But he was beginning to know the feeling that a piece of his heart had cleaved to someone else. That his happiness would be permanently reduced without that person in his life. And unlike Clemency, he also knew the dread of knowing that he might be the reason she left him.
Time would tell; it always did. If Evangeline flew into a rage over his actions at White’s... she wasn’t the woman he thought her, and it was best to know now. If it mortified her and she could never speak to him again... perhaps it had always been doomed, eventually. But if she waited and gave him a chance to explain...
Finally he turned and went down the stairs to ask Putney where he could find ginger root and cider vinegar for the switchel. Tomorrow he would promise to send Gerhard, because he was going home to see Evangeline.
Chapter 21
For the next several days, Evangeline did her best to do as Richard asked, and wait for his explanation of whatever he’d done. She finished embroidering the handkerchiefs she was making for her niece. She read a whole novel and enjoyed it very much. She discovered a nest of baby rabbits in her garden, and enjoyed watching the tiny bunnies hopping around, even though she had to shut up Louis in the house to keep him from chasing them, and her gardener muttered that they’d be eating her favorite flowers. And she visited Mrs. Trumbull in Leicester Square and ordered a new corset, with a pair of new petticoats for good measure.
And after four whole days, she was about to lose her mind, wondering what on earth he’d done and when he would be home to tell her about it.
In the end, she learned that answer not from Richard, but from her sister-in-law.
“Marion,” she said warmly as Solly showed her in. “What a lovely surprise.”
Marion came to embrace her. She was petite and slim, with chestnut brown hair just beginning to show threads of gray. Evangeline hadn’t known her well before Marion marriedGeorge, because Cunningham had kept them at his Scottish estate all winter, and they’d only come to London that spring. Then Cunningham had died and Evangeline had gone into mourning.
“How are you?” she asked as they settled on the sofa. “I was just working on some handkerchiefs for Joan.” She reached for the embroidery basket nearby.
“How lovely,” said Marion with a smile, inspecting the stitching. “She does so like lilies.”
Evangeline laughed. “Just like her aunt! One of my favorites.”
“She will be delighted.” Marion accepted a cup of tea. Solly had brought the tray just before Marion’s arrival, and had rushed to bring a second cup. “Evangeline... I hope this isn’t an intrusion... But I’ve come to ask you about Sir Richard Campion.”
Evangeline paused in the act of serving her guest a piece of cake. “Oh, my,” she said with a light laugh. “Whatever can you want to know about him?”
Marion took the cake but set it down, while Evangeline took a bite of hers. She had a feeling she was going to want it. “I understand you are acquainted with him.”
Evangeline took her time eating her cake, and then a long sip of tea. “I am.”
Marion stirred her tea, looking awkward, which was unlike her. “I—I don’t mean to pry,” she began haltingly. “I did not come to berate you. I only... I only wondered if you knew what is being said about you? And... about him?”
She took another bite of cake—her cook’s caraway seed cake, one of her favorites—even though it tasted like nothing in her mouth. “I’m afraid I have no idea.”
Marion flushed a becoming pink. She was a very attractive woman, and had been considered a minor beauty of the tonwhen George married her. “I don’t know a gentle way to tell you, so I’ll just say it. George reports to me that, several nights ago at White’s, Sir Richard threatened a man with a sword and challenged him to a duel over you.”
Oh Lord.She had to sip more tea to wash down the dust-dry cake. “What on earth would cause him to do that?” she finally croaked. Asword, in White’s?
Marion fiddled with her cup. “Hasn’t he spoken to you about it?”
For the first time in four days, she was intensely glad he was gone, that she could disavow all knowledge of this. “Not a word. I’ve not seen him in several days.” She paused, then decided to spike at least one gun. “He has taken the house beyond my garden and woods. We are neighbors, and as such I have seen him several times. But I believe he has gone away recently.”
Marion’s eyes widened. “He—He lives next door?”
“Some two miles away,” said Evangeline with a careless wave of her hand. “I understand his sister, Mrs. Murray, entreated him to take the house. He invited some of the neighbors to a dinner party, where Mrs. Murray was hostess.”
“Oh, my,” murmured Marion, her brow furrowed.
Evangeline longed to ask what was wrong with that, but had a feeling she wouldn’t like the answer.
“Then perhaps it was more in chivalry than... something else,” murmured Marion. She looked up. “You say you are barely acquainted with him?”
Evangeline willed herself not to blush. “I did not say that, but may I ask what happened? If it is about me, I deserve to know what is being said, and by whom.”
Marion’s eyes darted sideways. “I’m not entirely certain. George wouldn’t tell me, and my friends haven’t heard every detail.”
But they had heard about the sword, and a near duel. Evangeline felt a surge of dislike for Marion’s friends. Whatever had been said, she was certain they would hear it eventually—or more likely, some exaggerated, corrupted version of the truth—and then they would pour bile into Marion’s ear.
