Chapter 14

CHAPTER 14

Daniel was right.

She had initially thought that he must have been exaggerating when he said that news of their supposedly secret engagement would soon spread through the ton.

But it did. Like wildfire.

“What a vile woman that scribe is!” her grandmother sneered as she tossed the pamphlet that had made its way into Ashton Hall early that morning. The words Lady Spalding’s Society Papers were neatly printed at the top on the very front of it, a delicate flourish highlighting the scandal writer’s chosen nom de plume.

Noone could be sure who Lady Spalding really was, although she caused a great deal of grief amongst the ton, mostly due to her incendiary writing. No one was spared from her scathing remarks. It seemed that Lady Spalding herself lived to antagonize just about everybody, and this time, she had turned her sights on Evie.

“You must pay no heed to this bored scribbler,” Lady Wellington advised. “Gossips tend to speak of others chiefly because their own lives are dreadfully drab in comparison. Those who write such drivel and hide behind anonymity are even worse, for they cannot even muster the courage to show their true nature!”

Evie smiled as she reached out for the pamphlet with a trembling hand. What distinguished Lady Spalding from other gossip columnists was that she had no qualms about naming her targets outright. There was simply no “Lady E” or “Mr. B” with her—she wrote it out for everyone to read and make no mistake as to who she was writing about.

For example, that morning’s column read, It has come to the attention of this writer that Lady Evelyn Fitzroy is apparently betrothed to a certain elusive bachelor—one who goes by the title of the Duke of Ashton—who is the target of every matchmaking mama’s dreams and schemes. Some would say that a Wolf like him would have to have a taste of his bride long before he asked for her hand…And who did he ask, this writer wonders. With her brother away, it all seems to be happening too fast for propriety…

What was apparent, however, was that this sister of the Earl of Sidmouth possessed a great talent for tarnishing reputations.

“She must have a great deal of time on her hands.” Evie managed to smile weakly.

“She is a jealous harpy, that is what she is!”

Scarlett walked into the parlor of Ashton Hall with a scowl on her face, while Phoebe chose to keep her composure. There was, however, a flash of indignation in her eyes on behalf of her best friend.

“Lady Spalding has gone too far,” she said, her normally pleasant tone tinged with scorn. “You must forgive us for our tardiness, Evie. I had to physically keep Scarlett from scouring all the printing presses in London in her quest to root out the scribbler.”

The redhead sat down on the sofa huffily and helped herself to a biscuit. “I would have been successful, too, if you were not too kind.”

“You young ladies exert too much effort,” Lady Wellington said with a rueful shake of her head. “If us old ladies do not do anything, it would be the shame of our generation!”

“That is hardly necessary, Grandmama.” Evie chortled. “You did just say that Lady Spalding is merely in dire need of entertainment.”

“Well, she should not seek it at the expense of others,” Phoebe remarked, with her nose scrunched up in disapproval. “It is most unkind.”

“Your friend is right,” Lady Wellington sighed. She reached out and took Evie’s hand in hers. “Do not worry overmuch, my dear. We shall take care of this.”

Evie simply smiled gratefully at her grandmother. As the Dowager Countess of Wellington, she possessed a certain standing in Society, and a great many of the ton still pandered to her, hoping to get in her good graces. If she said she would root out Lady Spalding, she had but to exert a little effort.

“I wonder, though,” Scarlett mused with a small smile. “If Lady Spalding has considered that she has bitten off more than she could chew this time. To go against the Duke of Ash…” she trailed off and shuddered. “She must be extremely brave or extremely foolish.”

“Bravery entails a certain stupidity at times,” Phoebe muttered. “Her popularity must have gone to her head.”

“Quite right, my dear.” Lady Wellington laughed. “Very well, I shall leave you younger people to talk amongst yourselves. I am certain there are things you wish to discuss that you would not want my poor old ears to hear.”

Evie smiled affectionately at her grandmother as she left the parlor. Once she was out of earshot, Scarlett immediately leaned closer.

“So, tell me, what does your Duke intend to do with Lady Spalding?” she asked, her eyes glittering with excitement.

“Nothing absurd, I assure you.” Evie balked. “Once he has acquired a special license, we shall be wed within the week. And he is not my Duke, mind you.”

“He will be once he has that special license.” The redhead snickered, reaching for a sugar cookie. “I, for one, cannot wait to see how he will deal with that dreadful Lady Spalding.”

“Such animosity!” Phoebe remarked with a slight laugh. She stirred a sugar cube into her tea and sipped at it calmly. “One would think that it was your name she had written on today’s column.”

“She wrote about Evie, and that is already bad enough!” Scarlett protested vehemently. “And she did write about me once or twice. I have not forgiven her for that yet.”

“That is because you are forever getting into trouble,” Phoebe sighed. She turned towards Evie. “Which also reminds me that I have yet to write to my sister about the recent turn of events. I was waiting for you to inform them of the matter.”

Evie smiled warmly at her best friend. “Thank you so much for that, dearest. I have been meaning to send a letter to Colin as well. I doubt he will be able to make it in time to attend the wedding, though.”

The brunette reached out and clasped her hand. “Do you not want to wait for him, at least? I am sure the Duke of Ashton would be willing to wait a little longer…”

“Yes, but if we did that, then my reputation will be in complete tatters by the time Colin arrives,” Evie sighed. “And by then, he will be even more furious that we have allowed it to get this far.”

“In that case, we will have to find a dress for you soon.” Scarlett frowned. “Do you have anything in mind?”

Evie shrugged casually. When she was young, she had dreamed of how she wanted her wedding to play out. Now, she found that most of that hardly mattered.

“I suppose anything will do,” she replied. “As long as it does not go beyond the bounds of propriety.”

“What propriety?” her redheaded friend scoffed. “It is your wedding, and you are to be a duchess. Propriety will be whatever you decide it would be.”

“Scarlett does have a point.” Phoebe hid a smile behind her cup. “Things are different when you become a duchess. Whatever you decide to wear to your wedding will simply become the new fashion.”

Scarlett grinned widely. “Exciting times ahead, I should say. Lady Spalding will be choking to take back her words once you are married.”

“Or maybe not,” Evie quipped. “Perhaps she would simply come up with something else to throw at me.”

“She would not dare. Not if she wants to make an enemy of your husband.”

Evie set her cup down. “I do not know. His Grace might not bother with an annoying fly like Lady Spalding anyway.”

Daniel already knew her identity and had expressed no desire to go after her. Besides, he had better things to do than rooting out a petty gossip writer.

It would be a poor waste of his talents.

Evie choked back her laughter.

No, Daniel would never…

“Well, any gentleman can be pushed to do the most drastic things for the object of their affection,” Scarlett pointed out. “One need not go far to search for an example—there is the Duke of Blackthorn. Everybody was so certain he was averse to marriage, and well, look at him now.”

“The only problem is that the Duke of Blackthorn is not like the Duke of Ashton,” Phoebe pointed out primly.

“It all depends on dear Evie’s performance.” The redhead smiled mischievously. “I think that your best chance at happiness in this union—as unholy as it might sound right now—is for you to simply seduce your betrothed!”

“As if I would ever do that!” Evie gasped, horrified.

Seduce Daniel? Was she mad? Looking for a way to humiliate herself?

How did one go about seducing one of the renowned Wolves?

Such a ploy was only going to end in miserable failure, and Evie had no plans of being miserable or a failure in the near future.

All she wanted to do was survive this blow to her reputation, rebuild it by conveniently becoming the Duchess of Ashton, and live out the rest of her life in peace.

Even if it was going to be boring. She had no desire to live on the edge, in any case.

“Why not?” Scarlett persisted. “Do you not find him attractive enough? I do not care much for his wolfish allure, but⁠—”

“It is not that,” Evie cut in quickly.

Not find him attractive? She had never been so attracted to a man before that it was almost embarrassing!

But finding someone attractive and outright seducing him were two entirely different things, not to mention that her friend was suggesting she seduce the Duke of Ash himself—a man capable of reducing numerous women to tears with merely a withering glare.

Evie shuddered inwardly.

I have no desire to join their ranks, thank you very much!

“Then whatever is the matter?” Scarlett asked, her curiosity sufficiently piqued.

“Well, I suppose you might not have noticed, but there is the matter with the Marchioness of Cobham,” Evie muttered.

“Oh.” Scarlett pouted. “That one.”

Evie nodded. “Precisely.”

If Daniel had all the charm of a fallen angel, then the Marchioness was like the embodiment of sin itself. Seduction in the flesh.

How was she supposed to compete against that?

“Well, all the more reason you should at least try!” Scarlett persisted. “You will never know the outcome unless you do.”

“I do not know, Scar.” Evie bit her bottom lip. “Abject humiliation is not something I particularly look forward to.”

“You can start tonight during the fireworks display!” the redhead continued excitedly. “You will be there, will you not?”

Fireworks.

Evie shuddered to think of the multicolored flowers shooting into the sky.

Crackling flames… the sound of wood popping from the extreme heat… her eyes watering from the smoke and heat and imminent death…

“Evie?”

She blinked her eyes and found herself sitting back in the parlor of Ashton Hall. Sunlight filtered through the gauzy curtains, and the soft fragrance of tea wafted up to her nose.

There was no fire. No smoke. Only Phoebe and Scarlett looking at her in concern.

“Apologies,” she muttered, shaking her head. “I was lost in thought for a moment. What was it again?”

Her friends did not seem too convinced, but they knew better than to press her for more details.

Phoebe smiled gently at her. “I was saying that even if you have no desire to seduce your betrothed at Vauxhall tonight, you should at least come, if only so that you might meet Mr. Turner.”

“Mr. Turner?” Evie repeated.

Her best friend nodded. “Mr. Bernard Turner himself.”

Evie smiled weakly. “I believe you are making a rather convincing case, dear Phoebe.”

“You will not come for your betrothed, but you would jump at the chance to meet your favorite painter.” Scarlett shook her head. “If the Duke of Ash heard this, would he not be hopping about in rage?”

“I would not attempt anything foolish if I were you,” Phoebe warned. “His Grace does not seem to be one who takes jokes lightly.”

Evie nearly choked on a scone.

You have absolutely no idea just how right you are…

As her two friends argued about how she could best capture her betrothed’s interest and, eventually, his heart, she could not help but ponder over the most recent information she had received.

Perhaps it would not be so bad, after all. Besides, it has been so long, and the fireworks are way up overhead…

She had initially thought to skip the fireworks display at Vauxhall because she particularly despised anything that had to do with fire, but now she had been given a very good reason to make an appearance.

Two, actually.