“Hush, dear,” Bridget replied, though her tone held anything but reproof. She did not go so far as to wrap her arms around her husband, but her shoulder drew closer, their hands twining together in the shadows of the carriage.
Evelyn turned her gaze from her sister and stared through the glass, though there was little to see in the dim evening light. Unable to contain her yawn, she covered her mouth with a hand, sucking in a deep breath that stretched her lungs.
“It is not a good sign that you are exhausted before the assembly has even started,” said Bridget with a suppressed laugh.
“I have not been sleeping well of late,” replied Evelyn, stifling another yawn. “I cannot help it.”
Though she could not see it in the dark, she felt her sister’s eyes glittering with wicked glee. “It has nothing to do with your Mr. Townsend, does it?”
At Evelyn’s side, their younger brother huffed. “Leave her be, Bridget. She doesn’t need your twitting.”
Bridget leaned forward to squeeze Evelyn’s hand. “I mean nothing by it. It makes me happy to see you so happy.”
Evelyn’s cheeks flushed, but there was no point in reaching for the carriage window, as it was stuck closed. Not that it would do any good, either, for it wasn’t the temperature inside the carriage that heated her through.
“Am I so very obvious?” asked Evelyn with a wince. She was such a fool! It was one thing for Mr. Townsend to show a preference for her, but should she do the same, it was liable to scare him away—like all the other gentlemen.
“I doubt anyone but the family suspects a thing,” said Bridget. She nudged her husband, but it was not subtle enough for Evelyn to miss it.
“You give men too much credit, Evelyn,” said Robin. “We are a dense lot. Many a gentleman will hardly notice if a lady admires him unless she throws her arms around his neck.”
Bridget elbowed him with far more censure than prodding this time, and it was Evelyn’s turn to giggle.
“I am only speaking the truth, dearest,” said Robin as he rubbed his side with mock affront. “Had you not been so bold—”
“Mr. Townsend doesn’t know your feelings,” said Bridget, turning her attention back to Evelyn. “But he has made his preference for you clear.”
Evelyn blushed even brighter red, something that warranted even more embarrassment due to her bespeckled complexion, but it was joy and not chagrin that had her beaming like a fool. “He has been so kind to me. And though we have only met once since the Wrigleys’ picnic, I know he is the best of men.”
There was so much more she longed to say. Her heart soared above them, leaping through the air with all the joyful ease of a bird in flight, and Evelyn was certain she was forever altered. Her good sense would not allow her to tell Bridget the whole truth, but in the privacy of her thoughts, Evelyn knew the truth—she loved Mr. Townsend. How could she not?
“Evelyn, do you not think you are being a tad bit hasty?” Bridget spoke in a slow and gentle tone, the words inching out with great care, and for a brief moment, Evelyn feared she had spoken those hidden feelings aloud.
Evelyn stiffened, and Bridget leaned forward so that her face was caught in the light of the moon streaming in through the window.
“I do not mean to upset you, dear, but I worry you have thrown your whole heart at Mr. Townsend without knowing him properly,” said Bridget. “You have only spoken to him twice.”
“But do you not think there are times when you meet a person and simply know he is a kindred soul?” asked Evelyn. “Mr. Townsend is such a wonderful man, and he has shown a preference for me. This is not merely some flight of fancy that evaporates in a moment.”
“I meant no disrespect, Evelyn,” said Bridget. “I do not know the fellow at all, so I cannot judge for myself if he is worthy of you.”
“He is,” said Evelyn with a vigorous nod. “He is…” She pondered how to end that statement and what would secure Bridget’s good opinion of the fellow. “…kind. He kept me company, though many would not have gone to such trouble. I like him very much.”
Bridget nodded but continued speaking with that careful tone. “Do not take this as a criticism. I love you dearly, and I would not wish to hurt you. However, do you not think that perhaps at times you might possibly blind yourself to the faults and failings of gentlemen who are kind to you?”
A good conversation never began with “do not take this as a criticism.” The same could be said of any compliment that included a significant “but” or “however.” Whatever followed was bound to cause trouble, and Evelyn’s dander rose at the insinuation, no matter how gently spoken.
“I am not a fool, Bridget,” said Evelyn.
“Of course not,” replied her sister with a frown. “I did not mean that at all. But you have a soft spot for those who show you kindness.”
“I hardly think that a flaw.”
But it was their brother, Isaac, who answered. “It is when you throw your heart after people like Mr. Grier. Or Mr. Browning.”
And any number of other men who could be listed alongside them, though Evelyn wasn’t about to give her siblings more ammunition against her; it was disheartening enough to know they were so familiar with all her romantic missteps.
“I am not blind to Mr. Townsend’s shortcomings,” said Evelyn, fighting back the color rising to her cheeks, though it was futile. Only the darkness of the coach kept them from knowing just how much the conversation affected her. “I do not care for his lackadaisical approach to his profession, but that is not some great failing worthy of ignoring his interest.”
