Having been in such situations many times before, it was not unique or unusual enough for Evelyn to pay it any heed. Yet at that moment, she felt entirely alone. It struck without warning or provocation (as there were plenty of other such moments that came and went without fanfare) and left her heart aching in her chest. Standing with others, yet feeling so apart from them.
Shaking her head, Evelyn cast the feeling aside. A festival was not a place for such morose thoughts, and even if she had not the appetite to gorge on another slice of something sweet, she would enjoy it all the same. Digging into her coin purse, she counted out the required funds and made her way to the ginger cake stall. Just as she was about to step into the queue, Mr. Townsend sidled up next to her.
“Are you sneaking off for some more goodies?” he asked with a twinkle in his eyes.
A smile broke across her face, and Evelyn answered in a saucy tone, “You are one to lecture, sir. The rest of the gentlemen rejoined the party, and you were nowhere to be seen.”
Giving her an overly dramatic wince, Mr. Townsend bowed low over her hand. “I must beg your forgiveness, dear lady, and throw myself at your mercy.”
“Only if you purchase me a slice of ginger cake.”
Though Evelyn had meant it as a jest, the fellow produced the necessary coins with a grin and handed them to the vendor. Clutching the treat, Evelyn beamed at him, and the pair started the slow trek back to the others. Mr. Townsend reached over and filched a corner of her cake, and she smacked at his hand, though he winked in return.
“I thought this was to be your penance, Mr. Townsend. It does no good if you are going to steal it.” Gracious! Evelyn didn’t know what possessed her. She was not a flirt and could think of no other man whom she dared to tease so mercilessly, yet something in Mr. Townsend welcomed her humor, and she could not keep her tongue in check.
“I am glad to have a stolen moment with you, Miss Finch,” he said, offering up his arm to her.
Evelyn slanted him a look and fought to keep her heartbeat under control. If she was not careful, her cheeks would start blazing pink once more. “Are you?”
“I wanted to ask your opinion about Miss Abbott.”
Though she didn’t think herself possessed of much grace or poise, Evelyn was quite astonished at how she was able to hear such a statement without gaping, tripping over her own feet, or simply hurrying away to avoid it.
“My opinion?” Evelyn was quite pleased with her tone. To anyone listening, she sounded like a considerate and curious friend. Nothing more.
“Do you think she cares for me?” Mr. Townsend’s grin grew as he asked that, and Evelyn’s lungs seized. Her whole being paused, trapped between one heartbeat and the next, holding her prisoner in that moment as her thoughts struggled to grasp his meaning.
In a flash, her memories scattered, dredging up every word and action, each smile and laugh from the moment they first met to this very one—including all the opinions and comments of those who had seen them together. It was one enormous blast of thought and feeling that assaulted her all at once as she tried to align the reality of a moment ago with this revelation. The whole of the last three weeks flew through her, leaving her utterly befuddled. Mr. Townsend was asking her opinion about another lady? Miss Abbott?
Evelyn couldn’t grasp that truth. She must’ve imagined it. Evelyn was quite familiar with unrequited love: it was the only sort of romantic entanglement with which she had any experience. But this time had been different. She may not trust her instincts, but what of his cousin’s assurances of Mr. Townsend’s affection? Her father and mother’s certainty that Mr. Townsend’s behavior was not just that of a man desiring friendship? All the little signs that spoke of something more than platonic affection stirring in his heart?
Each shock and surprise gathered together en masse, appearing from nowhere and striking her with devastating force.
“Does Miss Abbott care for you?” Evelyn repeated, and though her heart cracked beneath the pressure of everything crashing down on her, she couldn’t help but feel a frisson of joy at how unaffected she sounded. Tears flowed inside, yet not a single one showed, and that was a triumph.
“Yes, Miss Finch,” he said, bumping her with his shoulder. “Do you think she is keen on me?”
From what Evelyn had seen of the lady, the answer was clear enough, but Mr. Townsend seemed so pleased at the prospect that her tongue froze. She was certain her thoughts had never churned so quickly as they had in the last few minutes, taking in everything around her and plastering it together into something useful, and at that moment, she knew she was at a crossroads of sorts.
“The Friend” was a familiar role to Evelyn, and though she had never seen anything come of it (other than being summarily dismissed when the fellow found a lady he admired), she now had George as a bright beacon of hope. He’d come around, hadn’t he? He was enamored with Miss Wakefield, and that could happen with her and Mr. Townsend, couldn’t it?
And maybe this was all just a misunderstanding. Perhaps she could dismiss her family’s opinion of Mr. Townsend’s motives as being biased in her favor, but his cousin had no reason to tell Evelyn that Mr. Townsend’s interest was piqued. And though she tried to look at his wording from other perspectives, there was no mistaking Mr. Peter Wrigley’s meaning. Perhaps Mr. Townsend was merely distracted at present by Miss Abbott; even if she didn’t suit Evelyn, the lady was pretty, and it was understandable that she might rouse Mr. Townsend’s interest.
Speak truthfully, and Evelyn may put a wedge between them. Embrace the role of The Friend, and she need only be patient. That was no debate. The only trouble was wording her answer so it wouldn’t wound Mr. Townsend’s pride or venture into falsehood. There was a great difference between the truth and a fib.
“I fear I may not be the best person to ask. I do not know Miss Abbott well enough to discern her heart,” said Evelyn.
Mr. Townsend smiled at that. “You give yourself too little credit, Miss Finch. You are an intelligent, feeling young lady. I think she showed a marked interest in me. What do you think?”
“I am not very good at catching all those subtle cues, and I am not one to employ them myself,” said Evelyn, wincing inwardly, as that was as close to a lie as she wanted to get. “I would suggest speaking to one of the gentlemen. No doubt they have noticed.”
Giving that a firm nod, Mr. Townsend smiled and led Evelyn back to the others. She picked at her ginger cake as she mulled over all that had happened and all that could happen, and though she could not make sense of her current position, she held onto her faith that Mr. Townsend would come around. Eventually.
Chapter 25
The scent of baked apples and the echoes of the raucous crowd followed the pair along as they wandered through the streets of Bentmoor. Marian slanted a look at Mr. Clements and smiled to herself. It was quite the afternoon. Momentous, even. Perhaps that was overinflating its importance, but Marian couldn’t help but feel as though something had shifted between them. This was no ordinary drive together. It was a proper outing—even if it included several additions to their party.
And though she couldn’t say she yearned for Mr. Clements, the day had taught her more about the fellow. He would never be chatty, but she didn’t mind that. He wasn’t particularly well-read or intellectual, but stimulating conversation or debate was hardly a key factor in the success of a marriage. Mr. Clements’ conversation was preferable to that of Mr. Highmore, and it was more voluminous than his original scant words had led her to believe.
