Bridal Favors (5 page)

JUSTIN ACCEPTED THE note card and read the elegant scrawl of his own hand. “Why, of course! You’re the owlet!”

“Excuse me?”

“The owlet!” he repeated exuberantly. “Broughton’s unexpected progeny. The little girl with the dowager’s manner. Ellie? Ivy?”

“Evelyn.”

He snapped his fingers. “That’s right. Evie.”

“Evelyn,” she corrected him. No one called her Evie, not even her family. She was the least Evie-like person in the world. Evies were demure, pretty, and shapely. She was . . . well, she wasn’t an Evie.

“Will you honor your note, Mr. Powell?” she asked, ignoring his nonsense.

He leaned back, his hands curling around the edge of the counter, and smiled cheerfully. “I say, has it occurred to you that your ‘request’ is remarkably like extortion?”

“A bit,” she admitted. “I’d hoped to be spared this—”

“
You’d
hoped to be spared?”

She contrived to look wounded. “You gave me no choice. You should have been gallant when you had the opportunity.”

“Forgive me.”

“Besides,” she said, “if I were you, I’d have expected something like this. I mean, a woman who would break into your house is likely at the end of her options, isn’t she?” She shook her head woefully. “Just look at what I’ve been forced to because of you.”

He laughed, surprising a grin out of her. She peeked over the top rim of her glasses in amused exasperation. Couldn’t he at least
pretend
to give her words credence?

“I take it you’re not filled with remorse?” she asked without much hope. “
Will
you help me, anyway? Please?”

For a long moment, he considered.

“All right, Evie, I’ll tell you what,” he finally said. “I’ll let your American have her party at my abbey. I’ll even allow you to transform the old place into whatever set piece you want—provided you cart away the props once the happy couple is united. But,” he added severely, pushing away from the counter and coming to stand directly over her, “there is one condition.”

“Anything! What?”

“I’ll be at the abbey.”

Evelyn face fell. “I can’t ask Mrs. Vandervoort to invite a stranger to her wedding!”

“Cheer up, Evie.” He chucked her under the chin, amazing her. No one chucked young ladies under their chins. And
most
certainly not her chin.

“I shouldn’t care to be invited,” he said. “Exceptionally dull affairs, weddings. Can’t see why anyone who can possibly avoid them doesn’t. No. I’m simply going to
be
at the abbey. Watching the migration of the,” he glanced at her, “the
Bubo Formosa Plurimus
.” He hesitated and added, “
Minor
.”

“
Bubo
what?” Evelyn asked. It sounded like Latin and the most Latin she knew was
amo
,
amas
,
amat
.

He pulled a professorial face. “You don’t know the
Bubo Formosa Plurimus, Minor
? Well, I can’t say that I’m surprised. It’s a very rare, exceptional little bird that I had the honor and great privilege of discovering when it flew into my window.”

“You’re an ornithologist?” Evelyn blurted out.

“An ardent enthusiast,” he said modestly. “Though I do claim some small expertise and in some circles might be regarded as an authority.” He turned his hand over and examined his nails.

Evelyn studied him suspiciously. It never occurred to her that a masher might have other activities besides, well,
mashing
. But, of course, there was nothing to say they couldn’t have outside interests. Well, well, one learned something every day.

“So you see,” he met her eye, “I’m afraid I must insist.”

Evelyn wavered. If nothing else, he was discreet—as proved by the absolute silence surrounding his affair with Mrs. Underhill. And having him on the premises might prove a spot of good luck, say, if some problem with the plumbing should arise. On the other hand, there would be a score of lovely, sophisticated women at the party, and a bunch of birds couldn’t hold his attention indefinitely.

“Mr. Powell. Can you promise not to—” She paused. How did one put this delicately?

“I assure you, I won’t be the least bit underfoot.”

She fidgeted. “That’s not exactly what I meant. You mustn’t . . .”

“Mustn’t what?”

She took a deep breath. “You mustn’t embark on any relationships during my tenancy.”

He regarded her blankly. She’d been too subtle.

“I mean you mustn’t use the abbey for any untoward purposes during the tenure of our contract.”

He looked completely mystified. “Pardon me?”

Gads!
She stared at him in embarrassment, utterly flustered. “Tryst, rendezvous, criminal converse, liaison! Whatever you call it—don’t have one while I’m at North Cross Abbey!” she blurted out. “I mean while
Mrs. Vandervoort
is there. I mean either of us!”

She’d startled him. His eyes widened and his body stiffened. Then, amazingly, he flushed. But that didn’t stop the lupine smile from curving his sensuous mouth, or the glint of unholy amusement that brightened his blue-green eyes.

“Well, that rather takes the fun out of things, doesn’t it?” he asked.

She felt an answering blush sweep up her throat. “You must promise.”

He regarded her with mock solemnity. “I swear. Besides, I am quite reformed. The only female I find fascinating these days is my little
Bubo
.”

She couldn’t explain why his words should give her any pleasure, but they did. If he really had reformed . . . She snatched her wayward thoughts from their present course. If he’d reformed that only meant one less possible thing about which to worry.

“Then we have a deal?”

“We do.”

She quite liked Justin Powell at that moment. Very much, in fact. Which surprised her. She normally didn’t care for rakish sorts. But then, he didn’t seem all that rakish. He smiled too often, for one thing, and he didn’t seem to smolder with anger or cynicism or any other dark, subterranean passions that the penny dreadfuls assured her women found irresistible.

In fact, he seemed arrestingly open. He reminded her more of Verity’s artless, self-assured son, Stanley, than of Lord Byron.

But, she thought, her mood darkening, maybe he simply didn’t want to waste a perfectly good smolder on her. Maybe he saved his smoldering for sophisticated ladies. Married ladies. Beautiful ladies.

She found the thought unaccountably disheartening, and was therefore surprised when his hand engulfed hers. Immediately, she became attuned to every aspect of him: the crisp brilliance of his rolled-up starched shirtsleeves in contrast to the tanned skin
of his forearms; the place where his razor had rasped the side of his throat; the noble dimensions of his nose; the firm curve of his lip; the slight cleft in his chin.

And he was large. Much larger than she. In a more forceful man, such height might even be daunting.

“Partners, then,” he said. She could not read his expression. His hand tightened, and she felt the tentative stirrings of—

“Mr. Powell! Sir!” A thin, dapper, middle-aged man in pinstriped trousers and a black cutaway coat burst through the swinging kitchen door. “Someone has smashed—”

The man pulled up short. Stared. Hissed. “You!” He took a step forward. Evelyn shrank back in her chair. Justin released her hand and turned to face the furious butler.

“Beverly,” Justin greeted him somberly. “Miss Whyte says you’ve been putting about the rumor that I’m not here. Is this true?”

Beverly’s skin turned magenta; even his scalp beneath his formidable comb-over looked purple.
“Thz mung yadee hazben mos perthitint.”

“Are those supposed to be words you’re spitting between your teeth, Beverly, you troublemaker?” Justin asked casually. “Because if they are, I’m afraid you’ll have to go a sight better at pronunciation. I swear I didn’t make out one single clear syllable. Did you, Evie?” He looked at her inquiringly.

Evie, wide-eyed at the spectacle of Beverly trying to regain his composure, shook her head mutely.

Justin turned his hand in her direction and smiled triumphantly at the butler. “See, Beverly? It isn’t just me who finds your mumblings incomprehensible. Now, have you or have you not been telling folks that I’m not here?”

Beverly shut his eyes. Took a deep breath through pinched, narrow nostrils. Released his breath in one long exhalation. Opened his eyes.

“Yes, sir. I am afraid I have. Sir.”

“Ah!” Justin said happily, rubbing his palms together and looking at Evelyn. “Now we’re getting somewhere. And why is that, Beverly?”

Beverly looked determinedly at a point above Evelyn’s head. “Whim, sir,” he clipped out.

One side of Justin’s mouth twitched irrepressibly before he looked back at Evelyn. “Told you he was a malicious dog, didn’t I?”

He returned his attention to the butler. “Well, you must stop these pranks, Beverly. It just won’t do, having people turned away from the front door and forced to break in through rear windows. Why, poor Evie here suffered a nasty gash because of your bit of tomfoolery—”

“It really isn’t all that bad,” Eve cut in timidly. “I can’t even feel the sting anymore.”

Justin smiled at her kindly before turning a scowl on Beverly. Evelyn almost felt sorry for the poor man, and had it not been for the metaphorical daggers he was hurling at her, she would have.

“You are very lucky Miss Evie is kindhearted, Beverly,” Justin said. “We shall let it pass this time. But no more of your loathsome pranks in the future. Do we understand each other?”

“Quite well, sir.”

“Good. Then you may go about your usual business. Oh! Drat. Nearly forgot. You may
not
go about your usual business—which is undoubtedly a good thing, you hooligan—you must make ready for us to go to North Cross Abbey.”

This won a startled glance from the butler. “North Cross Abbey, sir?”

Justin sighed. “Yes, yes. And why should you be regarding me as though I’d sprouted horns and a tail? Don’t we go to North Cross Abbey every year?”

“Yes, sir. I forgot. Sir.”

“We’ll be going a bit earlier is all. And, Beverly, make sure I have sufficient white shirts and evening attire. We’ll be having Knickerbockers at dinners. As well as Miss Evie.”

By now, the butler had completely regained his aplomb. He replied in perfectly neutral tones, “Knickerbockers. Very well, sir. Will that be all?”

“Yes. I think so.”

“Very good, sir.” Beverly bowed and took his leave. Justin and Evelyn watched him depart.

“It’s rather like having Puck as one’s butler,” Justin mused. “I never know what bit of mischief he’ll get up to.”

“He doesn’t look like an irrepressible prankster. He doesn’t look like he has any sense of humor at all,” Evelyn replied. “He looks like the quintessential butler. Or a particularly severe church deacon.”

“I know. That’s the devil of it. But you heard him. Brash as brass and twice as bold,” Justin said. “Honestly, I don’t know why I put up with him. Sentiment, I suppose. Beverly’s a legacy from my grandparent.”

“The one that didn’t like you?”

“Oh, no,” Justin said in surprise. “The one that did.”

“Ah,” Evelyn murmured, confounded.

Justin turned to her. “Now that you’ve accomplished your mission, I suspect you’d like to get home and out of those pants.”

Evelyn looked down. She’d forgotten about the ruined knickers. “Yes. I suppose.”

“Have you transportation, or should I have the carriage brought round?”

“No, thank you. I have already made arrangements. A hansom cab is waiting for me around the corner.”

“Foolish of me to ask. I should have realized you’d have all contingencies accounted for. Now, then . . .”

Before she realized what he was about, he’d plucked her from the chair and was heading out the kitchen door toward the front door. He couldn’t . . . He wouldn’t . . . Hadn’t she just been thinking she could trust his discretion?

“You can’t carry me out your front door in the middle of the day and drop me on the sidewalk!”

“I wasn’t going to.” He sounded offended. “I was going to carry you to your cab.”

“That’s worse!” she exclaimed, drawing a confused look from him. Good heavens, one would think he’d no idea how one got rid of a female visitor without being seen!

“I can’t be seen in public looking like this, Mr. Powell. One leg of my pants is missing—and heaven knows, no respectable woman wears pants to begin with—”

“You look very nice in them,” he said.

She perked up at that. She didn’t think they looked so awfully bad, either. “Thank you. They’re ever so comfortable, too, and—”
What was she thinking?
They were drawing perilously near the front door and he still showed no signs of releasing her. “That’s beside the point! I shouldn’t be wearing them and you know it. Just as you know you can’t be seen carrying me out of your house, and
no,
” she answered his expression as clearly as if he’d spoken out loud, “it would not be better if you waited and carried me out tonight.”

“But you’re injured,” Justin retorted, his arms tightening as though someone were about to snatch her from him. Which was a completely thrilling and unrealistic conjecture. “Surely allowances can be made?”

How was she going to make him understand? Lord, one would mistake his manner for naïveté, if it weren’t so ludicrous. “No, no allowances can be made.”

His jaw, just level with her eyes, bunched with irritation. “Stupid.”

Her heart softened. “Please, don’t castigate yourself. I am sure you meant well.”

“Not
me,
” he replied with some heat. “Society.”

She should have known. Casual and relaxed he might be, but there was no lack of pride in Mr. Justin Powell.

“Be that as it may, ‘rules is rules,’ as
my
grandfather used to say. Kindly meant as your impulses undoubtedly are, you will be doing me a great disservice if you refuse to allow me to sneak out the back of your house and up the alley. Alone.”

He frowned. “But—”

“Please put me down,” she cut him off severely.

Reluctantly, he lowered her to her feet. She stood looking up at him. Should she offer to shake his hand again? Yes, that seemed right. She thrust out her hand.