Chapter Twenty-eight

E vangeline wished her family could have known Dermot. She felt certain they would have liked him and, she hoped, approved of her growing attachment to him. He was good-hearted the way Father had been. He was kind to those around him in the way Mother had been. And, as she’d discovered recently, he had a dry sense of humor not unlike George’s. They would have adored him.

If only the few remaining members of her family adored her. She stood in the entrance hall at her aunt and uncle’s home, alone, waiting for the butler to return. He had left her there saying he needed to ask the mistress of the house where she intended to “place” her. Never mind that she had come specifically for the family dinner to which she had been invited. Aunt Barton clearly meant to make certain Evangeline knew how unwelcome she was.

“Mrs. Barton has instructed that you be shown to the drawing room.” The butler spoke from the bottom of the stairs, not having returned to her side as would be customary for a guest with any claim of importance. No matter. She had not come to impress the butler.

Evangeline crossed to him, her dignity tucked firmly around her. The butler motioned for her to step through the second set of doors. She did so with chin held high. She might have been about to put herself forward in a most unladylike fashion, but that did not mean she was not a lady at heart.

The drawing room was opulent. A chandelier, so heavy with crystals Evangeline half expected the ceiling to sag under its weight, hung over a lush carpet woven around the repeating motif of the letter B . An ornate screen sat before the tall window draped on either side with heavy burgundy velvet. An oil portrait of Aunt Barton, so large it appeared nearly life-size, hung in a place of prominence. Treasures of every imaginable shape, size, and color filled the nooks and crannies of the room.

She had seen some of the extravagance of her aunt and -uncle’s home during her brief visit many weeks earlier but found it even more overwhelming now. Perhaps her time spent in her own humble surroundings and among her students and their families had adjusted her view of what constituted plenty and what fell firmly into the realm of excess.

While she would not have objected to a closer claim on “plenty” within her small living quarters, she found that she did not truly feel the same sense of deprivation she had upon first arriving there. She had the necessities and a bit to spare, which was more than many families hereabout could claim.

“Ah. There you are.” Aunt Barton’s words took her by surprise. “We had nearly despaired of you arriving.”

Evangeline had been so distracted by the room she had not taken note of who was standing in it.

The ormolu clock on the intricately carved mantel indicated she was nearly ten minutes ahead of the appointed time.

“I am not—” But she stopped. Her aunt would enjoy nothing more than to see Evangeline turn defensive and uncertain. Instead, she took a breath, regained her calm, and stood as an island in a storm.

“I seem to remember that you do not care for asparagus,” Aunt Barton said.

“I did not when I was a small girl.”

For the briefest moment, her aunt’s eyes narrowed. Her lips pressed together. She recovered quickly. “I hope you are not so particular about your meals now.”

“My culinary tastes have actually expanded since my arrival in Smeatley.” Evangeline summoned a conversational tone, pretending that her aunt had spoken out of sincere concern rather than an attempt to speak ill of her. “I have developed a distinct fondness for cabbage and potatoes and a number of other vegetables. I can prepare them in dozens of ways.”

Her grandfather spoke from somewhere behind her. “Cabbage?”

She turned to face him. “I have. A neighbor of mine has a son in school. I have helped the young boy with his schooling in exchange for cooking instructions. That neighbor cooks with a great deal of cabbage.”

Grandfather eyed her with what she reasonably believed was approval. “Very resourceful of you to trade lessons.”

“We do not want to delay our meal,” Aunt Barton said, gesturing toward the door.

“We’ve a few minutes yet,” Grandfather said. He looked toward the far corner. “What have been your impressions of the school?” he asked Uncle Barton.

Until that moment, Evangeline had not noticed her uncle sitting in the corner.

He glanced at her before addressing Grandfather. “I have not visited the school often. What I saw a few days ago, however, was reassuring.”

“Reassuring?” Aunt Barton scoffed. “The school inspector left utterly vexed.”

That brought Grandfather’s pointed and expectant gaze back to Evangeline.

She pushed down a lump of apprehension in her throat. The school inspector had far more clout than she did, even with her own family. “The inspector was upset that I had not undertaken aspects of teaching that I had not been informed were required of me. He was further disappointed that I was not eager to undertake all of them.”

Aunt Barton spoke an overly loud aside to Grandfather. “She has far too much of her father in her.”

Her aunt usually insisted that Mother’s influence on Evangeline was the most detrimental. However, Grandfather had not cared for her father and had not been shy about saying as much. There were few evaluations her aunt could make that would turn Grandfather’s opinion more quickly.

“On the contrary,” Uncle Barton said, “I believe her fiery determination is a trait inherited from her mother.”

Evangeline could hardly have been more shocked. She had not, since arriving in Smeatley, heard a kind word of her family. She’d had almost no words at all from her uncle. But these words, these -unlooked-for words, had been offered with a degree of fondness.

“Dinner,” Aunt Barton snapped, crossing through the open doorway without a backward glance or a moment’s hesitation. Asingle step beyond the threshold, she added, “Now.”

If Uncle Barton could see something of her mother in her and approved, Evangeline would most certainly call upon that resemblance. With a serene countenance, she addressed her grandfather. “Perhaps we had best follow her. There is little to be gained from provoking our hostess.”

“True.” Grandfather all but grunted the word. “She’s a misery when she’s on her dignity like this.” He glanced over at Uncle Barton. “You’re likely to have a difficult night.”

Uncle smiled with weary acceptance. “It will not be my first.”

“I did warn you,” Grandfather said.

“I know.”

The odd conversation was not further explained. Grandfather offered Evangeline his arm and walked with her to the dining room, Uncle Barton following behind. The aura of unwelcome Evangeline had felt during her previous visit to the Bartons’ home had increased. The tension, however, felt more complicated than her aunt’s apparent dislike of her. It had expanded to include both her and her aunt and uncle and, in a smaller but just as real way, her grandfather.

They were seated and the meal began. Aunt Barton directed the servants with nothing more than a raised eyebrow or the tiniest movement of her head. Evangeline knew perfectly well what the servants thought of their mistress. Most of the staff came from local families. All of Smeatley knew of Aunt Barton’s disapproval of their Yorkshire mannerisms and way of speaking.

When a servant Evangeline knew to be a cousin of Hugo’s set a dish before her, she offered a genuine smile of gratitude. He did not return it—his training was clearly too extensive for that—but she felt certain he held himself with more confidence and fewer worried glances in Aunt Barton’s direction.

The moment the servants left the dining room, excepting the butler who remained on hand should anything be required of the staff, Aunt Barton broke her frigid silence. “Your time among the people of this town seems to have undermined your memory of how a lady is to behave.”

That was unfair. Evangeline had behaved with complete decorum.

“One does not grow overly familiar with the servants,” her aunt censured.

“My education in proper behavior included a great deal about how a lady should treat everyone with respect, no matter their station. Acknowledging a servant who has performed his duties well is, in fact, a mark of gentility.”

Aunt Barton buttered a roll with greater force than was necessary. “The look you gave him seemed more than mere acknowledgment of a job well done.”

Evangeline did not bat an eye. “He is cousin to a student of mine, a student whose father works at the factory, actually.” She looked to her uncle. “Mr. Palmer.”

Uncle Barton wiped a bit of food from the edge of his mustache with his napkin. “I do not know all of the workers. The mill overseer interacts with them more than I do.”

“He has only been working there for a few weeks. He had been part of Mr. McCormick’s crew that worked on your home and wall.”

“I might recognize him if I saw him,” Uncle Barton said, “but I cannot recall him just now.”

“McCormick’s crew?” Grandfather’s brow pulled low in contemplation. “A good man, McCormick. Good head on his shoulders.”

“And, apparently, a very friendly neighbor,” Aunt Barton said a touch too innocently. “All the town knows he spends an inordinate amount of time with the schoolteacher.”

That brought the gentlemen’s eyes to Evangeline.

She maintained her ladylike bearing and folded her hands in her lap. Without a hint of shame or uncertainty, she said, “Mr. McCormick is the neighbor I spoke of earlier who has a son in the school. His son remains after the other children have left and I help him with his studies. When Mr. McCormick is finished with his work of the day, he fetches his son home. One evening a week, he remains long enough to teach me to prepare a meal. There is nothing untoward about our neighborly interactions.”

Aunt Barton’s features twisted in smug victory. “An unmarried young lady spending the evening alone with an unmarried man? And one of the working class? One who has, as far as anyone knows, never been married yet has a son?”

Heat rushed over Evangeline’s face, not in embarrassment but anger. She would not reveal the personal information Dermot had shared with her about his and Ronan’s connection, but neither would she allow these aspersions to go unanswered. “Mr. McCormick may not hail from exalted circles, but he has shown himself to be a man of impeccable propriety. I think I need not remind anyone in this family that one’s birth does not determine one’s worth.”

Grandfather was a self-made man. His voice no longer held more than a hint of his lower-class origins. He had worked hard over the years to refine his speech and manners, finding that many with whom he did business were more receptive if he sounded more polished, yet he maintained his adherence to work as the mark of a man.

Before her aunt could say anything further, Evangeline turned the topic of conversation. A lady not acting in the role of hostess was not meant to force topics upon dinner guests. She did not care; she had come to make strides toward reclaiming her sister, and she would do just that.

Her governess would not have approved. Mother might not have either. But they had not prepared her for the situation in which she now found herself. Months of demure, serene obedience had accomplished nothing. She had to be firm; she could no longer simply do as she was told while her life and Lucy’s were torn to pieces.

“I have not had a letter from Lucy in over a week,” she said to her grandfather. “As her previous missives have been filled with expressions of unhappiness, I am concerned. How is she faring?”

“She is receiving a first-rate education.” Grandfather popped a piece of boiled potato into his mouth.

“One thing I have learned these past months,” Evangeline said, “is that a child who is experiencing misery in her life is unlikely to learn anything, no matter how expertly taught.”

“What experience could you possibly have had these past months with ‘expert’ teaching?” Aunt Barton’s tone of derision could not be mistaken.

Evangeline chose to ignore her. “When will I be able to see my sister? We have been apart ever since our family’s funeral, though I have met every requirement given me to be permitted her company.”

Grandfather’s expression remained impassive. “I have not yet decided what to do about the matter of you and your sister.”

“I can feed and clothe her, give her a clean and safe home, and I can provide her with an education.” Evangeline did not flinch though she could feel her aunt’s glare. “I hope you will bear that in mind while weighing the possibilities.”

Her aunt jumped into the discussion unbidden. “And also bear in mind that you would be sending Lucy to a home where an unmarried man spends a questionable amount of time.”

Evangeline maintained her calm, though tension tightened her jaw. “I have already explained that situation, and its propriety has been established. Only a mind with a tendency to see the tawdry where there is none could possibly find reason to condemn me for it.”

“The ‘tawdry’?” The question might as well have had an exclamation point at the end. Fire filled her aunt’s glare. “How dare you sit at my table and question the cleanliness of my thoughts.”

Evangeline did not quiver nor cower from the anger thrown at her. “And how dare you invite me to be a guest in your home and then question my virtue. You have been nothing but unkind and dismissive from the moment you arrived in Petersmarch. While watching my family die, I was subjected to your cruelty again and again, as was Lucy. And now, here, in this place where I am making my new home, you continue to toss your unfounded judgments at my head and then blame me for them.” She slid her napkin from her lap and set it on the table as she stood. “You are my mother’s sister, and for her sake, I will not say all that is in my mind at the moment, but will rather offer my excuses and depart.”

Evangeline turned to her uncle, who, along with Grandfather, had stood when she did as decorum dictated. “You have never been unkind since my arrival, and I thank you for that. I hope that the school board will make its own inspections moving forward rather than leave the undertaking to the tainted view of Mrs. Barton, and that their evaluation will be done with fairness.” She faced her grandfather. “I hope that you will come to visit me before you leave. My living quarters may not be as fine and richly furnished as this house, but you will find a civil welcome there and a hostess who will not mistreat you.”

She stepped away from the table. Head held high, she walked out of the dining room with deliberate step, not adding any haste to her departure lest her leaving be seen as cowardice. She felt certain she gave every indication of being calm and in control; inside, however, she was anything but.

She had arrived at Hillside House prepared to defend her work and progress if need be. The unexpected need to defend her morals had left her drained, mentally and emotionally. By the time she climbed up Greenamble, her exhaustion had become physical as well.

Her feet took her not to her own home but directly to Dermot’s familiar yellow door. She needed his reassurance and his unfailingly logical insights, his tender kindness. She needed ... him.

Ronan might be asleep, so she knocked lightly, not wishing to wake him. There was no answer. Perhaps Dermot hadn’t heard. She knocked again, a little louder. The moments dragged by. He didn’t answer.

Evangeline set her open palm against the door, resting her forehead beside it. “Please, Dermot,” she whispered. “I need you.”

Standing there alone, facing his closed door, the tears she had been holding back began to fall. Her aunt’s insults, her uncle’s silence, her grandfather’s utterly unfair behavior had hurt, but Dermot’s unexpected absence fractured her composure.

All her life she’d clung to the safe familiarity of behaving as a lady, of doing as she was told. She no longer had that firm foundation to stand upon.

“You’ve fire enough for this,” Dermot had told her. He saw strength in her when she struggled to see it in herself.

He had become an integral part of her life. She felt stronger with him nearby—braver, happier.

“I love him,” she whispered in amazement to the closed door. “I love him.”