“Did you see your mother?”
“No. My father thought tomorrow would be soon enough. Deborah, we need—”
“Is he very angry with you?”
“Yes. But he understands it, I think. We need to talk.”
“Oh, Evan. We’ve been through all the arguments before. I just don’t think I can do it.”
“There are new facts in the case. I won’t touch you, Deborah. Let me come in.”
She did, reluctantly, and sat down at the dressing table, her back to the mirror. He eyed the chestnut hair flowing down her back and wanted her.
He turned away and told her about the loss of their house. He presented it as his father’s request rather than an ultimatum and made much of the advantages his father had pointed out.
Unfortunately, those advantages accrued more to the benefit of Northridge and less to Deborah.
“And I wouldn’t expect to spend all of our time here in any case. We can travel, we can spend days or weeks or months wherever we please.” He turned back to her as he finished speaking.
Her lips were pressed together, her hands clasped tight in her lap. “And you agreed to this?”
“Surely you know I would not commit to such a thing without your approval, sweetheart. If you leave me, it’s moot in any case.” She was silent. “I did not have to tell you, Deborah. Theo advised against it.”
She snorted. “That seems in character.” She rose and walked to the door. “I thank you for disregarding his advice. Now if you’ll please leave me to—”
“Just one more thing. I don’t know if I’ve said… do you know how much I love you? I cannot imagine life without you. And I won’t give you up easily. You’ll have to go a lot farther than Whately if you want to get away from me. Japan might do, perhaps, if they’ll let you in—I believe they’re very restrictive. But I don’t think Julian would much like it there. And the voyage would be very hard on your mother.”
If he’d hoped to lighten the mood, he failed dismally. Being honest with himself, as he’d been with her, he supposed that had not been his intent. He could have spoken the words lightly—had
meant
to do so!—except that he was so damnably frustrated. Strange to think that six months ago he had been appalled at the thought of marriage. Now the only thing he could think about was getting the knot tied, binding her safe to his side.
He went to his own room and rang for a bottle of brandy—he had no desire for another chat with his brothers—but left it untouched. The night stretched out before him, troubled and unfriendly. He should have taken himself off for a long walk through the darkness, but having now stripped down to shirt and breeches, he could not summon the will to put even his boots on again. So he went for a long walk round and round his room instead, pausing now and then to drag a hand through his hair and look out the windows at things he could not see.
The hall clock struck midnight, and finally Evan broached the brandy. Someone knocked softly at his door. He figured it would be one of his sisters… No, with the injury to Elizabeth’s ankle, she would send Philip.
He could pretend to be asleep. But what if it were something important, about his mother…
He strode to the door and pulled it open.
Deborah cast a quick glance back down the dark hallway to make sure she was unobserved. “I was afraid you might be sleeping.” She looked very pale; he thought she’d been crying.
“You’re joking.” He closed the door softly. When he turned back to her, she walked straight into him and clung to his shirt, her hands like ice through the fine linen. She wore a dressing gown over her nightdress, but both were designed to be alluring—at which they succeeded admirably—rather than warm, and her feet were bare. His arms closed around her with no prompting from his brain.
“Why are you so cold? Come over to the fire.” He released her reluctantly, half afraid she might disappear while he stirred up the coals. But she was there, nervously fingering the ribbons on her dressing gown. “Don’t move,” he adjured her and slipped into his dressing room.
She did not move except to turn around so she could watch him, her eyes dark and unreadable in that pale face. He knelt in front of her and held a heavy woolen stocking in readiness for one foot.
“Oh no, that’s not necessary!” she objected.
“Humor me.”
Embarrassed, she rested her hands on his shoulders for balance and lifted a foot. He rolled the stocking over her heel and pushed it gently up her calf. It came nearly to her knee. Sliding on the second one, he succumbed to the temptation of rubbing the back of that knee with his fingers in a brief caress and was gratified by a responsive quiver of surprise and—he was almost sure—pleasure.
“You know, my love,” he said, looking up and taking her hands, “perhaps while I’m down here I should just start over.”
“What do you mean?”
He kissed one hand and then the other. “Deborah, will you marry me?”
“Oh, do get up!”
“But you’ve given me no answer.”
She looked at him somberly for a moment, and then she, too, went down on her knees. “Evan—Are you quite certain that’s what you want?”
“I can’t believe you’re asking me that!”
“I promise I’ll never ask you again, but—”
“You should never make a promise you can’t keep.” He tried to quell the tremor of amusement in his voice.
She frowned and shifted her gaze to his chest for a moment. “I promise to
try
not to ask you again.”
“In that case… Yes, I am
quite
sure.” He placed her hands on his shoulders and his own at her waist. “What sort of pledge would you like?” Even in the dim light, he could see that she blushed. The candlelight sparkled in a tear that slid down her cheek. He kissed it softly.
“I still haven’t said yes.”
“You said yes weeks ago.”
“So you get to start over, but I do not?”
His hands slipped inside her dressing gown and down to her hips, not six inches from his. “Only if you give the right answer,” he replied roughly.
She rested her fingertips beside his mouth. “Poor Evan. I haven’t made it easy for you, have I?”
“You have not. Unfortunately for my peace of mind, that has had no effect whatsoever on the way I feel about you.” His knees moved those few precious inches until their bodies touched from knee to lip. Suddenly the three thin layers between his skin and hers seemed intolerable.
Forcing himself to move slowly, he untied the silken ribbons that fastened her dressing gown and pushed it off her shoulders and down her arms till it slithered to the floor behind her. Lightly, he traced the low neckline of her nightdress. She shivered.
“Are you still cold?” he murmured.
“Oh no.” With one hand, she touched the hollow of his throat. Then she slid her fingers under the collar of his shirt.
Minutes passed in increasing delirium. Nightdress followed dressing gown to the floor, and Evan had just pulled his shirt off over his head when another tap sounded on the door. Evan groaned and Deborah’s eyes opened wide, disoriented and dismayed at the possibility of discovery. She started to say something, but Evan put his finger on her lips and wiggled his eyebrows at her.
“I must answer it; it could be something about Mama.” He stood up and dropped his shirt into her arms. She clutched it tight.
“Sorry to disturb you,” Philip said softly. “Saw light through the keyhole…”
“Do you often go peering through keyholes?”
“Didn’t have to do any peering. Just thought I’d pass on an idea of Lizzy’s. Make living at Northridge more palatable, you know.”
“I appreciate the thought. But your timing is—um—awkward.” A sound from inside the room brought Philip’s head up. It sounded to Evan like Deborah had bumped into something.
“Aha! Cerberus is guarding something!”
Evan shook his head. “Not Cerberus. Must be Saint Peter. Because this is definitely Heaven.”
Philip grinned. “Told Lizzy months ago you didn’t need any help from her. But it really is a diverting idea. A cottage somewhere nearby, where you can escape for—er,
tête-a-têtes
…”
“Philip?” Evan pushed him gently away from the narrow breach between door and jamb. “Go away.”
Philip chuckled. “Tally-ho, then.”
Deborah had moved into a chair; easier on the knees, without a doubt. She still held his shirt over her nakedness. Since she had not dressed, presumably she was not planning to leave him to his cold bed.
“Just Philip. Don’t think anyone’s getting much sleep tonight.” He rummaged in a pocket of his coat that hung over a chair and pulled out a handkerchief. This he stuffed into the keyhole. “Maybe the next intruder will think I’m asleep.”
“Is there no key?”
“No, it’s been lost for years. But I think we’ll have to rectify that.” He sauntered over to her. “Did you hurt yourself?”
“Just bruised my ankle a little.”
“Shall I kiss it?”
“No.” She reached for him and began to unbutton his breeches. ’
Tis Heaven indeed
, he thought.
It was the most cogent thought he had for quite some time.
As she completed her preparations, Deborah’s mind ran back to the last ball she had dressed for in Whately.
Was it only two months ago?
Some things had not changed. The trepidation that gazed out of the mirror at her looked much the same, though it felt subtly different. Elizabeth was with her again, and again she had set Francine, her dresser, to the task of arranging Deborah’s hair. Every other circumstance was different.
In place of the unlamented peach silk was a gown of deep dusky blue, perfectly fitted and styled to suit her.
Her mother was there, and Julian, giggling as the funny curls were released from confinement and his mama was transformed into a lady of fashion.
There, too, was Bethan, the shy young under-housemaid Deborah had adopted. Evan had fully expected to hire an expensive dresser to take care of his wife and her wardrobe, but she wanted no part of that. She was comfortable with Bethan, which Deborah considered crucial, having discovered just how often Society women changed their clothes. And the girl quite worshipped her new mistress, which Deborah could not account for at all. Eager in her new trade, she had already spent time with Francine and with Mrs. Haverfield’s Richards, learning all she could about hair, and the care of fabrics, and fashions and colors. But she had natural good taste and a sense of style all her own.
Then there was the exciting, frightening, ineluctable fact that tomorrow was her wedding day. What she had ever done to deserve a man like Evan was a mystery to her, and he was no help in solving the riddle. He just shook his head and chuckled. If pressed, he would say that love and merit had nothing at all to do with one another, and it was a silly question in any case because they deserved each other, for better or worse. She thought it was a joke, but she could get nothing more from him but kisses, which inclined her to forget all about it.
This time, he
would
be waiting for her at the foot of the staircase, handsome in evening dress. And she would waltz with him again, though the surroundings would bear no comparison. Whatever her wishes in the matter, this time there would be no tripping over the furniture in her dark little parlor. This time they would dance under the brilliance of the chandeliers, surrounded by hundreds of people in full regalia.
Northridge had been teeming all week. There were aunts and uncles, cousins and others in residence, plus friends who were putting up in the vicinity but came to the house for picnic breakfasts, boating parties on the lake, rambles about the grounds, and of course, for dinner and long evenings of stilted conversation, musical offerings, and cards.
It was a frenetic and formidable week for Deborah with hardly a let-up from the time she woke up in the morning until she climbed gratefully into her bed near midnight or beyond. The nursery was too full of children to qualify as a refuge, even if she had found time to go there, and Bethan was sleeping on a trundle bed in her room, so she had hardly a moment alone.
Evan complained about the crush, but at least he knew everyone. Deborah knew only the family and a few of the neighbors like Melanie Littleton, whom Evan had been supposed to marry but who was nevertheless impossible to dislike.
So few familiar faces among such a crowd!
Yet she could have none of the comforts of anonymity, for she was Haverfield’s Bride, and everyone must have their pound of flesh. Had they not been setting out for the Lakes on the day following the wedding—just the two of them, plus Grady and Bethan—she must have run mad. Evan delivered her to her bedchamber each night with words of love and praise, and her mother came in each morning to count down the remaining days of torture and talk her into getting out of bed.
Fortunately Deborah had nothing to do with the arrangements for the week. The countess had taken over Mrs. Haverfield’s responsibilities with aplomb and astonishing efficiency, leaving the older woman to do only what she most wanted to do, what would cause her the least anxiety, all under the watchful guardianship of her husband or children. She spent most of the time in her rooms, often attended by a select group of family and friends. Amidst the assembled multitude, sometimes she knew Deborah and sometimes she did not—with one look into her eyes Deborah knew which times were which—but there were no more distressing incidents.
Indeed, on this evening she knocked at Deborah’s door and offered not only compliments on the gown but best wishes and a cool kiss on the cheek as well. The room seemed to hold its breath, releasing it with a sigh as she departed.
Not many minutes later another knock sounded, and again Elizabeth went to answer it. “I was about to give you up,” she said to whoever was outside, but that was all Deborah could hear of the muffled conversation. When she returned to Deborah’s side, she held out a jeweler’s box.
Perturbed, Deborah looked from the box to the bearer. “What is it?”
“Open it, goose,” Elizabeth said fondly. “I don’t think it will bite.”
Deborah took it reluctantly and lifted the lid. A note was tucked inside that said merely
Tomorrow! E.
Removing this with reverence, she sat looking at the necklace and earrings that glistened underneath. They were the most gorgeous things she had ever seen, gold and amber and a few perfect pearls. She burst into tears, and the ladies of her court burst into action.