Kate Noble (12 page)

Max smiled in relief, in hope, in anticipation. She came. Obviously she was as eager to meet as he, for she was there a full (he checked his pocket watch) four minutes early. Max took a deep breath and ran his fingers through his hair to make sure it was presentable before he ventured to speak.

“You came.” His voice was filled with warmth. “I was so afraid you wouldn’t be able to slip away.” Max took three steps toward the bench.

And stopped dead.

“What are you doing here?” two very surprised people asked each other.

He stood stock still, while his eyes, which had been filled with such hope as he walked out from the shade of the trees, now narrowed in suspicion.

Gail—Just Gail, Brat, whomever she was—sat frozen, staring like a fox caught in his sight, and ready to bolt at any moment. Golden eyes were wide with shock, and her color pale. Although, he could attribute her pallor to her previous evening’s imbibing…But this was madness! What was she doing here?

Maybe she was an apparition. The firebrand that had thrown him into a lake and thrown up on his shoes had somehow violated his thoughts and made herself formed flesh when he expected to find his darling future bride.

Obviously he was hallucinating because of lack of sleep (although he had slept quite well) or something he ate (although he only had coffee for breakfast, such was his hurry to get Evangeline’s flowers). Yes, he rationalized desperately, that was it! It was the lack of food; he really should have heeded Harris’s advice and eaten heartily before he left this morning…

“Uh…” came her voice. It was surprisingly rough, and shy. As if the firebrand who had scorched his ears twice before didn’t know how to start a sentence. Max felt his hallucination theory deflate, as something cold ran down his spine. She was real. If she were a product of his imagination, she would have shrewishly torn him down by now.

“I live here,” Gail answered his question. Her voice was stronger now, but still small.

That cold line running down his spine? He knew what it was now. Dread.

Realization dawned, a crashing spiral in the pit of his stomach.

There were two Alton daughters.

Evangeline had a sister.

“There are two of you…” he moaned, his own stupidity crashing about his ears.

“No,” she said softly, a slight smile painting her full mouth, “I assure you, there’s only one of me.”

“But what are you doing here?” Gail, Evangeline’s sister, asked. Her timid voice was fast gaining its normal strength, but without the defensive tone he was accustomed to.

“I…I, uh…” It was Max’s turn to stutter. He looked everywhere about him. At the dirt around the base of the trees, at the vines overhead—anywhere but at her.

A rustling down the path saved him from answering, or looking any more the fool for stalling. Two sets of footsteps, one moving quickly, one trying to keep up, echoed through the trees. Seconds later, Romilla emerged from the shadows, followed closely by a subdued Evangeline.

She was paler than last night, but Max could guess the reasons for that—no doubt she had just come from a rather paling interview. Other than that, however, Evangeline looked exactly as she had: beautiful, demure, ethereal. The perfect Countess of Longsbowe.

Evangeline’s attention did not stray to Max but was fixed on Romilla, whose normally pleasant manner was marked by a brittleness she didn’t bother to hide.

“Lord Fontaine,” she said immediately upon seeing the unexpected tableau before her, “I would ask that you stop meeting my daughters alone in this conservatory. Once is accidental, twice is stupidity.”

Max wisely said nothing, just bowed his head.

“Gail, I’m surprised to see you out and about this morning, but I’m glad you’re here.”

No one moved as Romilla took a breath.

“I should like to introduce you to your future brother-in-law, Viscount Fontaine.”

“
YOU
were compromised? How the bloody hell did you get compromised?”

“Gail, don’t swear. She’ll hear you.” Evangeline shushed her sister.

But Gail paid her no heed. “You didn’t have time to get compromised, you were with me all night!”

Max entering her sanctuary that morning had been the embodiment of her nightmare. She had feared she would cast up accounts again, such was her shock. And he…he had looked so boyish, so hopeful. Of course, she thought grimly, all that had changed the moment he saw her.

When Romilla had arrived and, instead of berating her for drunkenness as Gail had feared, declared Max was to marry Evangeline—well, suffice to say, if Gail hadn’t been sitting, she most certainly would have landed on the floor.

After the surprising announcement, Max was summoned back to the library and shut in with Sir Geoffrey. That had been this morning. It was now sunset, and Evangeline and Gail peered out the window of Evangeline’s bedroom, watching the rear of Max’s hack roll away down Berkeley Square.

Gail and Evangeline, on the other hand, had spent the day with Romilla, who had in turn surprised them both. There were no vehement lectures about their behavior at the ball, no vases thrown at their heads, literally or metaphorically. Gail expected to be shut in her room for at least the rest of the Season, but was bewildered when, immediately, the opposite occurred.

Once the Viscount had been ushered out of the conservatory, Romilla had turned to the girls and ordered, “You have five minutes to go upstairs, arrange yourselves, and report back to the drawing room,” and swept out of the room.

The girls didn’t need to be told twice. They ran up the stairs, splashed water on their faces and pinched their cheeks, checked their hair in the looking glass, and presented themselves in the drawing room exactly five minutes later, looking the bloom of health and vitality. Indeed, it was crucial that they do so, because Romilla was insistent upon taking them through the day as if nothing odd had occurred.

They visited with the callers in the drawing room, about whom they had nearly forgotten, although in truth only a quarter hour had passed since Evangeline had left.

Romilla made a great show of presenting Gail to the party, whom she claimed Evangeline had excused herself to fetch. Such a reasonable excuse was taken to heart by all present, and the party continued chatting amiably, including Gail in their circle, though she was characteristically silent.

The morning was unending. Gail glanced at the mantel clock every five seconds, and while Evangeline was a bit more subtle, she was no less aware of the time. Fortunately, the assembled party did not take notice of either girl’s distraction, and soon enough Romilla skillfully ushered the guests out the front door, with promises of return visits and meeting at balls and musicales later in the week.

However, just when Gail thought she would finally have an opportunity to question, throttle, and consolingly hug her sister in turns, Romilla swept them out of the drawing room (Gail was quick to note the library doors were still shut tight), and after a change of dress, out the door.

The afternoon was spent visiting such a collection of Society ladies, their giggling daughters, and eligible sons that Gail and Evangeline barely had an opportunity to say more than three words to each other.

Only after all the calls had been paid and they returned to their house and rooms (on pretense of changing for dinner—oh, how many clothes were required to be out in London!) were Gail and Evangeline finally able to speak.

Gail spoke first and loudest.

“How on earth did
you
come to be compromised by
him
?”

Evangeline gave a deep sigh. “Well, you see…I’m afraid I gave in to a moment of, romantic…curiosity.”

As Evangeline explained, Gail felt her stomach sink and her blood rise. It was her fault. If she hadn’t been intoxicated, Max would never have wandered into the conservatory, never seen Evangeline…

But oh, how hypocritical was a world that thrived on gossip and then condemned its subject? That forced a girl into marriage to head off a rumor?

For a rumor had indeed gotten out. It seemed the new maid had mentioned it in passing to her friend in the laundry, who told it to the young footman she was keen on, who laughed about it with other blokes while they waited for their employers to emerge from the Alton’s ball. From there it became fodder that was passed to various valets and ladies’ maids to their employers, who spread it like jam on their morning toast.

By the time the Alton party had reached the residence of Lady Hurstwood at two in the afternoon, no less than three people had hinted at distorted versions of an indiscretion to Gail. Always protective and understandably confused, Gail had nearly unleashed a hot scolding on Mrs. Plimpton before Romilla’s pointy shoe connected with her ankle. Then Romilla had magnificently fended off untoward questions with feigned ignorance and a smooth change of subject. Gail was not required to feign ignorance, and not one word was said to Evangeline. No, the vultures let the rumor swirl around like mist, without actually approaching its subject. And all because that loathsome Max Fontaine had forced himself on her sister!

“Gail, he didn’t force himself upon me. But we were alone, and when Mrs. Bibb caught us,” Evangeline sighed and pressed a hand to her temple, “I doubt it looked good. It stands to reason that people would find out somehow. It doesn’t matter what did or didn’t happen because the taint will exist regardless. It was actually very…very generous of Lord Fontaine to offer marriage.”

“Who told you such antiquated nonsense?” Gail wanted to throttle her sister, to cry, to reverse time. Alas, there was nowhere to move but forward. “You hardly know him!”

“I agreed!” Evangeline cried. “Father called me to the library, told me the predicament, and I agreed to marry.”

“You…agreed?”

“Papa offered me a choice.”

“And marriage to a stranger was what you chose?” Gail nearly screeched, such was her disbelief.

“Better marriage than rejection from all society and ruining Father’s career with it!” Evangeline had maintained serenity throughout the whole day, but here, alone with Gail, her calm facade cracked and fell.

“I’m sorry!” she gulped, “you’re the only person who I can talk to…” As Evangeline broke down in sobs, Gail rushed to put her arms around her. Understanding dawned as tears soaked the front of her gown. Evangeline, serene, lovely Evangeline, was scared beyond measure.

“Hush now,” Gail rocked her sister back and forth. “I’m sorry—I shouldn’t have yelled.”

“Gail, it’s just…” Evangeline said between sobs, “there was moonlight last night. What if I spend the rest of my life regretting that moonlight?”

Gail smoothed her sister’s hair and murmured comforting sounds, while Evangeline cried on her shoulder. When most of the sobs had subsided, Gail asked, “What do you mean? About the moonlight?”

“What if Lord Fontaine and I don’t suit? You’re right, I hardly know him. What if everything I was feeling was due to the moonlight and not to him? I want to love my husband, and I’m so afraid that I won’t…”

Torn between a chance to belittle Max and assuage her sister’s fears, Gail reluctantly but swiftly chose the latter.

Bracing her sister by the arms, she said, “Evie, listen to me. Dry your eyes. I’m sure that everything will be just fine. So you don’t know him very well now. You will come to know him! You have, what did Romilla say, a month? A month before the announcement. That’s plenty of time. You and Max, er, Lord Fontaine, will spend a good amount of time alone together, and…”

“No! No, Gail, I can’t be alone with him!”

Gail simply stared.

“What do you mean you can’t be alone with him? You’re going to marry him
because
you were alone with him!”

“I need your help. I respect your sense and judgment above all others. I need you there so you can tell me what you think of him.”

Thinking she could very well tell Evangeline what she thought of Max right now, Gail wisely held her tongue.

“Gail, just promise you’ll stay with me. Please.”

The imploring shine from those still wet eyes, combined with the death grip Evangeline had on her hand, told Gail that she wasn’t going to be able to respectfully decline.

“For as long as you need me, I’ll be there. I promise.”

A
promise is a promise. A gentleman is only as good as his word. These were the phrases that ran through Max’s head after a day such as the victims of the Spanish Inquisition never had. Though his morning had started out full of hope, anticipation, and trailing white flowers, Max felt like a crumpled weed pulled ruthlessly out of the ground. He closed his eyes and let the carriage sway his fatigue away. That morning, when he had been escorted so adamantly out of the conservatory and into the library, he had been reeling. The only woman in the world who annoyed him beyond reason was going to be related to him through marriage. How could he have been so blind, so stupid as to not guess that Gail was Evangeline’s sister? In hindsight, they did have some remarkably similar features. The shape of their eyes (although not the color) and their noses were very close. Max supposed he had been thrown off by the difference in their heights. Where Evangeline came to below his shoulder, Gail was a head taller. An easier distance from which to spit in his eye, he thought spitefully.

Max had been ushered into the library again, this time by a small, efficient-looking secretary in spectacles. Sir Geoffrey gave that man instructions to clear his schedule for the day and shut the door on the way out. Max was then left to face Sir Geoffrey, his future father-in-law, alone.

A daunting prospect, to say the least.

Sir Geoffrey was not an imposing figure in political circles for nothing. His reputation as a man of rising influence was only exceeded by his reputation for extracting information. It was whispered that he had had a surprisingly large role in Napoleon’s exile to Elba, although no details could be ascertained. But it was a fact that he had been knighted shortly thereafter. No, Sir Geoffrey was known as an amiable man, but his business was his reputation. And business was good, due partly to his family’s name. They might be new to the higher circles of society, but they had never been attached to any form of scandal. And now, because of Max, all that could change.

Sir Geoffrey’s gaze was direct over the top of his steepled fingers. He sat at his vast mahogany desk, whose gleaming surface was free of any clutter; no obstacles sat between the hunter and his cornered prey.

The interview started off innocently enough. Sir Geoffrey asked about Max’s family, his connections, and the prospects of his fortune. Max answered in polite, standard form. His mother passed on some years ago, his father is currently in London, although he spends most of his time at Longsbowe Park on the cliffs in southeast England. His family owns a half dozen estates, mostly farming properties, but yes, Longsbowe Park is the ancestral home. Yes, he attended Eton. Yes, he attended Oxford. Yes, he was fond of dogs, but not cats.

After a few hours of this, Sir Geoffrey thought enough of his guest to ask if he should like a chair.

The interview then turned far more personal, and far more uncomfortable for Max. Who are his chums? What clubs did he belong to? Are there any young ladies in his past who he’s compromised as well? Did he keep a mistress, and did he intend to after the wedding? Is he certain he hadn’t contracted any disease from an opera dancer or lightskirt that could come to prey on his daughter?

After a few hours of this line of questioning, Sir Geoffrey called for luncheon. His luncheon.

Max did his best to keep his composure answering these questions, and eventually, he almost found it amusing. He answered Sir Geoffrey with blunt honesty, a tack that man seemed to appreciate. Only once did Max’s annoyance show—after Max had answered negative to all the lightskirt and opera dancer questions, Sir Geoffrey leaned back in his chair and asked in an astonished voice, “Well, then what on earth do you do for amusement?”

“I attack girls in conservatories,” was Max’s curt and unrestrained reply.

Sir Geoffrey’s gaze remained steady, but narrowed over the top of his hands. For once, Max was not able to hold his eyes. Mumbling apologies, he looked away.

“Humor has its time and place. I doubt this is it,” Sir Geoffrey said gruffly, leaning back into his chair. “Now, tell me about your ambitions in life.”

Max looked up. “My ambitions?”

“Yes, what you wish to do, to be.”

“I…I am to be an earl…I will inherit a great estate…” Max stuttered out. What did he want to be? It was a question no one had asked him before. As Max stumbled over the speech he had been programmed his entire life to say, about family duty, responsibility, and the continuation thereof, he watched a cloud descend over his future father-in-law’s face.

“Young man,” Sir Geoffrey interrupted him, “I asked you what you might contribute to the world—not how much of it you will own. I am a great believer that every man should be of some use. And I can’t put much faith in anyone that bases their worth on that of their forebearers.”