Chapter 3

Chapter Three

T hough Eva had been quite looking forward to her evening at the theatre, her happy anticipation had been dashed most definitely against the rocks. Her mother, the redoubtable bulwark that was Lady Stanton, had decided without preamble to come along with her. Eva knew this would happen the moment that she let it slip, and groaned inwardly the very instant the words were out of her mouth.

"Lady Patience? That little slip of a girl that snatched Tom away from you?" Lady Stanton said with a frown that deepened the lines at the side of her mouth. She was reclined along a sofa as if she were awaiting suitors to come and pay court to her.

"She didn't snatch Tom away from me," Eva said evenly. "He was never mine to begin with—that was a fantasy of your own making."

Lady Stanton sniffed. "Well, I'm sure you had far more claim on him; when I was a girl, if a gentleman kissed you in a dark corner, you could be certain of a marriage proposal!"

Eva wisely chose to not respond to that particular remark. Any reminder of her mother's scheming to secure an attachment to Tom made Eva wince with shame. She hated that she had been party to such a tawdry episode, and she would like nothing more than for it to be forgotten.

"Still, I suppose it is a handsome thing to be invited to a first night," Lady Stanton continued, flipping idly through the pages of a magazine with a French title. "We've not been out for some time, what with things being so dear."

Eva had been in the process of leaving the faded parlour and heading to her room, but she halted when she heard her mother. "We?" she asked weakly.

"You must wear your blue evening silk, it suits you the best," Lady Stanton continued as if she hadn't heard Eva, which in all likelihood, she probably hadn't.

"I'm not sure the invitation included more than myself," Eva said carefully. "Lady Patience is picking me up in her carriage, and I'd hate for you to crush your gown if there's a press."

"Nonsense," Lady Stanton scoffed. "Everyone knows that an invitation to a young lady naturally includes her mother; it is her duty to chaperone her daughter properly."

Eva's hands went cold, her cheeks no doubt going colourless at the same time. She knew exactly what her mother meant by that; she'd been living with it since she was a girl of sixteen. Her mother would push and connive and scheme to get Eva into the notice of every gentleman that had even a whiff of money or title about him. It was humiliating, as if her mother were an ostler with a horse she needed to unload to pay off a butcher's bill.

She absorbed this with only a brief closing of her eyes. Resigned, she continued her march up the bare, creaking stairs. For years, Season after Season, she had accepted her mother's pushing and prodding as simply what must be done. Eva hadn't felt any sort of real attachment to any of the men flung at her, and had been able to escape the worst of them with a smile and a gentle laugh that left said gentlemen feeling tenderly toward her and not at all slighted.

Now…now, Eva wanted freedom. She wanted to make her own choices. She wanted more than to be a perfect doll for her mother to dress and move about. This was the direction of her thoughts as she reached her room. It was cold, much colder than the parlour, the fire having gone out. Eva automatically retreated into her shawl.

With a sigh, she took up the poker and stirred the embers about, trying to bring them back to life. A few years ago, would simply have rung for a maid or footman to tend to it; that would be pointless now, as the staff was considerably reduced, as was the household budget. Briefly, Eva was tempted to return to the parlour, but ultimately decided that her independence was worth a few chilled fingers.

Adjusting her shawl again, she sat heavily on the stool before her dressing table. For a long while, she simply sat with her hand cradling her chin, her elbow propped on the small table. Gazing at herself in the mirror, she attempted to see who she was beneath all of the expectations and pressures put on her, not just by her mother, but by her position. She was the daughter of a nobleman, a minor noble, but aristocratic nonetheless. Beyond that, Eva was honestly not sure about anything anymore.

It was no use; the mirror was no scrying glass that could reveal her fortune. All she saw was a woman rapidly approaching spinsterhood; her finely boned face and alluring eyes would be for naught before long. She felt as if she were a bird with beautiful plumage, caught in a cage.

She did not know how much time passed as she stared at her reflection, wishing the woman in the mirror had answers for her. She was jolted back to awareness by the sudden entrance of the one lady's maid that she shared with her mother, who immediately called for the fire to be mended so that the curling tongs could be heated.

Eva sighed, but sat still as the maid began pulling and combing her hair this way and that. She knew that freedom was out there, somewhere, and she was very nearly resolved to find it. Why else had she resisted so many marriage proposals? True enough that they had not all been brilliant, but there were more than a few that would have seen her living comfortably.

No, she was meant for something else, something besides the dream of domesticity that had been laid out for her…she just didn't know what.

Though Lady Patience was still not the most experienced of ladies when it came to matters of the ton, she had been raised by a dowager duchess that wielded gossip and socialising like a scythe. Patience had learned at a very young age that one frequently learns more by asking nothing and simply observing. This was helped by the fact that she was naturally a reserved person.

When her carriage had pulled up before the Stanton's townhouse, it was impossible to miss that Eva was not awaiting their arrival alone. In fact, Patience suspected that a blind person would have trouble overlooking Lady Stanton. She managed not to stare, but it took no small effort. In her copious diamonds and feathers, Lady Stanton looked more like an actress herself than a woman of the ton. Patience also could not miss the look of barely-concealed misery that clung to Eva's face.

The moment the carriage door opened, however, the dour expression had vanished from Eva's face. Patience was quietly impressed with her determination. She met Eva's eye, and both gave a slight but determined nod: They would enjoy their evening, no matter the inconvenience. Her husband Tom, however, was clearly less-than-pleased at arrangements. She could feel him tense up on the carriage seat next to her, his dark eyes glittering dangerously.

"Lady Stanton, what an…unexpected pleasure," Patience said, hoping to pre-empt any unpleasantness.

"To be sure," she said, settling into the opposite seat. "I was not expecting an invitation to the theatre, especially not to a first night."

"If you feel it's unsuitable, then by all means, feel free to depart. One wouldn't want you to compromise your infamous scruples," Tom said dryly, a smile as pointed as a handful of needles on his face.

Lady Stanton continued to be oblivious to all of this, paying no mind to the implied insult. While Tom's eyes remained riveted on Lady Stanton, Patience could only look to Eva. Though her face was perfectly composed, there was a hardness about the pretty jaw, a pinched quality around her mouth and nose. It was clear that she was embarrassed and angered by her mother shoe-horning herself into the evening.

For her part, Patience was not angry. No, not even when Lady Stanton began to complain about the closeness of the carriage. Patience, too, had been much under the thumb of a domineering mother for the better part of her life. If anything, it was pity that she felt for Eva, and an overwhelming urge to help her in whatever manner she might.

She had spoken truthfully earlier in the day to Eva: She had forgiven her, for everything. After all, she had nearly found herself in the same situation; she knew what it was to be cajoled and chivvied along, dragged unwillingly into (nearly) marrying a man simply for the good of her family. While she did not know the particulars of the Stanton's situation, Tom had led her to believe that the good lady of the house was becoming rather desperate.

Therefore, when the carriage pulled away from the kerb with a lurch, Patience used the opportunity to dart a hand forward and briefly squeeze Eva's hand. Startled, Eva looked down, her careful mask slipping for just a moment. She bestowed a small but genuine smile of such feeling onto Patience that the latter could not help but feel her heart swell in response.

Though she did not have the slightest clue how, Patience was more resolved than ever to help her new friend. She had found more happiness than she knew what to do with, after all—why should she not help others do the same?