The Book Of Scandal (20 page)

Nathan laughed. “Have a care for your pride, lad. There are very few of us in the world who know about plants.” He playfully cuffed the boy’s ear. “Let us greet the ladies properly, shall we?”

Frances groaned, but began walking before Nathan.

Evelyn didn’t notice Nathan until she was almost upon him. When she at last looked up, Nathan saw something warm in her eyes, but it was quickly shuttered. “My lord,” she said. “And Master Brady!”

“My lady,” Nathan said with an incline of his head. He glanced at the girl.

“Lady Harriet, may I introduce my husband, the Earl of Lindsey?” Evelyn said, and to Nathan, “Lady Harriet French. She is the daughter of Lord and Lady Balfour.”

“Lady Harriet, how do you do.”

The girl sank into a perfect curtsy.

“She came with Kathleen for a visit,” Evelyn said.

“You are most welcome.”

“We were just on our way to the abbey,” Evelyn continued. “We are eager to begin work refurbishing the public rooms.” She moved as if she were so eager, she intended to step around him and carry on.

“We’ll accompany you,” Nathan quickly interjected before she could escape.

Evelyn smiled and put her hands on Harriet’s shoulders. “We came in a curricle. I’m afraid there is no room.”

“How fortuitous we came on horseback. We may ride alongside.”

Evelyn continued to smile, but her eyes narrowed. “You’ll find it tiresome. The curricle is rather slow.”

“We’ll find it delightful,” Nathan said. “It’s a lovely autumn afternoon.” He clamped a hand on Frances’s shoulder before he could utter a protest. “Shall we?” he asked, motioning toward the stables.

Evelyn sighed. So did Frances. Nathan ushered them all along to the stable, where the curricle stood just outside. The back of it, Nathan noticed, was piled high with wrapped packages. The team harnessed to the curricle was two of his oldest horses. The only thing that would put them into a gallop was the promise of their oat bag. “Frances, would you like a turn at driving the curricle?” Nathan asked.

Frances’s eyes lit at the same moment Evelyn gaped. “Truly?” Frances asked.

“But…but there isn’t room for three of us,” Evelyn reminded Nathan. “And Frances is quite small.”

“Perhaps he might ride with the packages,” the girl suggested.

“There is room if you ride with me, madam. Frances is a hearty lad—he can handle the ribbons, I assure you.”

“No,” Evelyn insisted. “I am hardly dressed for riding, and I can’t imagine Frances has an appropriate saddle, nor can I allow Lady Harriet to be left to the experience of a small boy.”

“I’m nine years!” Frances said.

“I’m ten years,” Harriet responded.

“Lady Harriet may ride with Frances,” Nathan said, to the girl’s obvious delight. “And you, my darling, will have to ride with me.”

She knew what he was about, judging by the way her eyes suddenly sparkled with ire. “I cannot agree to this, sir. They are children. They cannot be expected to drive a curricle.”

“I can drive, Lady Lindsey!” Harriet said eagerly.

“You can’t! You’re only a girl!” Frances cried.

“I think they are both capable,” Nathan said easily, as if he handed over carriages to children all the time.

“You’d be as wrong about that as most other things.”

Nathan chuckled and nodded toward the carriage. Both children were already seated, arguing over the reins. “Rest easy, madam,” Nathan said, signaling the stable boy. “Those old horses know their way to their oats, and no boy at the reins will convince them to alter their course. We’ll ride alongside to ensure no one drives off the road.”

A frustrated Evelyn looked at the curricle where the two children had settled in. Frances was telling Harriet the horses’ names.

When the stable boy brought the mounts, Nathan smiled at Evelyn, and patted the saddle on Cedric’s back. Resigned, Evelyn walked slowly to where he stood.

Nathan put his hands on her waist, bent his head, and whispered, “A pity you cannot ride astride this afternoon in that gown. With my hands free, I might show you a thing or two.”

Before she could respond, he lifted her up and settled her on the saddle.

Evelyn caught the pommel and settled herself, then looked down at him with a saucy smile. “Do you really believe such talk will titillate me?”

Nathan grinned. He tethered the smaller mount to his horse, then swung up behind her. He slipped his hand around her abdomen and pulled her tightly against his chest. “I think such talk already has titillated you.”

She laughed. “You continue to believe you have some hold over me.” She glanced at him sidelong. “But I think we discovered this morning that it’s quite the opposite. You cannot titillate me…but I can titillate you.”

He smiled wolfishly. “If the steady rhythm of the horse’s gait will not titillate you, love, then I know another rhythm that shall,” he said, and nuzzled her neck.

Evelyn gasped and twisted away from him. But she was smiling.

So was Nathan. In fact, Nathan smiled for three-quarters of an hour because he held his wife’s body pressed against his. He felt every curve, every flex of her muscle, every jiggle of her bottom. And he felt no less a sense of elation when she finally relaxed and allowed herself to lean against him.

A deep longing was pounding through him with every beat of the horse’s hooves. Perhaps she was right, he mused. Perhaps she did hold all the cards. But by the time they turned into the drive at Eastchurch, Nathan was more determined than ever to win her back.

T here was a coach in the drive at Eastchurch that Frances almost hit—or rather, the team of horses ran recklessly near, so eager were they to get to their oats. Fortunately, a groomsman was on hand to bring the horses to a halt.

Nathan helped Evelyn down from his horse; they both looked at the coach. It was emblazoned with the seal of the Duke of Kent, a brother to the Prince of Wales. They exchanged a wary look—Evelyn couldn’t begin to guess what Nathan was thinking, and as an exuberant Harriet was at her side, she did not ask him, but she couldn’t imagine it could possibly be good news.

She sent Harriet up to Kathleen. A footman directed her and Nathan to the green salon, where Benton had taken the caller.

As it turned out, the caller in the duke’s coach was Lady Balfour, who was waiting impatiently in the green salon. “There you are!” she said, sinking into a curtsy when Evelyn and Nathan entered.

Evelyn quickly made introductions; in characteristic fashion, Claire eyed Nathan as if he were a sweetmeat. In contrast, Nathan eyed Claire as if she were a mortal enemy. Evelyn could hardly blame him—Claire had a brazen air about her. Nathan made stilted small talk until Benton appeared with the post. “I beg your pardon, my lord, but there is a note that requires your immediate attention.”

Nathan picked up the foolscap from the stack of letters and scanned it. He frowned and looked at Evelyn, then at Claire. “I do beg your pardon, Lady Balfour. I have a tenant dispute that requires my attention.”

“Yes, of course,” Claire purred. “I do not mean to keep you—I must be on my way as soon as I collect my daughter.”

“So soon?” Evelyn asked after Nathan had taken his leave.

“I shouldn’t want to be a bother, and frankly, I’m in something of a rush to reach a hunting lodge at Freegate by day’s end.”

“In the duke’s coach,” Evelyn said suspiciously.

Claire smiled mysteriously. “That was very generous of him, don’t you agree?”

“Claire, you’re going to meet the duke with Harriet in tow?” Evelyn couldn’t help herself from asking.

“Don’t look so disapproving,” Claire said laughingly. “Harriet is far more aware of the world than you realize. She quite understands it, really, and besides, there shall be quite a lot to divert her. She loves horses and that sort of thing and I think there should be lots of them at Freegate. It’s a hunting lodge, after all.”

Evelyn didn’t think Harriet understood her mother’s world as well as Claire wanted to believe.

“Oh! I’ve scarcely been able to contain myself with the news!” Claire suddenly whispered. “Dunhill called for you.” She glanced at Benton over her shoulder and hurried forward to link her arm with Evelyn’s. “Do you know, he took my suggestion quite to heart and promised me that he would purchase passage for two to France! If you can only return to London—”

“So that is where the awful rumor started,” Evelyn said irritably. “What did you tell him?”

“I didn’t tell him anything! I had no idea where you were, how could I possibly tell him anything?” she asked innocently. “But I suggested that if he were truly as caring of you as I believed him to be, he should help you flee your wretched situation.”

“And then you proceeded to tell everyone that was what he’d done?”

“I told no one!” she insisted. “Just one or two very good friends.” At Evelyn’s look, Claire feigned hurt. “I didn’t want anyone to fret about you! Why? Have you had a change of heart? I shouldn’t blame you—your husband is quite…desirable.”

“Claire!”

“I had the opportunity to meet a friend of his earlier,” Claire blithely continued. “Lord Lambourne? Oh, Evelyn, darling, there are ladies who dream of being as well situated as you appear to be.”

“Lord, Claire, please do stop! Lambourne is like…” Evelyn wasn’t entirely certain what he was like, but he was not that. “A brother,” she said unconvincingly, but quickly changed the subject. “Really, the Duke of Kent?”

Claire shrugged. “He’s not so awful, is he?”

“He’s had almost as many mistresses as George,” Evelyn reminded her.

“Has he? Oh, look at the time, Evelyn! I really must collect Harriet and be on my way. I don’t want to keep the duke waiting.”

It was with a surprisingly heavy heart that Evelyn saw Harriet off. The day was sliding into dusk when the girl boarded the duke’s coach behind her mother, looking quite forlorn. Evelyn had tried very hard to convince Claire to let Harriet stay at Eastchurch, but Claire wouldn’t hear of it. “Her father doesn’t like me to leave her behind,” she’d said, as if she found that vexing.

So Evelyn promised Harriet she could come back to Eastchurch whenever she wanted—she had an open invitation. Harriet was hardly consoled by that, and as the coach pulled away, she pressed her face to the window, waving at Evelyn until Claire pulled her away.

Evelyn stood on the drive until she could no longer see the coach. Life could be so dreadfully unfair at times.

She slowly turned and walked back into the house.

On a hill above her, in the shadows of twilight, a man watched the duke’s coach rumble away from the house, and the countess walk back into the house. Patience, he told himself.

Even though Harriet’s visit had been brief, Evelyn missed the girl’s company. Refurbishing the abbey wasn’t quite as much fun without her bright suggestions and constant chatter. Nevertheless, Evelyn had to keep herself occupied to steer her thoughts away from the sadness of the past, and busied herself with the changes she wanted to make to the abbey.

The first thing she did the morning after Harriet left was to meet with Mr. Gibbs, the head groundskeeper, in the orangery. He was a short, round man, and doffed his hat, crumbling it in his hands as Evelyn explained what she wanted. “Essentially, it should be cleaned top to bottom,” she finished, and looked at him.

Mr. Gibbs nodded.

“Shall I ask Benton to send someone to help you?”

“No, mu’um. Me two boys will assist me.”

Evelyn left him and returned to the green salon, where she spent the morning overseeing the removal of draperies. She worked alone with a pair of footmen. She had no idea where Nathan was or what he was about, until he appeared quite unexpectedly when the two footmen struggled to remove a stag’s head from the wall of the library.

She instantly suspected Benton of having informed him.

“Wait!” Nathan cried with horror just as the two men managed to dislodge the enormous head from the wall. “What are you doing? Leave it, leave it!” he said sternly.

The two footmen looked at one another and began the laborious process of putting it up on the wall once again.

“Take it down, sirs,” Evelyn said calmly, and stood between them and her husband. The two footmen stood uncertainly with the thing suspended between them.

“You have no right, madam,” Nathan started.

“We shall turn one of the outbuildings into your hunting lodge, my lord, but a library is no place for…that.”

Still, he looked very distressed. “You’ve no idea what I had to do to kill that stag. I stalked him for weeks. He was crafty, he held me at bay, and it was only through my wits and expert hunting skills that I was able to catch him at all.”

Evelyn shook her head.

“Evie,” he said, pleading now, “it was an epochal battle of man versus beast.”

“I am not burning it, Nathan, I am moving it.”

He obviously smelled his defeat because he looked at the stag’s head as if he were on the verge of weeping. “I cannot bear to watch it,” he said, and left them, muttering under his breath about a woman’s lack of understanding of a man’s world.

Shortly after luncheon, Mr. Gibbs came in search of Evelyn. They’d finished cleaning the orangery, he said, but there was a stain that he could not seem to remove and he did not want to risk ruining the slate floor without her having a look.

Evelyn joined him in the orangery. It was empty and swept clean, save a round stain near the north windows. It was cold in the orangery, and Evelyn noticed the hearth was not lit, nor did she see a brazier. “Aren’t you cold, Mr. Gibbs?” she asked, shivering a little.

“No, mu’um. The room had the western light to warm us,” he said, although it seemed rather dim to Evelyn. In fact, Mr. Gibbs had to light a candle to better show her the stain.

Evelyn squatted down to have a look at the stain. “Rust, I think.”

“Aye, mu’um. If I take it up, it will leech the color from the slate…unless…”

“Unless?”

“I’ve got a solvent that might work,” Mr. Gibbs said. “Might I have your leave, mu’um? I’ll be back straightaway.”

“Of course,” she said, and took the candle he offered her.