“I would have.”
“Not good enough, Cheltie. You addressed the issue that had hurt your ego. Then you addressed your other interests. I bet when you are coaxing someone to invest with you, you lead with how it will helpthem, not you. Seems like that approach might be even more important in asking someone to spend the rest of their life with you.”
Evan grimaced.
“What about love? ’Tis obvious you love her, simply from observation. But women like to hear the words.” At that, Beth cast a sidelong glance at Ford. “And she’s already been widowed once. Mayhap she worries that she’ll be a widow again or worse, given your mother’s health. She may not want that.”
“Is that it? Is that why she declined?” Evan hung his head in despair. “There is naught I can do about that.”
“Oh, please.” Beth rolled her eyes.
Evan gaped at her.
“Of course there is. You can give her the best years of her life until death—or mental illness—end them. But to do that, you must love her. Not just miss her from your bed. And show her, not just tell her. You are so single-minded in your investment ventures. I am shocked at what a muddle you’ve made of this.”
“I say—” Evan stopped there.
She’s right.
He glanced at Ford. Placed his still-half-full glass of whisky on the table and stood, then bowed to each of them. “I beg your pardon for interrupting your evening. And words cannot express my gratitude for your help, Miss Jenkins. You have given me much to think about. I have one small request?”
Beth and Ford looked at each other, then turned to nod at him.
“If I have any further questions, might I intrude one more time? If, say, I send a note round first?” He gave them his famous grin, hoping like usual it would get him what he wanted.
“Yes.” Ford waved a hand. “No note needed, you know that. Now go think. And please have a better plan for your next sojourn.”
“Oh, and let me know when you’re trying again,” Beth said with a snicker, “so I can be there to enjoy—er, coach.”
****
Having had help from friends, Evan saw no reason to stop there. He knew that an earl’s countess had many responsibilities, and he had no idea how a woman would balance those with a full-time job as a proprietor.
But he did know someone who had thought about it already and was putting it to the test—Michael and Penelope.
They’d spent time in the country because Michael’s father was unwell, and their time with him was limited. But after his death they’d returned to London for Penelope to oversee the construction of her lifelong dream, a bakery using recipes from her East Indian grandmother.
Michael was planful enough, and Penelope wary of making the leap from commoner to countess, that Evan knew they’d given the balance of duties some thought.
He sent a note around to Mansfield House and received a quick response.
As he knocked, gift bag of shampoo in hand, he wondered if he even knew what questions to ask. Knowing he’d get some ribbing from Michael for his quandary, he braced himself as the door swung open to the butler.
“Gilbert. How have you been faring?” Evan knew Michael’s butler almost as well as he knew his own. “And the children?”
“Sir, lovely to see you as always. Oh, the baggage, they’re just fine, thank you. The eldest is a chambermaid here now.”
“Excellent. Put them to work, keep ’em out of trouble.” The men laughed as the butler bade him wait with one finger and went to announce him.
Then Michael was there. “Bags! I cannot wait to hear this tale. I wish we’d thought to invite Ford. Come in, come in, my lovely bride is here as well.”
Beaming, he stood aside for Evan to enter and bow over Penelope’s hand before leaning in and pecking her on the cheek.
She laughed at his flirting. “Even in love, you cannot stop yourself, can you?”
“There’s time enough for that when I am dead.”Or lose my mind.
They sat, Michael and Penelope choosing the settee with Evan across from them. As Penelope poured tea and passed delicious pastries she’d made, Evan regaled them with his story, ending with Ford’s and Beth’s guidance.
