Evan stared up at her. “I’m amazed that you’ve kept them all alive, ma’am.” Perhaps it was not age so much as motherhood that had grayed her hair and lined her face.
“I
am
rather proud of that. And young Master Moore will be fine too. Now let’s see if we can get this into the poor lad.” It took both women and tight swaddling with the blankets, but in the end, the feat was accomplished. And Evan was wet from shoulder to knee.
A knock sounded. Lady Reston started toward the hall, but Molly was already there. “Hmmph. About time she did something useful.”
“Sir James Reston and Doctor Overley,” Molly announced in a subdued voice and prepared to efface herself once again.
“Stay, girl,” commanded Lady Reston, “and take Mr. Haverfield’s place.” She pointed at Evan on the floor by her feet. Sniffling, Molly did as she was told. Mrs. Moore spoke gently to her and received a watery look of gratitude in return.
As Doctor Overley approached, Evan moved to one side of the fireplace, the squire and his lady to the other. The physician had been dining with a family some way out of town, and though his words apologized for the delay, his expression said he was not pleased about the interruption of his evening. He also smelled strongly of spirits.
He sat down on the sofa and curtly told Molly to dry the child’s feet. While she did so, he perused Mrs. Moore in a way that struck Evan as far too familiar. “My dear, how nice to see you out of—
No
, you idiot, don’t rub them, just pat gently!—out of black gloves. I never did think black showed off your many attractions to best advantage.”
Good heavens.
Could the man really be pursuing a flirtation at such a wildly inappropriate time? Mrs. Moore flushed.
Evan wanted to intervene but satisfied himself with analyzing everything that made the doctor ridiculous. He was not an ill-looking man, but everything about him spoke his conceit. His hair was teased on top and curled tortuously around his face
a la Brutus
, and his clothing proclaimed an ambition to be more than a small-town physician. His high, starched shirt-points and cravat might have drawn the envy of a London dandy. The style he favored did nothing to flatter his round figure, despite the stays that creaked audibly as he moved.
His lip curling with disgust, Overley did his best to inspect Julian’s frostbitten toes without touching them. Blisters had formed as the skin thawed, but the boy had quieted, his eyes blurred with the drug, and was sleepily turned in to his mother’s side. Mrs. Moore pulled one tiny arm from the blankets, and Overley felt for the pulse in his wrist.
The man rose. “A minor case of frostbite. You seem to have done everything right, as usual, my dear. Just leave the blisters alone, and you must keep him off his feet for a few days. He should be merry as a grig in short order. I shall stop by soon to see how he does—ahem, how
both
of you do.” Overley bowed over her hand and kissed it with quite unnecessary zeal.
Evan was gratified to see the widow wipe her hand on the blankets as soon as the doctor turned toward the door. Sir James saw Doctor Overley out, and Evan prepared to take his leave as well. The relief of the diagnosis had left Mrs. Moore looking weary. In the bustle of heating bricks for the beds and getting the sleeping boy upstairs to his bedchamber, Evan took himself off unnoticed by the others.
It was nearly nine o’clock and he was suddenly, ravenously hungry. He strode up the street to retrieve Grady, and they rode back to Viscount Latimer’s estate on a road crusted with ice. A sprinkling of stars now shone here and there between the clouds. Tomorrow promised to be brighter, if not warmer—and he would see her again. He could not remember when he had so looked forward to a new morning.
The fire roared in welcome as Evan strolled into Latimer’s library half an hour later. It was his favorite room in Whately Manor, the place that had been almost a second home since he and Frank first became school chums at Rugby.
Gad, that must be twenty years ago.
“Good God, look what the cat dragged in.” Latimer returned the poker to its hook on one side of the hearth. His sister rose from a chair on the other side. It was the first Evan had seen of Amanda since his arrival the previous day—she appeared taller every time he visited.
“You’re so cold,” she scolded as he took her hands and kissed her cheek. “I’ll have you know, I dined at home on purpose to act the hostess, and
you
run off to play knight-errant. I’ve half a mind to send you to bed without any supper.”
“
Of all wild beasts preserve me from a tyrant
,” Evan replied. “In any case, your excellent butler already offered food. I wouldn’t want to waste it.”
Amanda snorted. “Nothing edible goes to waste in this household. Pull over another chair and tell us all about your adventure. We know from the stable hands that the child was found, but no more than that.”
Frank poured a brandy and pushed it across the table. “But you were gone a hell of a long time, so I suppose you managed to involve yourself in the rescue.”
“Well of course he did. He makes a perfect knight. You’re being rude, Frank.”
Evan made her a formal bow. “Thank you, Miss Latimer. Though I must apologize for my deplorable appearance. I did wonder if the bath should come before the food, but hunger won out. I washed my hands, I assure you.”
Amanda surveyed the moisture beaded on his boots and dusting his hair, the dirt on his knees. “
Marmion
doesn’t say, but I suppose Lochinvar was soiled when he arrived at Netherby. I hope
you
did not have to swim?”
Evan laughed. “No, thankfully.” He stood up when a footman put his head around the door to say that supper was ready.
“Well, I want to hear the whole story, Evan.” Amanda rose as well and slipped her arm through his. “I’ll keep you company while you stave off starvation. Are you coming, Frank?”
“I’ll be along.”
“My, he’s been moody,” Amanda murmured as they moved across the hall into the breakfast parlor. “What’s wrong with him now?”
“He thought we should let the villagers take care of their own. Perhaps it was rude of me to desert him.”
“That’s nonsense. A host should do what his guests want to do.”
Evan shrugged and tackled the roast beef. “Frank tells me you’re betrothed to the squire’s son. Tell me about that while I eat. I talk better when I’m not chewing.”
Nibbling at a bowl of grapes, her elbows on the table, Amanda regaled Evan with the tale of her courtship. “I’ve been bosom-bows with Isabella Reston since we could walk, but I hardly spared a thought for Charles. When he came home wounded from Belgium, she wanted to spend every minute with
him
. If I wanted to see
her
, I had to see him too. He seemed so much older, more mature, more… interesting, somehow. A far cry from those fribbles in London.” She made a face. “You know better than anyone how unsuited I was to marry any of
them
.”
Evan did know. He had squired her about town during her first and only season, partly out of loyalty and partly because she was safe and undemanding company, the same horse-mad tomboy she’d always been under a thin veneer of society polish. A pretty enough fortune ensured that she would receive offers, but not from him. He’d known her too long—it would have been like marrying one of his sisters.
“And at least Charles is taller than me.” She grinned. “Maybe an inch. I don’t know what he saw in me, but I wasn’t going to let him change his mind. I accepted him on the spot.”
“So unfashionable,” Evan murmured.
She giggled. “But enough of my affairs. Did you earn a knighthood today?”
He pushed his plate away and refilled his glass. Then he gave her an abbreviated account of the afternoon’s search and the evening in Mrs. Moore’s parlor.
“God, I hate the cold,” he finished. “Thought I might get frostbite myself.” He watched the claret swirling in his glass. “I’ve just come here from my sister’s in Yorkshire. Elizabeth has a boy much the same age as Julian Moore, and seeing him so recently… well, I thought of all the resources my sister would have if Alexander were lost, while this woman had to go to the squire begging for help. One useless child-maid, whose negligence apparently caused the crisis in the first place.” Another pause, and then he looked up at Amanda. “Tell me, what do you know of her? Frank says she was married to your vicar?”
Amanda nodded and popped another grape into her mouth. “I can’t claim to know her well. I’ve met her any number of times, but she is so quiet, so… so
still
. I can never tell what she’s thinking.”
“I know what you mean, I think.” Even in the throes of panic today, she had wrapped herself in a sort of desperate dignity that only made her seem more vulnerable.
“Her husband was a different sort. Far easier to know, though I didn’t like him much. They made a handsome couple, but very distant from one another, at least in public.”
“That’s hardly unusual. Quite the fashion, in fact.”
“That doesn’t mean he should tell everyone at a party how stupid she is or call for the carriage and leave her to walk home.”
“Lord, no.”
“After she got in the family way, the gossip was that he took up with some woman over in Ashby. And through all that, she never said a word of complaint. Or praise, either.”
Latimer wandered into the room, poured himself some port, and sat down. “Did I miss the whole melodramatic saga?”
The long delay, the patent disinterest in the day’s anxieties, the failure to offer his guest a drink—Evan figured all that was an attempt to punish him for his charity. Well, he didn’t care what Frank thought, didn’t care if he’d made his friend look bad. He could mete out a little punishment of his own.
Ignoring Frank, he addressed Amanda again. “Did he make provision for her and the child?”
Amanda scoffed and helped herself to Evan’s uneaten custard. “A fair provision of debts, I should imagine. I’m sure his income didn’t support his stables.” She gazed at Evan while she savored a spoonful. “So you… like her?”
“Oh yes,” said the viscount, “our Evan has finally fallen. The coldest fish in the pond has been hooked, the wildest colt broken.”
“Goddamn it, Latimer, I’m not falling in love. I feel sorry for her, that’s all. Is the concept beyond your comprehension?”
Frank emitted a skeptical snort. “I have nothing against love, Haverfield. Unlike you, I’ve been there. But you’re the heir to Northridge, for God’s sake—you could hardly find anyone less eligible. At least I choose women of my own station.”
“I seem to recall a serving girl once in Oxford—”
“That was a decade ago!”
“And Mrs. Moore is no serving girl. Haven’t you heard the way she speaks, seen how she carries herself?”
Latimer yawned and got to his feet. “Never paid that much attention, Haverfield.” He ambled out of the room again.
Evan slammed his hand down on the table. “How did I lose my temper? I apologize for my language.”
Amanda said nothing, merely looked at him, her eyebrows lifted and a knowing little smile on her face.
He pointed a finger at her. “I’m not, you know.”
Her smile grew wider.
“I’ve not spoken more than a dozen words to her. But I mean to call on her tomorrow to see how the boy goes on. Will you come?”
“Of course I will. We should by all means check on the boy. And if you’re lucky, you might exchange another dozen words with his mother.”
Deborah sat on the sofa the following day with Julian and a book, trying to keep the child quiet. He insisted his feet didn’t hurt, and as the day wore on, keeping him happily contained became a struggle. When they heard the sounds of arrival from the hallway, she had to physically restrain him from running to see who had come.
She was curious herself to get a long, clear look at the gentleman Molly delivered into the parlor with Miss Latimer, stumbling over the name on his card. She’d received only vague impressions in all the turmoil of the previous day.
Deborah dropped the book into Julian’s lap and jumped up to greet the callers. She took the man’s proffered hand between both of hers. “I am so glad you came. I was dreadfully remiss last evening; I did not even find out your name, much less thank you properly, Mr.—Haverfield, is it?”
She was bound to admire him had he been hunch-backed and scarred with a patch over one eye, for he had saved her son’s life. But in fact, he stood straight and handsome, with curly, dark hair and warm, brown eyes. His hand, still holding one of hers, was cool from the outdoors. He was dressed for riding, yet impeccably neat and beautifully tailored. A bit tongue-tied, perhaps…
He cleared his throat. “Evan Haverfield, ma’am. It was—is—a pleasure to be of service.”
She slid her hand gently away. Pulling her eyes from his was not as simple.
Turning to his companion, she made a slight bow. “Good afternoon, Miss Latimer. I’ve not had a chance to offer my congratulations on your betrothal. It’s nice to know you will not be leaving Whately.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Moore. That’s sweet of you. And speaking of sweet, we brought you some cakes. Molly’s taken them to the kitchen.”
“You are far too generous, Miss Latimer.”
“Nonsense,” Miss Latimer replied, smiling. She moved toward the sofa, where Julian clambered about. He’d been forbidden to touch the floor. “I do hope this young fellow is recovering from his adventure.”
“Yes, thanks to Mr. Haverfield.” Deborah smiled again at him. “The doctor said he should stay off his feet, but as you see…” Normally her son was only too happy to spend all his time looking at books. Today, of all days, he wanted to go outside and crack the ice on the puddles.
“It is a lot to expect of a five-year-old.” Miss Latimer shook his hand. “Good afternoon, Master Moore.” Bashful, Julian muttered something that might have been a greeting.
Deborah gestured toward the room’s only upholstered chair, beside the fire. “Mr. Haverfield?” But Mr. Haverfield, smiling at Julian, sat down beside him on the sofa. Miss Latimer got the chair instead and commenced the usual small talk.