Ten

Eveline

I deliberately missed the social hour before dinner and arrived at the dining room entrance just as the members of the assemblage were seating themselves at Hunter and Gwendolyn’s extravagantly adorned table.

I tugged at the sides of the tight-fitting gown I wore, having not dressed in such an exquisite manner in years. The delicate lace trim complemented the cerulean-blue satin divinely. The wide neckline, certainly lower than I would have chosen myself, exposed my mother’s lovely sapphire necklace. Once I agreed to the invitation, Mother set about acquiring a new wardrobe precisely for this party and, since I had given her few reasons to do so previously, I allowed it.

Yet, regardless of how fashionable I might appear on the outside, I could not help but feel like I didn’t quite fit in and the sudden attention made my head spin.

I smiled in the direction of the hosts and felt all eyes fall upon me as I chose a seat near the end of the table, a position generally signifying the least important guests in a traditional meal. However, within seconds, Viscount Ethan Glade—who I had been briefly introduced to only this afternoon—abandoned his original seat and moved to my right side. He was followed shortly by another recent introduction, Sir Charles Wimpole, who swiftly claimed my left.

I didn’t look upon either one. Peering down at my hands as they smoothed out the imaginary wrinkles of my new gown, I then carefully removed my long white gloves for the meal and toyed with the sapphire gem at my throat, waiting for the first course to arrive.

Stealing a peek around the room at the other guests, I caught Zachary’s glare from across the table. He sat between the enchanting Miss Emma Baker and striking Lady Genevieve Walsh, the oldest of Lucas’ sisters, whom I had not seen for years, but always adored.

Trying to decipher Zach’s frown, I wondered why he appeared so cross with me. That brief meeting on Bond Street had been our only interaction in quite some time. Even when we expressed our greetings earlier in the foyer, he appeared stone-faced and uncomfortably formal.

What happened to the man I strolled with at Vauxhall?

Or the kind, loving, heartfelt man who shared secrets with me as we sat beneath the stars at our tree?

Or the playful, vexing tease from my childhood?

All these amiable versions of Zach were now replaced with someone who resembled the hardened marble of a Grecian statue and, despite the perfection of such a sculpture, I preferred the pliability of a genuine man.

Though I could not personally account for his continued expression of annoyance, I lifted my chin slightly in response, and bolstered my strength, determined to not let him unsettle me. I may no longer be a titled daughter of a baron, or an incomparable like many of the women at this table, but I deserved to be here. I was an invited guest and, while I yearned for the man from before, I did not naively presume our friendship would suddenly return to its roots in a matter of four short weeks.

Stealing a subtle breath, I whispered silently, “I can do this.” I can recall the proper decorum training I received in finishing school years ago and I will prove to him and everyone else that I deserve to be amongst the ton .

“Mrs. Turner,” Viscount Glade spoke first, dressed as if he attended a more formal event with his snow-white cravat, burgundy waist coat, pitch-black tailcoat, and pearl cufflinks. His light blonde hair fell slightly above his ears and curled at the ends. He was handsome according to society’s standards, but I judged men with far different measures and attributes.

“Yes, Viscount Glade?”

“Where have you been hiding yourself all these years? You’re simply stunning! If I had seen you at a ball your first season, we’d be married by now with a brood of children.”

I nearly choked on a cubed apple in my Mulligatawny soup.

I bit my lip and prevented myself from answering the way the non-demure Eveline would. “I have been married these last several years, my lord, but I presume you already knew that.” I smiled wide and batted my eyelashes for additional effect. Then I promptly turned back to my soup, but not before I caught sight of Helena stifling a chuckle.

“Mrs. Turner?” Sir Charles took a turn.

“Yes, Sir Charles?”

“Might you ride out with me tomorrow morning? I understand you have an excellent seat.”

My eyes widened. How would he know I had an excellent seat? I did, naturally, but rode only with my mother and April since we left our country home.

Composing myself, I remembered how a proper woman might respond. For goodness sake, I had only been at Gottling Hall all of four hours and my boundaries were already being tested… precisely why I avoided society in the first place. I could not discern the sincere from the insincere.

I was dreadful at the coquetry games and feared I would muddle it up, ending in another loveless marriage. Though, admittedly, in my first union there were no surprises… other than Patrick. Colin told me of his full intentions on the day he proposed. He loved a woman in the West Indies and planned to live there most of the time. His interests in England required a delicate hand and proper attention, and he would save my family from ruin. Specifically, my mother and sister upon the death of my father.

“Mrs. Turner?” Sir Charles repeated.

I blinked. Oh yes, the ride. “I thank you kindly for the invitation, Sir Charles, but I fear I must decline. I am not up to your level of horsemanship skills, forgive me.”

Now, Zachary’s brows pinched together as his eyes narrowed in on me. Of course, he also knew how well I rode, but what did it matter if I fibbed a little? I hardly wanted to be alone with this man whom I only met today. And since I was now a widow with no traditional requirements of needing a chaperone, I could easily find myself in a compromising situation if I didn’t proceed with caution. No thank you.

“May I interest you in a game of whist after dinner?” Viscount Glade took his turn again, but before I could answer, Gwendolyn spoke up to the entirety of the party.

“Forgive me for not mentioning this earlier. We have a myriad of games and entertainment planned for the month, let us take tonight to rest up after our long journeys and begin anew tomorrow.” She smiled gently in my direction. I would have to thank her at a later time.

Straightaway, small pockets of conversations began again.

The rest of dinner passed in blessed silence. Either the men had tired from trying or found me exceptionally dull. I welcomed either distinction, for I hardly had time to weed through the true intentions of the heart and those who sought my attention for more nefarious reasons.

Mr. Hanover had warned me on several occasions these last two months of my need to remain vigilant. Once the details of my holdings were made public with Sir Colin’s death, Mr. Hanover’s predictions turned most accurate. Hordes of men and their feigned smiles, frills, and counterfeit charm appeared on my doorstep every day these last few weeks. But now, here I was at Gottling Hall, willingly trapped with at least six unattached men for a solid month. Why on earth did I agree to this? Patrick. Yes, Patrick’s need to be around other children and out in the fresh country air. Okay, I smiled and took a heartfelt breath. I could do this for Patrick.

After dinner, I checked in on Patrick and, per his request, I read a bedtime story to both he and his new friend, Joseph, another five-year-old. I marveled how each new day together brought forth new and exciting discoveries between us.

Coming out of his protective shell, Patrick understood and engaged more. He even went as far as kissing me goodnight. Banja, too, had been kinder and more respectful, though not comfortable enough to join me for meals back in London, but at least there were no reports of derogatory talk. And I was sincerely grateful she chose to stay. I wanted Patrick to have his aunt in his life.

Thankfully, I didn’t cross paths with anyone on my way to my bedchamber and the sweet lady’s maid assigned to me, Rosie, met me straightaway. A former maid-of-all-work, she inquired of Lady Gwendolyn for the chance to prove she could do more, so this was her opportunity, and I intended on making it as simple as possible.

The next morning, I snuck out to the stables before anyone stirred in the house. Even before the sun had risen. Though I had implied to Sir Charles I rode poorly, I purposely underestimated my skill and, if he had any sense, he would know this simply because I brought my own horse, Isis, to the party.

After a groomsman saddled her for me, I stepped up on the mounting block and, though I often straddled Isis like a man, I knew I must adhere to a sidesaddle here, especially wearing my new olive-colored riding habit.

I trotted Isis out of the stable and took a quick peek to make sure we were alone before I clicked my tongue against my teeth and kicked her side. She knew this to be permission to run—and run she did. I took her to full speed once we were out in the pasture and only slowed as we approached the crest of the first hill.

As we cleared the stones of a former ruin, I gently guided her toward the wooded glen. When we rode at Ashton Hall, she had grown accustomed to the many trails through the woods and we shared an incomparable trust.

The gentle breeze through the trees as we trotted brought a calm to my soul that could never be produced by anything but nature. The early hour encouraged fresh scents and sweet birdsong. I stopped only long enough to pull a small branch off a eucalyptus tree, intent on adding the leaves to my bathwater. That and rose petals, when available.

Once again out of the woods and on the return, we engaged in an invigorating ride. I slowed as I approached Gottling for fear I had delayed my return too long and would somehow be confronted by another rider. One who may have heard my inadequate claim last night. We trotted into the stables once I felt assured the party remained inside the house, but the moment I dismounted, I turned around to see a relaxed Zachary leaning against the wood slats of a stall with his arms folded over his chest.

“I fear I must decline,” he repeated my words from last night but with an edge of derision. “I am not up to your level of horsemanship skills.”

“What are you doing here, Zach?” I questioned as the groom removed the saddle and I detached the bridle from my horse.

“You are quite predictable, you know.” His captivating smile tilted halfway. Far too charming for a disagreeable expression. “I knew you would be on Isis before daybreak.”

“Did you come out here only to accuse me of an untruth or are you here to ride yourself?”

He shrugged. Even with his hair uncombed and his clothing wrinkled, he appeared ruggedly handsome. I bit my tongue. I cannot allow myself such thoughts.

“Then please,” I waved him past me. “Don’t let me stop you.”

I picked up the brush and started brushing Isis down, keeping my back to Zach until he spoke again, only this time I heard the slur. “What are you doing here, Mrs. Turner?” He used my formal name.

“Mrs. Turner?” I scoffed. “When have you ever called me by anything but Evie?”

“When you married,” he grumbled.

I swallowed hard, forcing any emotion back down and continued to brush in silence.

“You didn’t answer my question,” he pursued. “And that dress,” he scoffed. “That blasted gown you wore last night.”

I pursed my lips. Did he find it ugly? Repugnant? “I’m here to enjoy the occasion with friends, Lord Zachary.” I bolstered my resolve. “And introduce Patrick to the country.”

“Oh, yes, the illicit child of your husband and his lover,” he drawled.

The words stung. I choked and my hand stilled against Isis’ side, gripping the brush tightly between my fingers. Did he think I had no pride?

“Yes, that one,” I squeaked out, then turned to the side and called the groom, “Jonathan?” He appeared. “Will you please finish up with Isis and put her back in her stall for me?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

I inhaled through my nose and willed my eyes to not betray me as I paused before I turned around. When I did, I didn’t look in Zach’s direction, instead I walked toward the stable doors. His fingers swiftly clutched my wrist and brought me to a sudden stop.

“I want to know why you are out of mourning.”

I narrowed my eyes. Even at this early hour his eyes were rimmed, red and dull. How many drinks had he consumed throughout the night? “That is none of your concern,” I snapped.

A spark of surprise flitted over his features. I had never spoken sharply to him… ever. He stepped closer, still holding my wrist. I stiffened. “Your husband is dead all of six months and here you are entertaining the next.”

My heart thumped in double time, and I felt a fire trail up my spine and flush my cheeks. “I am not here to find a husband!” I hollered.

He smirked. He had always known how to induce a rise out of me when we were children, yet I thought he had forgotten about our cherished past. “Do they know that?” He pointed loosely toward the house.

I said nothing. I couldn’t deny the allure of being the center of a man’s attention for once, I just didn’t want the attention to be because of my coffers.

“It seems you have quite a devoted entourage of courters after your first day. A job well done, wouldn’t you say?”

My jaw tightened in an effort to keep tears from welling in my eyes. When did Zach become so mean?

Zachary leaned in with a wobble and I could smell the scent of liquor on his breath. I couldn’t believe it. 7 o’clock in the morning at his best mate’s house, and he was foxed! “How fortunate you are.” He narrowed his eyes. “This husband will at least desire you,” he slurred. “Or maybe just your money.”

I could not help it and, before I could stop it, my hand flew up and slapped Zach hard across the face. Even as he reeled back in shock, my palm flew to my mouth equally astonished. I had never struck a person before… ever.

Tears bubbled on my lashes as I grabbed my skirts and fled out the stable doors without looking back. It didn’t even matter if Zach regretted his words, or I regretted my response. The Zach I knew and loved had vanished, and some horrid, selfish lush had taken his place.