While Evie couldn’t afford so much as a new handkerchief at the moment, she was already looking forward to when cost was no object and her husband’s allowance permitted her to buy whatever she desired. She needn’t wear the same gown until the stitching became threadbare ever again. Or get blisters on her feet from hand-me-down shoes that were a size too large because they’d been made for Joanna’s enormous rabbit feet. Or feel that awful prickle of embarrassment at the nape of her neck when she walked past her peers in their fashionable dresses designed straight from the pages ofJournal des Dames et des Modes.
“Think nothing of it.” Brynne gave a dismissive flick of her wrist. “I am fortunate to have more clothes than I could wear in a lifetime, and you’ll fill them out better than I ever could. Please consider everything a gift.”
Evie’s jaw dropped. “Oh, no. I couldn’t possibly keep–”
“You can,” Brynne said firmly. “And you will.”
“All right.” Why object further, when it was clear this was what Brynne wanted? She didn’t want to berude.“I should like to get you something in return, though.”
“Tell me about you and your sisters.” Brynne smiled encouragingly over the rim of her teacup. “That is the only present I require.”
Evie often liked talking about herself. Honestly, what wasn’t there to like? But she failed to see any facet of her life that might possibly be of interest when compared to the gorgeous gowns and glittering ballrooms and lavish house parties that made up Lady Brynne’s world.
As the sister of an earl, the daughter of a marquess, and the granddaughter of a duke, she had doors available to her that Evie could never dream of. Doors that would have opened, at least partially, for Joanna as well…ifshe’d decided to stay instead of following in the footsteps of their mother and sailing back to Boston.
Evie did not understand her sister’s decision any more than she did her mother’s. Who would want to leave allthis?It was like giving a bird wings and then telling it not to fly. Or entering a horse in a race and then not allowing it to run. As for herself, Evie couldn’t imagine leaving England. And not only because her last sailing expedition had begun and ended with her head in a bucket.
From the second she stepped onto British soil, she’d felt a sense of belonging. Of recognition. Of coming home, even though she’d never traveled further than Boston.
But then, Englandwasin her blood.
Her grandmother, Mabel Ellinwood, had been a lady. The second-born daughter of the Viscount of Clarencott, who had fallen in love with a visiting American scholar by the name of Joseph Pratt. They would go on to marry, and have a daughter of their own…Evie’s mother, Anne.
By Evie’s calculations, that made her a quarter-British. It wasn’t as good as Miss-Joanna-my-secret-father-is-a-marquess, but surely it was better than nothing. And it also helped explain her innate love of the country’s architecture, and its fashion…and its earls.
One earl in particular, but who was keeping track?
Certainly not Evie.
Not after the way Weston had treated her.
As if she were just any other guest. As if she were no one of importance. As if she wereordinary.
And for Evie, who prided herself on her exceptionalism (even under the most dire of circumstances), there was no greater insult to be had.
“What would you like to know?” she asked Brynne, mustering a smile that was tight at the edges, like a stocking too small for her calf.
“Oh,everything,” Brynne gushed, her hazel eyes lighting. “What was it like growing up with two sisters? I’ve only a brother to compare, and, well, you’ve met Weston. He can be…difficult.”
To put it mildly, Evie thought as she raised her tea to her lips.
“Although I’d be remiss if I did not say that there are times he is so sweet-natured and thoughtful you could just kiss him. Don’t you agree, Miss Thorncroft?”
Evie almost spit her mouthful of tea back into her cup. “I…er…I don’t believe I’ve gotten to know that side of him.”
“Haven’t you?” Brynne said innocently. “That’s a shame.”
She knows, Evie realized. Maybe not everything, but Weston’s sister knewsomething. At the very least, she suspected.
Pesky things, suspicions.
They could either prove to be helpful…or hurt Evie’s plan in any number of ways. One thing was for certain: until she knew where Brynne stood in regards to her brother marrying an American, it was best to steer their dialogue towards safer waters.
“Growing up with two sisters was very…loud,” she said, deliberately inserting good cheer into her voice despite the constrictive band wrapped around her throat. “Joanna and I invariably find ourselves at odds, whereas Claire, the youngest, can do no wrong. But when Joanna isn’t throwing a shoe at my head, we’re really very close. Our disagreements stem from beingtoomuch alike, I fear. We’re both obstinate and opinionated, whereas Claire is as gentle as a kitten.”
And she missed them both terribly.
The sisters had never been apart before. Not like this. Which was why she’d been doing her best not to think about it. Something she had managed to do during the chaotic trip from London to Hawkridge Manor, but now that she was here and some semblance of normality had returned (at least, she liked tothinkthat porcelain tubs and marble tile and floral printed silk was her new normal), the ache of their absence had started to settle in.
