Richard took the protesting Pomeranian to the morning room, deposited him inside, and closed the door. Louis began barking, and Evangeline blinked again as she turned to the door. “Good-bye.”
“One more thing,” he said, and caught her in his arms and kissed her, deeply, passionately, and when he finally released her, Evangeline could barely hear Louis’s barking.
“You do know how to make a woman miss you,” she said unsteadily.
“It would be only fair,” he replied. “I will be desolate without you.”
It was almost noon by the time the carriage turned into South Audley Street, where the Bennet house stood. Evangeline foundherself peering out the window, curious to see it again. It had been several years since she’d last been there.
She’d grown up in that house, with the curving staircase she and her brother had rolled balls down and pretended to be pirates climbing aboard a ship and once slid down atop a large atlas. Her nephew Douglas must have heard the story, for he’d done the same as a boy. Unfortunately, he’d done it when George and Marion had guests for dinner, and Evangeline would never forget the expressions on their faces when he crashed into the entry hall with a mighty shout of triumph. Marion had been shocked, her face white with embarrassment. But George... Evangeline had seen him smile for a moment before agreeing with his wife that it was of course very naughty behavior.
She sighed. It was wrong to think of the times Marion had been too strict, when the woman was so ill now. Even though she had stopped inviting Evangeline to dinners or parties, she still wrote to let her know how Joan and Douglas were getting on. George still came to see her now and then, so the breach had never been complete. And now, finally, was a chance to put it behind her.
She straightened her shoulders, summoned a smile, and climbed down from the carriage. She was here for Joan, to comfort her and guide her and offer an understanding ear for any of Joan’s worries. She was not here on her own agenda. She was going to keep Marion’s feelings and strictures in mind at all times, and not do anything that would upset her.
It tookher only twenty-four hours to smash that resolution to bits.
When the butler came to take her pelisse, she recognized him as the young footman she had schemed with in her youth.“Smythe,” she’d cried in delight, and then told Joan how Smythe had helped her sneak around her parents, years ago.
When Joan cast a covetous eye on her dress—a new one of saffron cotton, with some charms Mrs. Hutchins had found in a warehouse on the India docks—Evangeline had heard herself saying “You mustn’t tell your mother...” before telling Joan all about Mr. Salvatore, who made all her gowns with the same disregard for conventional fashion, and then offered to take Joan to see him about a dress of her own.
And when a handsome young man came to call the next morning, she took one look at him and lost her mind, along with all her vows not to interfere.
“I hope I’ve not ruined things already,” she fretted to Solly, who had arrived with her trunks and hatboxes.
“What did you say to him?”
She sighed. “I told him to come to tea.”
“Why?” Solly would have made an excellent attorney, with her patient tone and open questions.
Evangeline checked that Joan wasn’t nearby before answering. “What else should I say? A handsome, well-dressed man calls on my niece—and she never sent for me to join her, by the by—and departs looking enormously pleased about something.”
Solly raised her brows. “Isn’t that what every young lady, and her mama, wants? A handsome, eligible gentleman coming to call?”
“Yes, but I don’t know that she would approve of this gentleman.” Evangeline sighed. “He said my nephew asked him to call on Joan and see to her contentment. Was I supposed to call him a liar and throw him out?”
Solly raised a brow. “If your actions were purely logical, why are you alarmed?”
She bit her lip. Viscount Burke had been the young man’s name. She remembered his father, who had been one of the most dashing—and outrageous—gentlemen in London when she was a girl. Despite not being in London anymore, Evangeline still heard some of the gossip; Fanny brought it with her on her weekly visits for tea. She’d heard Burke’s name, which meant he’d done something scandalous, though she couldn’t remember what. “He might be a rake.”
Solly just looked at her. She knew very well that Evangeline knew plenty of rakes and enjoyed their company at times.
Evangeline threw up her hands. “How do I know? I don’t. If he is, I shall have to throw him out.” She paused. “If he is not...”
“If only you had some way to learn more,” said Solly somberly. “If only you had someone you trust, who would tell you anything and everything you want to know about a man. That would certainly be very useful, at times like these.” The woman was definitely laughing at her.
“You’re right.” She sat down at the desk and took out paper, aware that she was about to break another of her own guidelines for this stay in London. “I must ask Richard.”
Chapter 24
The sky was barely light when Richard set out with the dogs for Mayfair. It was only four miles to the Bennet house, but he had been told to arrive as early as he could, and he had had difficulty restraining himself this long.
He was impatient to see her again.
When she had come to him, saying her brother had asked her to return to London to chaperone her niece, he had understood. He didn’t have the highest respect for Sir George Bennet and his wife, but he knew Evangeline loved her niece and held her blameless for the rupture in their family. Richard had smiled and said of course she must go, and had sent his best wishes for Lady Bennet’s health. He had even agreed to keep Louis, as Evangeline didn’t think her sister-in-law would like the dog in her house.
The Pomeranian had not been pleased to be left in Chelsea. Richard had had to shut him up, barking hysterically, in the morning room when Evangeline left, dabbing at her eyes with a handkerchief. It had made him smile wryly, how devoted she and her spoiled little pup were. “I feel the same way,” he’d told the dog, once she was gone and Louis had exhausted himself.
