Chapter 13
Chapter Thirteen
That evening, after supper, Evie found herself alone with Hartenberg in the drawing room, for Schneider had been called away on some business regarding the estate. The doctor had just left as well, with a brief update on Clara, who was recovering well.
Mumbling an excuse, Evie rose to retire, for the last thing she wanted was to spend the evening in intimate company with Hartenberg. It would be most awkward.
“Do stay and keep me company, Miss Honeywell,” Hartenberg said pleasantly as he poured himself a drink. “Would you like a drink as well?” He lifted the brandy glass.
She shook her head. She had no great fondness for brandy, for she’d tried it once in Julius’s study. The stuff was bitter and had burned itself all the way down her throat into her stomach and she hadn’t enjoyed it in the least.
“There is something I would like to consult you about.”
That stopped Evie in her tracks. “Consult? About what?”
He gestured for her to sit on the mustard yellow leather sofa. “Please, Miss Honeywell. Make yourself comfortable, then we shall talk.”
She sat upright at the edge of the sofa, folding her hands in her lap. “Well?”
He sat across from her in an armchair, swirled the brandy in his glass, and stared at it thoughtfully. “I was wondering, Miss Honeywell, whether I might interview you regarding your employer.”
Employer? Who on earth was he talking ab—oh.
She ran her tongue over her dry lips. “You mean Lady Evangeline.”
He took a swig from his glass and a slight smile played about his lips. “Indeed.”
“What is it you want to know?”
“You must know her rather well after having been her companion for how long, again?”
“Uh. Two years.”
He nodded. “Two years. That is sufficient time for you to have grown to know her more intimately.”
She thought it over, then shrugged. “If you say so.”
“What is she like?”
That question took her aback. What was she like? What on earth should she say to that?
“You have seen her every day these past two weeks. What an odd question to ask.”
“Lady Evie has been sick most of that time.”
That was true.
“She is…nice?” That seemed to be a perfectly sensible, safe thing to say.
“Come, come, Miss Honeywell. Surely you can come up with a better description of Lady Evangeline’s disposition? What kind of person is she? What are her likes, dislikes?”
How very clever of him, to interrogate the companion for information about herself.
She could spin him a yarn and tell him all sorts of untruths about herself. Or she could end the matter once and for all and simply…tell him the truth.
She felt his inscrutable gaze on her face.
She opened her lips.
He raised his eyebrow.
“She is…she is…a kind and gentle soul,” she blurted out. “Meek and submissive.”
Now his second eyebrow shot up. “Meek and submissive? Did you not tell me at one point that she’d intended to run away because she did not fancy this engagement? That does not strike me as being particularly submissive.”
“Ahahahaha. Yes. She is normally meek and submissive to…to her brother only, but not to anyone else. Which would, of course, be the reason why she’s decided to run away.”
What fustian, in every sense.
“Then why doesn’t she just tell her brother? Aldingbourne does not strike me as the sort of man to force his sister into anything, least of all an engagement. If it is not palatable to her, all she has to do is say so. I am certain her brother would have it called off immediately.”
He was absolutely right. She was ever so bad at lying.
“The truth is, that I suppose she did not really intend to run away to begin with.” That was certainly true.
She cleared her throat. The best thing was to just tell him the truth before she dug herself deeper and deeper into a tangle of lies.
“On the contrary, it could be the opposite. Instead of running away, she intended to seek you out to see what kind of man you are. And then to decide whether she wanted to call it off. Before the official announcement.”
Surprise flitted over his face. “That certainly sounds more like it,” he muttered to himself. Then, to her, “And do you know what her verdict is?”
She fiddled with the fringes of her shawl. “How should I know since she’s been prostrate in bed all this time, and you refused to admit me to her room?”
“Hm.” He tapped a finger against his glass, downed the contents and then set the glass aside. He leaned forward. “Tell me more about her personality.”
“Her personality?” Her mind was in a whirl. What on earth was it he wanted from her?
“Yes, and none of that meek and submissive nonsense.”
She flushed.
“What is her day like? What are her interests?”
Shooting and archery. “Embroidery.”
“Does she read?”
No. “Yes. Blair’s Sermons.”
He blinked. “Sermons?”
“Indeed. She is a bit of a moralist, Lady Evangeline is. All about morality, piety and the like. She rises very early, you see, to go to mass every morning, then to read the Sermons, and all before breaking the fast, too. Then there is some more praying, and embroidering, and some more reading until nuncheon. She doesn’t eat much, Lady Evie, mind you, merely a light repast of, of—” she waved a hand “—bread and soup. Then some sewing for the parish poor. And more Sermons. Until supper. Which consists of more—”
“Bread and soup.” He nodded solemnly.
Evie folded her hands in her lap with a sigh.
“Indeed. She is very frugal, you see, and does not believe in indulging oneself. It is quite a challenging life to be her companion. It demands much sacrifice, for she requires everyone, the entire household staff and surely later her husband, too, to do the same.”
There. She leaned back with satisfaction. If that did not turn him against Lady Evie, she had no idea what would.
He regarded her quietly for one moment. “It is not too different from military life.”
What?
He shrugged. “Bread and soup for weeks on end. A simple but frugal life.” He paused. “She would do very well as a soldier’s wife. For that is what I ultimately am, you know. A simple soldier. It is a life full of sacrifices.”
Evie said nothing.
She had expected scorn, or at the very least a slight wince. She had served him a wife who was a pious, joyless drudge, and he had looked at her invention and found it perfectly acceptable. More than acceptable. He had found it admirable.
That was not what she had planned for at all.
She fiddled with the fringe of her shawl and looked at him uneasily.
Did she imagine it or was there a devilish glint in his eyes?
“Weeelll.” She cleared her throat. “I wouldn’t know about that.” She cursed herself inwardly. She’d made a mistake. She should have set herself up as an expensive, demanding society damsel who required a steady flow of attention, silken dresses, shoes, and being escorted to parties. Daily.
Instead, she’d served him a fictional version of herself that he actually seemed to approve of, rather than putting him off her. She swallowed a groan.
“I see Lady Evie and I shall deal famously together.”
Not if she had anything to say about it.
She batted her eyelashes at him. “Now it’s your turn. What are your interests? Solely so that I can tell Lady Evangeline about them, of course. I would say it’s clear that you enjoy hunting. Aside from that, what is it you do in your spare time?”
“I do not have any spare time. When I don’t hunt, I need to oversee estate matters.”
She pulled a face. “Reading? Fishing? Riding? Boxing? Or none of those fashionable pursuits men seem to take up these days?”
He thought for one moment. “Oh yes, there is one.”
She looked at him expectantly.
“In the unlikely eventuality that I do find myself with some spare time, I like to knit.”
Evie thought she’d misheard. “Knit?”
“Yes. You know.” He mimicked with his hands the motion of two hands holding knitting needles, and knitting. “Socks.”
“You knit socks.”
He nodded solemnly. “The heel is particularly difficult to knit. But I believe I have mastered it.”
“You. Knit. Socks.”
“I give them away afterwards, of course. Some of my men are most grateful to receive them, since it is rather easy to get wet feet during the heat of battle when out in the field. A pair of woollen socks is one of the most practical presents one can make to one’s fellow human being.”
Was he roasting her?
Surely he must, but his face seemed to be entirely earnest.
She scowled.
He tilted his head aside and narrowed his eyes. “Does this displease you? Is it, perhaps, not a manly enough pursuit for you?”
“I frankly don’t care a tuppence about what your pastimes are and what you knit—socks or scarves or other things.”
“Ah yes. You merely wanted that information to pass on to Lady Evie.” He settled back into his chair and crossed his legs. “How do you think she will take it, when she discovers that I knit?”
When had this conversation taken such a ridiculous turn?
“Rest assured, sir, that Lady Evie shan’t care a tuppence about it, either.”
“Well, then I shall count myself immeasurably relieved.”
She stared at him broodingly for one moment.
“Is there anything else, Miss Honeywell? Something appears to weigh on your mind.”
“What about love?” she blurted out, and then promptly could have bitten off her tongue. She hadn’t meant to say that at all.
She saw his eyes widen in surprise.
“What do you mean, love? Are you perhaps a romantic, Miss Honeywell?” he said after a moment, with that quizzical look of his, as though he were truly puzzled.
Of course she was a romantic. “Certainly not.”
His gaze sharpened. “Then maybe Lady Evangeline?”
Evie shrugged. “Lady Evangeline cannot afford to be romantic.”
Something in his face hardened, slowly, almost imperceptibly, as though a shutter had been drawn across it.
“Quite right. Ladies of her station cannot afford to be romantic. As for myself, I have always found that people who insist on love in marriage are really insisting on something else entirely. Passion, excitement, alleviation of boredom. In short, a misguided notion of what love is.” He shrugged. “It fades.”
Evie was momentarily speechless. “Alleviation of boredom,” she said after she found her voice again. “Is this truly what you believe love to be? Surely you cannot mean this?”
His smile did not reach his eyes. “I mean every word, Miss Honeywell.”
The wave of disappointment that rolled over her took her breath away. She had not expected that. She had not expected to be disappointed at all.
“I see,” she said quietly.
There was a beat of silence.
He was a hardened cynic. Being married to someone like that would make her bitterly unhappy. She knew it for a fact. And now, at last, she had her reason.
She would break off the engagement. There was nothing standing in her way.
Nothing whatsoever.
She was almost certain of it.
Clara gradually recovered from her illness. Two weeks later, she was pale and weak but free of spots and fever. The doctor declared her well enough to travel, though he strongly recommended another fortnight of rest and recovery.
Evie was quite eager to return to London.
She had started to feel increasingly uncomfortable in Hartenberg’s presence.
She frequently found his eyes on her, intense and thoughtful, as if he were ruminating on her and could not entirely untangle her.
She found that unnerving, but she held his gaze steadily and refused to cower under it.
A softness flitted over his edgy features, or maybe she imagined that; maybe it was but a shadow she had mistaken for emotion.
She scoffed. Emotion! Why on earth would Hartenberg feel any emotion at all when looking at her, other than irritability or annoyance.
He was a bitter cynic when it came to love, which he had dismissed as a pastime ladies indulged in to distract themselves from boredom.
It was really the most derisive thing she had ever heard anyone say.
For a brief moment, she wondered what had happened to him to make him like that.
Maybe he had been crossed in love, once.
Though truth be told, she could not imagine that man ever being passionately in love.
He was far too cold and sardonic for it.
How very disenchanting it all was.
Her initial impression of him had changed little over the past ten days. The man was hard and overly logical, bereft of any apparent ability to feel, let alone express, anything at all.
He insisted on accompanying them back to Vienna.
Which was correct of him, if one thought about it, and the gentlemanly thing to do; however, Evie objected, quite strenuously, arguing that two women who had managed to travel thus far could surely manage to return on their own as well.
The reason, of course, was that if Hartenberg came with them, she would be unable to uphold her false identity as soon as they arrived at her brother’s townhouse in Vienna. And she was not ready for that, yet.
He listened in silence, with a raised eyebrow, then replied, pleasantly, as though she had not spoken at all, that they would set out on the morrow as soon as they had broken their fast. Together.
Evie scowled. Then her brow cleared and she nodded. “Very well, then, if you insist.”
That afternoon, as soon as Hartenberg was called away on estate business, she calmly directed the butler to have their carriage readied.
She left a polite note for him on the side table in the drawing room, thanking him most profusely for his hospitality and for having saved her life, but explaining that, alas, urgent matters required them to leave immediately for Vienna.
Instead of stopping at the inn where they had halted previously, they pulled up at another inn somewhat farther along the road.
Thankfully, the soldiers had moved on and there were rooms to be had; and since Clara was pale and exhausted, they stayed the night.
Hartenberg was no fool. The first inn would surely be the place he looked, and she hoped he would waste a good hour there at least, before concluding they had pushed on without stopping.
She was right on both counts, as it turned out, though she did not know it yet.
After a short rest the following morning, they continued on to Vienna.
When their carriage finally pulled up in front of her brother’s grand palais on the Graben, Evie was happy to be home.