Six

Eveline

August 1815

“April,” I called out with a chuckle. “You must see this bonnet.” I waved her away from the glover’s window and over to the millinery shop I stood in front of. “It must be the most audacious one I have ever laid eyes on.” I covered my mouth with my palm, stifling a full laugh. The brazen pink, purple, and yellow flowers contrasted with a pair of long peacock feathers.

April ran to my side and the two of us shared a delightful laugh. For the first time since I received the news of Sir Colin’s death, I felt settled enough to enjoy a day out with my dear sister. I had become somewhat of a recluse while Colin lived and, admittedly, even more so after he died.

Mother rarely made noise over the way I managed my time, but this morning she would not take no for an answer and insisted that April and I enjoy an excursion together shopping on Bond Street. She also insisted I could not come home empty-handed; a feat far more difficult than one might presume.

Though Mr. Hanover made sure I had access to my money whenever necessary, I could not bring myself to spend it on myself. Truthfully, I feared having such abundance available at my fingertips, I might be tempted to give it all away. But I acquiesced to mother’s demands, if only to procure a gift for Patrick.

“I could not even imagine wearing such an adornment to any event,” I said with a chuckle, moving on from the bonnet.

April’s tone shifted from light to earnest as we strolled past several more shop windows. “When will you begin attending events, Evie?” I noticed her subtle scan of my black gown.

“It’s only been five months, April.”

“Yes, but in the two years you were married, you only saw Sir Colin three times.” She placed her hands on her hips. “I understand your need to respect him. He saved us, I’m aware, but we also knew he wouldn’t live long.”

“Shhh.” I placed a finger to my lips to hush her. Very few people knew the extent of our marriage terms and arrangement. “Please keep your voice down. I don’t want all of London to know my personal business.”

“All of London?” April whirled around and showed just how lighthearted and free the age of sixteen could be. “Most everyone has gone to their country estates. Bond Street is nearly vacant… well except for those two.” She stopped and tilted her head. “Wait, isn’t that…” she paused and frowned.

“What?” I turned around to see what she was gaping at, and my heart erroneously leaped without consent. Lord Zachary Collins meandering down the walkway… with a woman, a beautiful woman, on his arm. Our eyes collided and, in that brief moment, something flashed across his face. Something I had not seen for ages. Guilt .

Interesting. The last time such a look appeared on his face, I recall being fifteen and attempting to shoot a target fastened to Cornelius’ trunk with my bow and arrow. Only, at the time, I didn’t know Zach had fashioned a set of dummy arrows for me to use. He stood beside me in total innocence until he finally succumbed to a fit of laughter over my certain failure, then apologized profusely.

I willed my breathing to remain steady as he approached, trying not to follow the angles of his strong, narrow jaw and deftly cut cheekbones. My eyes then lifted upward to find the familiar, yet unique coloring of his pupils where the center featured a caramel blend, fading out to green with a dark blue border. We often used to jest over his eyes and how they featured all the colors collectively without a distinction of one over the other.

The calm and collected Zach I knew had disappeared as he tugged repeatedly on his perfectly tied cravat. As always, his flawless attire presented a striking statement, from his silver waistcoat to his dark blue tailcoat, blue cravat, and distinguishably-styled hair beneath his hat. I always found the shade of his hair fascinating—not quite dark and not quite blond but a gentle mixture of both.

If I hadn’t known he went to war, I would have never guessed, for he appeared as though hardship had never befallen him.

I glanced down at his hands where his left arm held the arm of the stunning woman he walked with. I saw no sign of the missing fingers he told me about at Vauxhall Gardens nine months ago as his gloves showed symmetry in all five fingers. How clever.

When my eyes reached his lips, I recalled how I felt that night when Zach leaned forward to kiss me with those same lips. I needed to banish that cherished memory from my mind, for every time it surfaced, my pulse raced. The thrill of being alone with him and seeing desire in his eyes when he leaned in continued to torture me but, at the time, I stood before him as a married woman. Despite Zach’s disregard for the arrangements of my marriage to Sir Colin, I made a personal promise of fidelity, and such a commitment took every ounce of my strength in Zach’s presence.

I should simply accept the truth of what we are to one another.

Dear childhood friends, nothing more.

“Evie,” Zach acknowledged with a dip of his chin, then he promptly cleared his throat and started over. “Mrs. Turner.”

“Lord Zachary.” I curtsied then nudged April to do the same. It was more than apparent the beautiful woman at his side was a lady of the ton , though I admit being acquainted with so few, having avoided as many social events as I could.

However, in the last few weeks, as news of my husband’s death became known as well as my financial standing, my status had suddenly shifted within the realm of polite society. Callers appeared, invitations issued, and men attempted to court, despite my mourning attire and repeated refusals.

Though I genuinely couldn’t wait to rid myself of the black attire that brought a melancholy to our home all by itself, it did provide a layer of protection to the fortune seekers, as I relied on it as my excuse to decline.

“Allow me to introduce you to Lady Joanna.”

I smiled and curtsied in her direction as well. “I’m pleased to meet you.”

The woman eyed me critically and, while she didn’t quite give me the cut direct, she might have if Zach wasn’t present.

“Charmed,” she said through tight lips.

Zach appeared uncomfortable. Was this his betrothed?

“I am grateful for your safe return, my lord.” I smiled in his direction, offering sincerity to my words.

Zachary’s jaw tightened and I had to forcibly keep my hand at my side, tempted to soothe his frustrations. He peered down at my dress. “My condolences for your loss, Mrs. Turner.”

So, he is aware. I obliged a smile. “Thank you.”

April glanced between us with a furrowed brow. “Why are you two behaving as if you are strangers?” she spit out.

I lowered my head as an ambivalent smile twitched at the corner of my lips. Leave it to April to be unabashedly candid. When I glanced back up at the couple, Lady Joanna’s nose pinched with irritation. Though I had taught April the basics of how to behave as a lady, she never had an occasion to truly practice those lessons, and they were easily forgotten in public.

Zach cleared his throat again. “We are on our way to Gunter’s Tea Shop to enjoy an ice. Would you like to join us?”

I watched as Lady Joanna’s grip tightened around Zach’s arm and her smile curved unnaturally. “My lord, we are meeting my sister and her husband there.”

Zach did not respond to Lady Joanna and gazed at me with a strange expression, something akin to pain.

Several seconds passed in silence.

“A pleasure to meet you both,” Lady Joanna spoke up. “Please excuse us, for we are already delayed.”

I smiled and curtsied one last time. Nothing more was said as Zach strode away with the lovely lady on his arm.

April stared at me as if I had grown a second head. “What was that all about?” she cried once they were out of range.

“Close your mouth, you look like a fish,” I said and grabbed her arm to continue shopping. As we walked, she mocked the politeness of the exchange, mimicking each of the speaking parts with exactness.

I groaned in response then realized my mother and I were most overdue for a conversation. Something comparable to April being enrolled in finishing school.

While we continued to window shop, heaven knows I could buy anything I desired now, but the latest fashions no longer motivated my thoughts. My mind fell entirely on Zach. Why had he not come to call after he learned of Sir Colin’s death or even to tell me of finding Jaxon alive? Why did he act as though we were not well acquainted? For heaven’s sake, I knew more about Zach than his own father did. He lost his mother at the age of five, leaving him and his older brother, Frederick, in the hands of the earl. Sadly, Frederick wanted nothing to do with his younger brother, a fact that stood true today and the last I’d heard about his father was from Luke. He suffered from a cerebral ailment and resided at the family estate—the same one that bordered mine and Luke’s with a pond to share between the three of us. Havenscrest, Zach’s home, brought back so many wonderful memories that, no matter where our paths took us as adults, I could never forget the childhood I shared with Zach and Luke.

Arriving home three quarters of an hour later, I headed straight for the nursery. We had obtained the services of a tutor who had come recommended by Lucas’ brother, Justin, the new marquess.

With Patrick’s young age, Mr. Coleman spent only two hours a day with him, but even then, it seemed Patrick suffered from a traditional education and lacked a basic knowledge of English.

Banja, his nurse/aunt, was fiercely protective of him, which, under the right circumstances, could be advantageous but not to the extent of keeping me at a distance.

“Hello, Patrick.” I arrived shortly after Mr. Coleman had packed up his early reader books. Patrick peered over to me but said nothing. I addressed his tutor. “How did he do today?”

“Quite well,” he said. The man had a few years on me and exuded a devotion not found in many scholars, especially when working with a child so young. “His English is improving.”

“Wonderful.” I smiled at the boy.

Mr. Coleman bowed his head. “I will see myself out. Good day, Mrs. Turner.

“Goodbye.”

I appreciated this chance to be alone with Patrick. I sat on the chair Mr. Coleman vacated and presented a small, elegantly wrapped box. Patrick’s eyes lit up, but before he could reach for the gift, Banja entered the room. “Oh, Mr. Coleman finish?” She asked in short broken English. “Come, Patrick.” She waved her hand, then glanced at me. “He rest. Always tired after lessons.”

“Wait, Banja, I want to spend a few minutes with him.”

“Perhaps later.” She clasped his hand and marched him out of the room. I sat there for several minutes, fuming that I allowed her so much liberty in my house. I knew I had given her control in the beginning because I feared creating a wedge between me and Patrick if I forced a separation between him and the only family he had ever known.

Then my brows furrowed. But we are family now, too.

I stood up and marched into the adjoining room where Banja had set Patrick on the edge of his bed while she removed his shoes. “He is old enough to undress himself,” I said as I stood in the doorway. Banja jumped to my voice and whipped around.

“Need something?” she asked.

“Yes. Time with Patrick.”

Banja narrowed her eyes. “Later.”

“No, now, and you may wait in the other room. Or better yet, take tea with my mother. I’m certain she would fancy becoming more acquainted with you.”

Her lips turned into an obvious frown. “No.”

“Yes.” I stood my ground. I had given her many concessions since she arrived, especially the one in which she spoke sharply to me. Not anymore.

Her fists tightened at her sides as she glanced at Patrick, then me, and stormed out.

Patrick’s eyes widened with fright. I sat beside him and smiled. “It’s alright. I only wanted to speak with you.”

He seemed to relax a bit.

“I am happy you are here, Patrick.”

He looked down at his hands. He had one shoe off and one shoe on.

“I bet you are strong enough to take your shoe off all by yourself.”

He stared downward and used his stocking foot to flip the heel of his short boot off to the floor.

“See that? I knew it!” I clapped my hands and retrieved the gift box from my pocket. “I have a present for you.”

He hesitated, and I wondered what prevented him from accepting it.

“Go on. It’s for you.”

He cautiously received it, then pinched the ribbon between his fingers slowly.

“I think you will like it.” I urged him to open it.

He finally pulled the ribbon off and opened the box. Inside lay a small pocket watch, almost identical to his father’s. “Now, you will look just like your father.”

Patrick let the box fall to the ground as he held the shiny object attached to a short, sturdy chain. From his countenance, he seemed to be mesmerized by it. I turned it over for him to see the back. The jeweler had engraved the name “Patrick Colin Turner” on the expensive gift. Its extravagance might be a bit excessive for a child, but I recalled receiving my first piece of jewelry around his age, a pearl bracelet from my parents. I treasured it from the moment I received it and it was the one piece of jewelry I could never part with no matter how desperate we could have become had Sir Colin not offered to marry me.

Raising the covers on the bed, I motioned for Patrick to enter. He scrambled underneath with the watch tightly clutched in his fingers.

“Rest well, Patrick. I will see you again this afternoon. I bought several books today from the bookshop and look forward to reading them to you.”

And, in that one brief moment, Patrick smiled, and my heart utterly melted.