A shadow of grief rippled across Sterling’s countenance as he raised his glass to his mouth, a stark contrast to the cheerfully roguish persona he generally exhibited. “Sebastian was the duke,” he said, referring to his eldest brother who had been killed in a duel. A duel Sterling had jestingly urged him to participate in, never imagining in his worst nightmares that it would cost Sebastian his life. “I’m just the spare pretending to take his place.”
Weston did not know what to say. What words would bring comfort to a man who felt responsible for the death of his brother? A man who was about to be put on the trial for the murder of his mistress.
“Here,” he said gruffly, reaching for the decanter of scotch. He filled up Sterling’s glass, then struck his against it. “To Sebastian, may he rest in peace.”
“To Sebastian,” said Sterling bleakly.
Together, they drank.
Chapter Nine
Evie felt likea new person.
After sending her wool dress monstrosity away to be burned, she’d soaked in an honest-to-goodness porcelain tub with a hand carved wooden rim polished in beeswax. As if that wasn’t luxurious enough, the water had been hot–not tepid, not warm, buthot–and scented with rose oil. Bubbles had floated on the surface, so thick and plentiful that Evie hadn’t even see her own limbs beneath the frothy concoction of glycerin soap and sugar.
It was the first real bath she’d had since leaving Somerville, and even then, the round metal tin she’d shared with her sisters and grandmother with water pumped directly from their well (which was so cold it took nearly an hour to boil, and then there were the long treks with heavy pails up and down the narrow stairs) hardly qualified.
After emerging from the tub, she had taken a nap, and slept through the afternoon into the evening. Dinner in her room, and then back to bed, whereupon she’d floated off into dream until morning…and nearly wept with joy when she foundanotherbath already prepared and waiting for her.
This time, she stayed in the water until the bubbles had all but dissipated, and when she was ready to emerge, all she had to do was a ring a bell and her appointed lady’s maid, a beaming brunette named Hannah, bustled in carrying a Turkish towel that was nearly as tall as Evie herself.
“Here you are, Miss,” said Hannah, holding the towel wide and politely averting her gaze as Evie emerged from the tub. “How was your bath?”
“Wonderful,” she said with feeling. “Just what I needed.”
She wrapped herself in the thin, flat cotton, mindful not to slip on the ivory tile beneath her bare feet. Her bedchamber wassolarge it included two entirely different types of flooring! Wide oak boards beneath the brass bed and accompanying furniture, which included a wide velvet lounge she couldn’t wait to take a nap on, and glossy marble squares that distinguished the bath from the rest of the room, along with privacy panels draped in pale yellow silk to match the wall hangings.
“Very good, Miss. I had your trunks brought up and unpacked your belongings while you slept, along with a few other things that Lady Brynne wanted you to have during your stay with us at Hawkridge Manor. I hope you don’t mind–I was afraid I might wake you, but you’re averyheavy sleeper.”
“Don’tmind?” Evie said with a delighted laugh as she crossed the room and flung open the doors of a towering armoire to reveal half a dozen dresses she’d never laid eyes on before. “Hannah, I could kiss you!”
The maid blushed. “I am pleased that you are pleased, Miss. Lady Brynne indicated that you are an extremely special guest, and that I am to take excellent care of you.”
“I could kiss her as well,” Evie said fervently, running her fingers down the sleeve of a lavender walking dress with double-breasted buttons and chenille fringe.
Even though I’d much rather kiss her brother.
The unbidden thought stilled her in her tracks. As her cheeks suffused with hot, splotchy color, she kept her head tucked behind the door of the armoire and took her time sorting through the colorful sea of gowns that Brynne had graciously allowed her to borrow.
There were narrow-sleeved jackets in crisp taffeta, peplum skirts with long trains, a stunning morning dress in floral printed silk, and an evening gown that stole her breath with its cascading layers of flounces and striped tulle bodice, all in a splendid canary yellow that was certain to draw attention for miles around.
Deciding to save the yellow gown for the receiving dinner, she settled on a white day dress with pagoda sleeves, red satin trim, and rosettes piped in black lace. Hannah helped her get ready, and even styled her hair in an elegant coiffure with curled tendrils that framed the sides of her face. A pair of modest pearl earrings that had once belonged to her mother, and Evie was prepared to greet the other guests and rub shoulders with British nobility.
Her heelless slippers made nary a sound as she descended the master staircase into the middle of an empty foyer, a grandly sized room that was notable if only because there was nothing about it of note.
Plain white was the dominating color, with nary a picture or a rug or even a tapestry to break up the monotony created by such a lack of pigmentation. Given the natural, almost fairytale-like beauty of the manor’s exterior, Evie had been expecting the inside to be…well…more.Certainly she hadn’t anticipated this blank slate of ivory. But maybe she should have, considering the estate’s principle occupant.
If Weston had designed a house to reflect his personality, he’d succeeded and then some. The cold, emotionless man who’d all but shoved her out of the growler paired perfectly with this frigid, icy backdrop. Rather like French wine and Italian cheese, but without the delicious aftertaste.
“Miss Thorncroft!”
Evie automatically turned at the sound of her name, and smiled when she saw Lady Brynne Weston hurrying over. The two women exchanged pleasantries, and then recused themselves to an adjoining parlor with views of a pond that Evie hadn’t noticed upon her arrival. A pair of swans floated across the calm surface, their arched necks forming half a heart as they paddled in leisurely circles.
“Are they tame?” Evie asked, nodding at the fowl.
“The swans? They were raised here on the estate, but I wouldn’t call them tame.” Brynne gave a rueful shake of her head. “Just make sure that if you ever go over to the pond that you’ve plenty of bread crumbs with you, or else you’ll need shoes that are equipped for running. Tea?”
“Thank you.” Accepting the delicate cup made of bone china and embossed in gold, Evie added a swirl of cream and then sat down across from Brynne. “I also wished to thank you for your generosity,” she said, stroking her skirt with all the loving adoration of a parent embracing their newborn child. “I shall endeavor to do your clothes justice, and I absolutely must have the name of your modiste.”
