Learning to Waltz (36 page)

The man would have plenty of idle time at the cottage, during which he would be quite dreadfully in the way. But however small it might be, the place was full of furnishings and dishes and clothing and books, all of which had to be disposed of in one way or another.

Evan was eager to start a fresh life with his bride, choosing china and all the frills and necessities that would adorn their first home, and hoped she would elect to leave behind most of what she owned. But he left those decisions to Deborah. She knew how worthless most of it was. He promised to buy her all new books, but there she dug in her heels. The footman’s first task was to crate them all up for transport, even the stack of little chapbooks she had accumulated for Julian.

At Northridge, Evan traded his phaeton for the family’s traveling carriage, his grays for four strong carriage horses, and Grady for the coachman and a couple of outriders. And he talked at length with his mother and father.

They’d had his letter, of course. Predictably, they were less than thrilled with his impecunious widow and all her baggage. Well, they could be forgiven for thinking her a fortune hunter, though it made him grit his teeth when all his protestations met with disbelief.

And when his mother threatened tears and began lamenting his failure to oblige her years ago by offering for Melanie Littleton, who was so eligible and such a dear friend to the family and had kept her hopes alive for so long that she was now practically on the shelf and whose property marched with theirs, he became uncharacteristically severe. “It’s not going to happen, Mama. And however you feel about Deborah, I expect you to treat her with every consideration. My wife deserves no less.”

“All right, son.” It was his father’s turn. “We’ll have to accept that. But this other business: Why in God’s name do you feel you need to make this boy the heir to Northridge? The world does not expect such a thing. And there’s no reason to think you and this woman—”

At a blazing look from Evan, he held up his hand in apology. “No reason to think you won’t have children of your own blood.”

“It doesn’t matter, Father. Julian is smart and serious and loyal. It would be impossible for me to love my own children more. Northridge could not have a better master.”

“So make him—I don’t know, make him steward, or something.”

“If I adopt him—and I will—he will be my eldest son. I can hardly appoint him steward. Might as well name him head groom, for God’s sake.”

“I can cut him out of the succession, you know!”

Evan sighed. “You can cut me out too. Do what you must.” He had never been so exasperated with them. “But do tell me this evening, please, if that’s what you plan to do. It will certainly affect our wedding plans and where we choose to live afterward.”

He strode to the door and pulled it open. “I leave tomorrow at first light.”

A week later Evan conducted his new family through the countryside that was so intimately familiar to him, so entirely strange to them. He tried to see it through their eyes as he pointed out this Roman bridge or that Norman church, but he’d traveled this road too many times. It was home, and a deep elation grew inside him at the thought of bringing his wife here. It was not five months since he had first seen Deborah and pulled Julian from under that hedge. How quickly life could change.

She was not quite his, of course. Not yet. He knew she still harbored doubts; he caught her a few times watching him with trouble in her eyes. As soon as he looked up, she tried to superimpose her old mask, but she was not fast enough. Riding in the chaise with them all, he could do little more than smile at her from the seat opposite. That seemed to provide some reassurance, as the furrows in her brow relaxed and her mouth softened. He wanted to kiss both of those places and many more, but it would have to wait. She would probably have doubts on her way to the altar.

Though it was not a long journey, they spent a night on the road for the sake of Deborah’s mother. Evan judged that they all needed some relief from Julian, too, who had never been more than three miles from Whately, had never traveled post, had never seen a city even so large as Wolverhampton, and had so recently acquired a grandmother. With his whole short life turned on its head, it was no wonder he was a bit frenzied.

When he started bouncing up and down on Mrs. Carlington, however, Deborah reprimanded him sharply. This sufficed to keep him quiet for perhaps four minutes. Evan opened a book to read with him, and that worked for five more. Then he was bouncing again—not on his grandmother, it was true, but from one seat to the other, one person to the next, asking unanswerable questions of each one in turn. Thank heaven Evan had relegated Pelleas to the baggage wagon following somewhere on the road behind them!

“Julian!” Evan’s voice cut the chatter sternly. “Be still now. You’re becoming a pest.” He felt like a beast at the dismay in the boy’s face. But he stood quietly at Evan’s knees, peering out the window at the misty world they passed through. It was unfortunately too wet to take the boy up on horseback. Deborah’s mare, christened Cirrus, trotted behind the chaise, brought along for just that purpose. But the weather did not cooperate.

The ladies, too, had questions for him. Mrs. Carlington asked about Evan’s family: his parents, his siblings, his nieces and nephews, all the relatives who might be expected to attend the wedding. The more names he produced, the more daunted both she and Deborah looked, so he brought the list to a premature conclusion.

On the second day, as they drew closer to Northridge, Mrs. Carlington asked useful questions about the gardens and the village nearby. Was the dressmaker there, or would they need to go farther afield? Was there a lending library? A cobbler? A grocer? One inn or more? Did the stage come through there?

Evan laughed at her. “Why, ma’am? Are you planning a journey to someplace exciting?”

“What? Oh! No. Heavens no!”

He thought her nerves were making her talk, rather like her grandson. He was not even sure she heard his replies. But after all, her life was changing as radically as Julian’s.

Deborah’s nerves produced quite different symptoms. The nearer they approached to her new home, the less she opened her mouth. She had been looking out the window, but now she pressed herself back in the seat and pulled self-control around her. She was pale, her hands held rigid in her lap, and something perilously close to fear looked out of her eyes. Evan traded seats with Mrs. Carlington so he could take her hand. Her questions were almost whispered: for the third time, reminding herself of the name of the butler, the housekeeper, the footmen…

He wanted to say something to make her laugh but couldn’t think of anything. She took a comb from her reticule and used it to straighten Julian’s hair. She moved it toward her own head, but Evan took her hand and held it.

“You’re beautiful,” he said softly.

Unexpectedly, she laughed at that. It was a bit hysterical but better than that tension. She put the comb away.

They turned into the gates, and three pairs of eyes turned to the windows. Deborah gulped. Evan surveyed his wife, and her mother, and her son—
his
son—and was happier than he had ever been.

A scant half-mile brought them onto the graveled sweep in front of the house. To him, of course, the place looked warm and welcoming despite the mist, but judging from the expressions on the others’ faces, they did not share the feeling.

A footman—“That’s Henry,” Evan murmured—trod down the steps with a wide smile on his face and headed for the carriage but was forestalled by a whirlwind that flew through the front door with a shriek and ran toward them in a blaze of red silk. Evan chuckled. “What a hoyden she is.”

“Oh,” Deborah breathed, and the color rushed into her face. “It’s Elizabeth, Mama.”

Evan sent Mrs. Carlington a smile. She was nearly as white as Deborah had been, and she clutched Julian’s hand—for whose reassurance, he was not sure. After talking all the way from Whately, Julian had gone suddenly quiet, reluctant to leave the safety of the carriage. Evan climbed down first, clapped Henry on the shoulder, and gave his sister a quick hug. Then he turned to help Deborah down the steps.

“I guess I don’t have to introduce you,” he said. Elizabeth wrapped Deborah in a hug far warmer than the one she’d given Evan.

“Oh, Elizabeth, I’m so glad you’re here,” Deborah murmured.

“I told you I would be. And here’s Julian. How was your journey, Master Moore?” He smiled shyly up at her, holding his mama’s hand.

“Where’s your bow for Mrs. Dusseau, sweetling?”

“Stuff,” said Elizabeth. “I’m Aunt Elizabeth now—well,
almost
—and aunts prefer hugs.” She proved it by giving him a quick one.

“And you must be Deborah’s mother.” Elizabeth reached out to clasp one hand in both of hers. “I am
so
glad to meet you!” As Evan performed the introduction, he thought what a talent his sister had. Already Mrs. Carlington had regained a little color. He could safely leave her to Elizabeth’s care.

He turned with Deborah toward the house. She hesitated for just a moment, resistant to his guiding hand on her back, and then started forward.

He murmured, “
How easy is a bush supposed a bear.”

Deborah looked at him in astonishment.

He grinned and wiggled his eyebrows. “
A Midsummer Night’s Dream.
They’re not monsters, Deborah. They won’t eat you.”

She blushed. “No, of course not. I’m sorry.”

Deborah never could recall what Evan’s father and mother said to her or what she replied. Did they smile at her or sneer? Did they wear cloth-of-gold or rags? Did she speak the King’s English or bark like a dog?

She must have said everything that was proper because Evan kept smiling at her. She was ashamed that she had thought of them as monsters, and still more ashamed that she had let him see it. Yet he had understood and taken no offense, had even joked about it in an attempt to set her more at ease. Perhaps there was just one
nearly
perfect man…

Worse awaited her. They entered the hall and found a line of servants stretched from the doorway nearly to the bottom of the imposing staircase—more servants than Deborah had ever seen in her life—all gazing at her. Curious, assessing, judging. Evan’s hand clenched into a fist. He muttered some word she did not know.

A tall woman with an angular face and twinkling eyes stepped forward from the front of the line. The keys at her waist proclaimed her the housekeeper. She greeted Evan with the familiarity of long service and then smiled and curtsied to Deborah.

“I am Mrs. Jacobs, ma’am, and I am that pleased to meet you. And this would be your boy? What a fine lad!” Then she drew Deborah reluctantly away from Evan’s supporting arm and led her down the line. Deborah found time for one desperate glance behind her where Evan was making sure Julian and Mrs. Carlington were spared the same ordeal.

A commotion from the stairway announced the arrival of the schoolroom party. Deborah caught a glimpse of Miss Halley and of Alexander, who dashed forward to greet Julian, but had to return her attention to Mrs. Jacobs.

Here was Forby, the butler, whom Evan said had been at Northridge a mere dozen years. Here was Henry again, and Georgie, the second footman. Then came all those whose names she didn’t know: housemaids and parlormaids, cook and pastry-maker, dairymaids and charwomen, and others Deborah had forgotten by the time she reached the end. How could one household need so many? If she’d thought her legs would obey her, she might have run from the place screaming.

A strange gentleman stood leaning on the newel post near the end of the line, smiling at her with an expression at once amused and understanding. He came forward to shake her hand as the servants melted off into the woodwork. “If you think you can possibly bear one more introduction? Philip Dusseau at your service!”

Evan arrived at her side then, still aggrieved. “What on earth possessed them to do that?” he inquired of his brother-in-law. “She’s not my wife yet, much less mistress of Northridge. And we’re moving out again as soon as we find a place to rent nearby.”

Mr. Dusseau shook his head. “Believe me, we tried to talk them out of the grand gesture. They’d have none of it. At least they spared you the grooms and gardeners.” He looked over Evan’s shoulder toward the front doors. “Here comes Mother.”

Deborah couldn’t help thinking Evan’s parents wanted to embarrass her.

Elizabeth and Mrs. Haverfield joined them. She might not be a monster, but she terrified Deborah nonetheless. So stiff and unyielding, her face like marble. Her eyes were the same color as Evan’s but with no smile in them. At least, no smile for Deborah.

“Where have you put Deborah, Mama?” inquired Evan.

“She’s in my old room,” interjected Elizabeth. She pulled her friend’s arm through her own. “Come, Deborah, I’ll take you up. Your mother is just across the hall. She seems
such
a sweet lady! Perhaps just a bit overwhelmed at the moment—” Deborah had no doubt about
that
, “—but we’ll soon have her feeling at home.”