Very well, she thought, wondering just how far he would go. She said, “Except for what, your grace?”
“I was watching you spread butter on your toast. I couldn’t help but notice your fingers, Madame. They’re stubby. I’m sorry to have to be so frank about this, but you did ask. Yes, you’re cursed with stubby fingers. Could it be your French blood that’s done you in?”
She wanted very badly to jump out of her chair, grab it up, and throw it at him. “Stubby fingers? Why, that’s ridiculous. You know very well that you were looking at my—no, I won’t say that. It wouldn’t be proper. It would probably make you laugh and make me want to sink behind the wainscotting except there isn’t any wainscotting in here, so I must remain seated here, with you looking at me and laughing your head off.”
He didn’t laugh, but she knew he wanted to. She looked down at her long white fingers. “That was really well done, but naturally you know it. Now, do you think that Mrs. Needle could provide me with a potion to elongate these poor short fingers of mine?”
“I will look at them more closely and tell you. It isn’t too grave a physical flaw. I’m a tolerant man. All know that and appreciate it. You do as well, now.” She opened her mouth, but nothing came out. He leaned forward, his elbows on the table. “Do you enjoy crossing verbal swords, Madame?”
“Oh, yes,” she said. “As do you. You were probably born telling jests and poking fun. You’re quite good at it. In another year or so, though, I will be better than you, and then we shall see who just sits there, staring at his toes, without a thing to say.”
“All that? Ah, I must remember to call you Evangeline. It’s just that Madame sounds so very dignified, like an abbess, even.” “I’ve never been all that religious.” He gave a start, stared at her, then laughed. “I suggest you look up abbess in the dictionary. There’s a remarkably large one in my library.” Then he frowned. “Perhaps that particular meaning isn’t there. It’s rather a specialized meaning, one that isn’t exactly suited for innocent young minds like yours. Forget it. Now, I will endeavor to call you Evangeline. Were you ever called something shorter?”
“My mother called me Eve.”
“Interesting. I cannot help but think about the biblical Eve. Look what she did to poor Adam. She even got him evicted from Paradise because of her wicked ways, which probably began with a wicked smile. As I recall, she never wore a stitch of clothing, even after the eviction. She loved the way he looked at her, loved to watch his eyes cross, which I don’t doubt they did.” “I know nothing about that. That is, I know, but your mind is wandering into paths that should be completely untrodden.”
He gave her a grin. “I’ve never found a path I didn’t want to tread.” He paused, then said in a philosophical voice, “I’ve often wondered where paradise is located. I can’t believe it was anywhere close to the English coast. Surely there would be no moans or rattling old castle walls in paradise, no storms to chill the naked flesh, just warmth and beauty. No, that’s ridiculous. Of course there would be moans. I wonder what your poor husband would say about your lack of knowledge about paradise.”
Her husband. Her poor late, lamented husband. She dropped the toast from her fingers onto the tablecloth. She couldn’t think of anything to say.
Bless him, he completely misunderstood. “I’m sorry, Evangeline. I didn’t mean to recall memories to wound you.”
Her voice was hard as a stone. “I already told you that my husband, André, was a great man, a sensitive man. I adored him. I worshiped him. He taught me everything I needed to know about this paradise of yours.”
“I don’t recall yesterday that he had quite achieved such a pinnacle of perfection. No, I’m sorry. Let’s leave dear Andrei to his eternal peace.” She was pale. He’d done it again. “Now, Evangeline, if you’ve eaten enough to fill one leg, I’ll take you to meet Edmund. He was hoping our visitor was Phillip Mercerault, a friend of mine who always brings him presents and takes him up with him on his horse, or Rohan Carrington, another longtime friend of mine who has constant winners in the cat races held at the McCulty racetrack near Eastbourne. He tells Edmund endless tales of the cat contestants and the various training methods. Rohan is the owner of the renowned champion Gilly.
“Poor Phillip, he’s always wanted a racing kitten to train. Perhaps now that he’s married, the Harker brothers—the premier trainers in the area—will deem him worthy to have one. The cat races run from April to October. Have you ever before been to a cat race?”
“No, but I’ve heard of them. Have you ever had a racing cat?”
He shook his head. “Perhaps someday. Like my friend Phillip, the Harker brothers haven’t yet deemed me worthy. I am too flighty, they’d say, and a racing cat must have a firm, steady hand and an owner who is always there for him. Now, let’s go see my son.”
Chapter 10
Lord Edmund was having his face and hands washed by a smiling Ellen, who was alternately kissing him and scrubbing him. He hadn’t yet reached the age, the duke knew, when he would react with appalled outrage at such blatant displays of affection, particularly from a female.
When Edmund saw his father, he yelled, dashed to him, and as was his habit, leaped upward, to be caught and hugged and tossed into the air, all accompanied with gales of laughter that warmed the duke to his bones.
“Well, my boy, you’ve nearly got all the egg off your mouth. Good morning, Ellen. Has he eaten all his breakfast?”
“He’s done very well, your grace,” Ellen said, staying back where she was, as was her wont, and quickly curtsied in his general direction.
“Where’s my cousin, Papa? Did she bring me a present? You won’t let her pet me, will you?” He broke off as he stretched his head over his father’s shoulder. He said in a loud, worried whisper, “Is that the lady who’s come to visit me?” The duke said, laughter lurking in his voice, “Does she have hair the color of honey? Brown eyes nearly the color of mud? Is she nearly as tall as I am?”
“Yes, Papa. She’s big. I’m not sure about the mud in her eyes, though.”
“I wanted to come alone first, to prepare you, but she must have followed me here.” The duke held Edmund loosely and turned to face her.
“Evangeline, this is my son, Edmund. Edmund, say hello to your cousin.”
Edmund studied her closely. “I don’t think your eyes look exactly like mud. Let me down, Papa, so that I may make a proper bow.”
The duke’s eyebrows shot up even as he lowered his son to the floor. Edmund gave her a grand bow, showing a perfect leg, so his grandmother would say, and said, “Welcome, Cousin Evalin. Ellen said Mrs. Raleigh told her that you’re half foreign. From France, she said.”
“Yes,” she said, “I’m half foreign,” and came down on her knees next to him. “Welcome to my home. This is Chesleigh.” “I know, and thank you.”
“That was creditably done, Edmund. I am pleased.” The duke turned to Ellen. “You did well.”
Ellen, who could never look at the duke without a flush on her face, said, “Lord Edmund insisted that we practice, your grace. His honor depended upon it, he said.”
“And so it does. Edmund, why don’t you call your cousin Eve? It’s much easier than all the other renditions of her half foreign name. Is that all right with you, Madame?”
“Certainly. I was your mama’s first cousin, Edmund. I’ve always wanted to meet you, her son.” Edmund placed his fingertips on her palm. “Do you look much like my mama? I don’t remember her very well.”
“Not really. Your mama was a beautiful lady, like an angel, all soft and white with gold hair and eyes the color of a summer sky. Except for your dark coloring, you have somewhat the look of her.” She quickly saw that this did not find favor with Lord Edmund, and added, “But you know, Edmund, I think you will be a great, handsome man like your father. You have his dark hair and a wicked twinkle in your eyes. And a good laugh, Edmund. That’s very important, being able to laugh well. Having heard your papa shout out with la
ughter, I know you’ll grow into it very well indeed.”
“That’s what I want,” Edmund said. “Was Mama short? I have no wish to be short when I grow up.”
“Yes, but don’t forget she was a lady, a fairy princess. Fairy princesses are always small and light and ever so graceful and beautiful. As for you, you’re the son of a prince, and they’re never small or light. Yes, you’ll be just like your papa. You have no reason to worry. Look at your feet, Edmund. You have huge feet. Your body will have to grow just to keep up. And you have long fingers, not the least bit stubby. Ah, yes, I see a giant of a man in the making. You might perhaps even surpass your papa. He’s not all that tall, after all, not all that splendid, not all that impressive, actually.”
The duke said to no one in particular, “I always thought that it was dogs who had to grow into their paws.”
“That too,” Evangeline said, not turning to him.
“I’m a prince, am I?”
“A metaphor, your grace,” she said over her shoulder to the duke, “nothing more. Merely an example Edmund could understand.”
“I rather liked being a prince among men. I’m really not impressive? Didn’t you tell me just an hour ago that I was splendid?” “I don’t remember.” “I’ll really be taller than Papa?” “There is no doubt at all in my mind.” Edmund beamed at that. “It’s all right that you’re here, then, and not Phillip or Rohan. Do you know any stories about Gilly, the racing cat champion?”
“Not as yet, but you can be certain that I will discover stories about Gilly.” “Did you perhaps bring me a present?” “What a greedy little beggar you are, Edmund,” the duke said. “You will make your cousin think that I deprive you.”
“Well, I did bring you a present, Edmund. I hope you will like it.” Evangeline withdrew a small wrapped box from the pocket of her gown and held it out.
She’d thought of Edmund. It pleased the duke. He watched his son rip away the paper and push open the lid of the box. Edmund crowed with pleasure as he drew out a carved wooden pistol, so finely constructed with wires and weights that the hammer cocked and the trigger could be pulled. However had she afforded it? Had she spent her last groats on a toy for his son? It was an expensive piece.
Edmund couldn’t believe his good fortune. He hugged the gun close, then held it away from him, stroking it, admiring it. “Oh, my goodness. Even the barrel is hollow, Papa. Now I can duel, now I can make Ellen take away the green beans.” He clasped the pistol in one small hand and aimed it at Ellen. “Don’t worry about the green beans yet, Ellen, I’m just practicing. After you don’t bring me green beans anymore, will you pretend you’re a bandit so I can practice shooting you?”
Ellen drew up very tall and straight. “Certainly, Lord Edmund, I am yours to kill.”
Excellent, Evangeline thought, she’d brought out the killing instincts of a little boy.
“Papa, will you teach me how to aim properly?” “Only if you promise not to torment Ellen.” “I promise,” he said, but he wasn’t looking at Ellen. He was staring at Evangeline with naked adoration. “Thank you, Eve. Phillip never gave me a gun. Rohan didn’t either. Phillip doesn’t like guns.”
And Evangeline knew that Houchard had succeeded beyond his wildest dreams. Like this Phillip friend of the duke’s, she would have never given a small child such a gift, but Houchard had said the boy would be mad for it, and so he was.
The three of them, Edmund skipping between Evangeline and his father, waving his wooden gun about, walked downstairs. The duke said, “Should we take your cousin riding with us, Edmund? We can show her perhaps one or two of the paths we take to go to our hiding places. It’s a beautiful day. Umberto, our Italian gardener,” the duke added to Evangeline, “says that there will be two days of summer weather, so hot that we’ll be sweating like stoats.”
She just stood there, her mouth open, shaking her head. “I’m sorry. I can’t. I don’t own a riding habit.” She looked down at her muslin skirts. “I can’t ride in this. I’m sorry.” And, he thought, she seemed ready to burst into tears. He said easily, “How I wish that occasionally—just every once in a while—I was presented with a problem to test my mettle. Ah, not this time. Just a small problem that I’ve already addressed. Perhaps you’ll even consider me yet a prince among men. Evangeline, go to your bedchamber. I’ll send Mrs. Raleigh to you.”
“But why? There’s nothing for it. This gown won’t change itself into a riding habit.”
“You have known me for nearly twenty-four hours, Evangeline. Have I given you any reason at all to distrust me?”
“No. But on the other hand, you’re a gentleman, and gentlemen have odd notions about ladies’ clothing and—”
He lightly touched a finger to her mouth. “Go,” he said, and she went. “Trust Papa,” Edmund said, but he was looking at his gun, not at her. She wondered if he even knew what they were talking about.
Thirty minutes later, Evangeline made her way down the wide, ornately carved staircase clad in an elegant royal blue riding habit, a plumed riding hat set jauntily over her plaited and pinned hair. She’d stared like an idiot when she’d opened the door to her bedchamber, and there’d been Mrs. Raleigh, holding the beautiful habit in her arms, smiling at her, telling her that it had belonged, naturally, to Marissa. “Indeed, her grace only wore it once, as I remember. It’s from her favorite modiste in London, Madame Fallier.”
“Oh, goodness. Surely I can’t wear my cousin’s riding habit. Besides, it wouldn’t fit. I am much larger than my cousin. No, Mrs. Raleigh, I simply cannot wear my cousin’s riding habit.”
Mrs. Raleigh just shook her head. “Surely you don’t think this was her only riding habit? It is merely the newest one, ordered just months before her death. His grace ordered it altered for you, Madame, early this morning. Unfortunately, I had only enough time to let down the hem. Since her grace’s death, we do not have a seamstress on staff.”
“Three inches,” Evangeline said when she met the duke and Edmund, who was showing Bassick all the finer points of his gun. “Mrs. Raleigh let the hem down three inches. Look, it nearly covers my ankles.” “I see that it does. Ankles would surely overset me. This addition greatly relieves my mind.”
She laid her hand on his arm. “It is very kind of you. Why, you even foresaw that I wouldn’t have a riding habit and you ordered it up. You are too kind, your grace.”
“I can see that more alterations are in order.” He was staring at her breasts. She hunched forward, and he laughed. “No, don’t do that. I suppose Mrs. Raleigh has some ideas on enlarging the jacket at least another five inches?”
“She said that she would have to add material from the skirt. The waist is too tight as well.”
“I hope the skirt has enough extra material to—ah—cover your other parts.” Bassick frowned at the duke and cleared his throat. “You acted very quickly,” she said. “Yes, I tend to act quickly when meticulous deliberation isn’t required.”
She knew he was jesting with her. But she didn’t understand what the jest was, and so she just nodded.
“So that went sailing right over your head, did it? I’m shocked, utterly stunned really, that you don’t understand my impertinent reference, Evangeline. The sainted André, surely he knew about easing into things, about moving forward to the next step only after being completely certain when it was appropriate to move forward?” She stared him down. “He was very deliberate.” “Ah,” he said, lifting his fingers to straighten the dyed blue feather on her riding hat. “I wonder, would you tell me what he was deliberate about?”
She couldn’t think of a single thing. Then she thought of her father’s meticulous housekeeping accounts and said, “André never paid the butcher until he remembered eating every haunch of beef that came from the shop. And that required that Cook keep all her menus, with proper notations. Now, that certainly demonstrates a high level of meticulous deliberation, don’t you agree?” He stared at her, fascinated. “A haunch of beef?” She gav
e him a triumphant look and called out, “Edmund? Are you ready to go? Would you show me all your special paths?”
Edmund, who had stuffed his gun into the belt of his trousers, walked out the front doors just in front of Evangeline, Bassick standing behind them as he said in a low voice to the duke, “Your grace, she is a young lady.”
“I know,” the duke said, and frowned after his son, who was gesticulating toward one of the Chesleigh peacocks. “Yes, I know. It’s strange.” He shook his head.
Bassick frowned at his master, watching him follow the young lady in question and his excited son. However had she known to bring Lord Edmund a gun? It was his experience that ladies couldn’t even bear to look at one of the ugly things. She was an unusual young lady, he was certain of that. He wondered what was in his master’s mind.
Bassick heard the duke call out, “Do the riding boots fit?”
“No,” She said, turning to face him. “They pinch. All of me is bigger than Marissa.” She stopped and lifted the skirt of the riding habit to show her own short walking boots. “It really doesn’t matter; mine are fine. But I do thank you for lending me the habit, truly.”
“I’m not lending you anything. The riding habit is yours, as are all of Marissa’s other gowns.”
“You are kind, but I will not take my poor cousin’s clothes.”
“Why not? The cost of her wardrobe would support a small village for a year. The clothes are merely hanging in her armoire, currently of use to no one. My mother taught me to despise waste. So, you are assisting me to be virtuous.
“Besides, having you well dressed will make my neighbors think more highly of me.”
“Papa, I just shot Rex!”
“Not a clean shot,” the duke called out. “He’s still staggering around. The peacock,” he added to Evangeline.
“Oh, dear, I didn’t want him to do that,” she said. “That poor bird.”
“What did you expect him to do with a toy gun?”