Evelyn grasped for his hand, the voluntary contact startling him for a moment.
“Thank you,” she said softly, shyly. “Thank you for helping me… and I am sorry about your father.”
She still wore her riding gloves, but as he looked down at her hand holding his, he could not stop a wayward thought from popping into his head: was her hand as warm as her ankle had been, were those rosy cheeks of hers hot to the touch?
“It was nothing, Lady Evelyn,” he replied, feeling a little awkward.
He was not accustomed to gratitude, and he certainly had not expected any from her. Nor had he expected to hear her offer her sympathies for he had quite put it out of his mind that he had told her about his father’s cruelty.
Gently, he withdrew his hand. “Rest well.”
With that, feeling as if he should say more but uncertain of what, he left the room, just as a stream of servants with basins and cloths and chipped ice poured in.
“I feel as if I have ruined the enjoyment of the evening,” Evelyn said wryly, somehow finding herself in the center of the women’s entertainment.
She had tried to insist that she could walk around and attend dinner and do all of the usual things, but Joan would not hear of it.
“I shall not have anyone thinking that I am a terrible host, allowing you to hobble about when there is a perfectly good settee for you to rest on,” she had said with an air of friendly humor, and when Evelyn had protested again, she had brought Frances in as a reinforcement.
“You really should stay reclined, Evelyn. Seize the opportunity. We shall all come to you instead,” Frances had said with a firmer tone that suggested she would brook no further argument.
“Nonsense,” Joan reiterated with a grin. “You are in the middle of it all, which is precisely where you should be. Really, you should be groaning and wincing so that you garner everyone’s utmost sympathy.”
Evelyn laughed stiffly. “I do not know if I like to be in the middle of it all.”
“No, I have gleaned that,” Joan replied with an odd, assessing look, as if she were trying to corroborate what she saw with what she had begun to understand about her house guest. “Perhaps this is your moment to become accustomed to it.”
Just then, Selina, who was no stranger to being the center of attention, flopped down on the settee beside Evelyn. With a pointed nod that Evelyn did not quite understand, Joan moved away, allowing the friends some privacy.
“I cannot believe that Lord Hemstich has not come to see if you are faring well,” Selina remarked, as other ladies around the room pricked their ears.
The latecomer to the house party had drawn a great deal of interest from the guests, though Evelyn had not known that her potential betrothed was there until a few of the ladies had asked her about it.
She had not known what to say, in truth, beyond what they already knew: she was probably going to be married to the baron and had no say in the matter if her father confirmed the match.
Maybe he already had confirmed it, and news had not yet reached her. After all, why else would the baron turn up to a house party she was attending?
“I cannot say I mind,” Evelyn replied with a shrug. “I do not need anyone pretending to be concerned for me.”
“Who says he would be pretending?” Selina countered. “Is it not possible that he might actually like you? You are very easy to like, Evelyn.”
Evelyn frowned at her friend. “He does not know me. Why would he be concerned, unless it is for the lack of a dowry if anything were to happen to me which, in essence, would mean his concern was false.”
“Oh, I do not know,” Selina mumbled with a wave of her hand. “I was just trying to be encouraging, as I hope you will be for me.”
The frown deepened upon Evelyn’s brow. “What do you mean?”
Had there been a proposal in the woods that she did not know about? She almost laughed at the notion, until she thought of Hugo… and her heart felt strange, as if it were trying to pummel its way out of her ribcage.
“Well, it seems you were right about the Duke of Ravenvale,” Selina said with a glimmer in her eyes.
“I thought him to be rather ordinary and not at all exciting, but… I think it is fair to say that my opinion of him has changed considerably. Indeed, I am willing to put some effort into our last two outings, to see if there is something of true merit between the two of us.”
Evelyn swallowed thickly, an unpleasant prickle creeping down the back of her neck, a cold sweat of dread.
Of course, this was what she had wanted when she had bid upon Hugo at the auction on her friend’s behalf.
This change in Selina should have made her happy, so why was it having the opposite effect?
Why did Evelyn suddenly feel something like panic, twisting her stomach into knots?
“What of Sir Anthony?” Evelyn had to ask.
A rather grim expression fell across Selina’s face, though it passed quickly, replaced with her usual, easy smile and nonchalant attitude.
“It is wise to have choices. I am not saying that I mean to marry the duke, but I find myself… increasingly attracted to him, so what can be the harm in seeing if it is more than a passing fancy?”
I advised him too well.
Evelyn glanced at her injured foot, resting on a cushion, and thought of Hugo’s tender touch. The strength with which he had carried her, the authority when she had tried to argue, the kindness and attention that he had shown her. The concern that had not been false.
“I thought you would be pleased,” Selina said, her tone prickly.
Evelyn pretended to wince. “I am sorry, Selina. I cannot concentrate; my ankle is throbbing quite painfully.”
It was not a complete lie, but it was enough of one to make guilt squirm in Evelyn’s stomach.
This was not like her at all. She should have been overjoyed, should have been encouraging this match between her best friend and Hugo, should have been smiling and offering suggestions of how to win his favor, but she could not do any of it.
All she could feel was a sinking sense of disappointment, like she was back at the card table and had just lost a round that she had hoped she might win.
“Oh… of course,” Selina mumbled, a flush of color in her cheeks. “Here I am, babbling merrily, while you are suffering. I apologize; I was not thinking. I was just so excited that—”
“What excitement is afoot?” a cheery voice interrupted, alongside the faint scrape of a chair being dragged into position beside the settee.
Evelyn looked up to find Octavia smiling down at her, a welcome intruder to the conversation.
“Oh, afoot! My apologies, Evelyn. I did not mean to jest about your condition,” Octavia said with a playful grimace, shaking her head.