Miss Dower's Paragon (18 page)

Mr. Hawkins and Lord Waithe were also present, and they had at once risen at the ladies’ entrance. Mr. Hawkins greeted the Dowers with every appearance of pleasure, though his attentions toward the ladies were not as marked as those of the viscount.

Lord Waithe made his polite bow to Mrs. Dower, then eagerly turned, smiling, to Evelyn. He said quietly, “I had no notion until a moment ago that you and your mother would be taking luncheon here as well. The occasion has become quite special in light of your appearance.”

Evelyn smiled up into his admiring eyes as she gently withdrew her fingers from his warm clasp. “You will spoil me with compliments, my lord.”

“That I could never do,” Lord Waithe assured her. “I am constantly aware of how little justice I have done you. It would take a lifetime to express myself adequately.”

Evelyn realized that the viscount’s singular attention had caused them to become the center of attention. Her mother’s eyes were as large as saucers; she hoped that lady would not leap in with an embarrassing observation. Lord Hughes gave the appearance of condescending amusement, while Lady Pomerancy’s expression could only be described as cross. Evelyn dared a fleeting glance at Mr. Hawkins, but she could not read anything in that gentleman’s polite visage.

Evelyn could not imagine what could have gotten into Lord Waithe to behave with such little propriety. She had to stem his ardency, which bordered perilously close to a declaration, before they were both overcome with humiliation. “Lord Waithe, pray—”

She had thrown out her hand as if to hold him away, but the viscount apparently misinterpreted her gesture, for he caught up her hand. He pressed her fingers. “Miss Dower, I—”

As Lord Waithe began to speak, Mr. Hawkins made an abrupt move, then stilled.
His wide shoulders were tense, his face seemingly carved from stone. He did not notice that he came under the inscrutable eyes of his great-uncle.

“Pray do leave off, Percy. One should never indulge in a diet of sweets. It utterly destroys appreciation for decent fare. My appetite is quite off as it is,” said Lady Pomerancy in a testy voice.

Abashed, Lord Waithe dropped Evelyn’s hand, much to her relief. He turned to bow apology to her ladyship. With a charming smile, he said, “My pardon, ma’am. I forgot myself for a moment. I shall be bound by your wishes, of course.”

Lady Pomerancy snorted and waved at him. “Yes, and butter would not melt in your mouth, either, I suppose. You were always a honey-tongued rogue. Peter, I think that we may go in to luncheon now.”

Mr. Hawkins gestured to the footman waiting beside the open door. The servant nodded and came forward to push Lady Pomerancy’s chair. Lady Pomerancy ran a swift eye over the company. “Fortunately enough, our numbers are even. We shall not have any awkward juggling of places. One could not have planned it any better.”

Evelyn warily accepted Lord Waithe’s escort, casting up a glance at his countenance to see whether he was going to continue in his fulsome manner. Lord Waithe merely smiled at her, and she was reassured that his lordship meant to keep close to his word to Lady Pomerancy. Evelyn could not but be grateful for it, especially when she had the oddest feeling that
Mr. Hawkins was closely observing them.

“Oh, is Sir Charles not going to join us?” asked Mrs. Dower, accepting the hand that Lord Hughes offered. She looked about in a vaguely hopeful fashion, as though to catch that gentleman suddenly materializing.

At her mother’s words, Evelyn looked around quickly. She had been wondering at Sir Charles’s absence but had not wanted to draw further attention to herself by asking after him. She was for once glad of her mother’s own lamentable lack of social inhibition.

“Sir Charles had a previous engagement, I believe,” said Mr. Hawkins. He was looking at Miss Dower as he spoke, or otherwise he would not have seen the flicker of disappointment in her eyes. He felt a surprising flash of irritation, which he kept well hidden.

He was fairly certain that no one else had noticed anything, for Miss Dower’s expression did not betray anything more than polite interest. For himself, however, what he had seen was but one more warning that he must somehow turn Miss Dower’s interest. If she never perceived him in any other light than that of the spurned suitor, but continued to treat him with the same degree of cool friendliness, he thought that he could very well lose her to someone else.

It had been a near-run thing but a moment ago, he thought grimly. If it had not been for his grandmother’s irascible interruption he believed that Lord Waithe might have actually declared himself before them all. Whatever Miss Dower’s reaction might have been, it would have created immense difficulty for himself.

He could not afford to wait any longer on patience and hope.

But Miss Dower still did not regard him as he most fervently desired to be seen.

His dilemma demanded action. Though he had no notion as yet how he was to take Sir Charles’s place in Miss Dower’s affections, he thought he knew how to make a dent in the ranks of her other admirers. For an instant, Mr. Hawkins’s glance rested almost regretfully upon his cousin, Lord Waithe. He knew the viscount so well, both his admirable qualities and his weaknesses. What had occurred to Mr. Hawkins the previous evening to do was simple, almost laughably so, but with any luck at all it would be most effective. He needed only to choose the proper moment, he thought.

The party passed out of the drawing room to the luncheon room. Lady Pomerancy was wheeled to the bottom of the table, while Mr. Hawkins claimed the head, and the rest found their preferred places.

“It is so odd that Sir Charles is not here. I am so used to seeing the three gentlemen together that it throws me quite off balance when one is missing,” remarked Mrs. Dower as she was seated by Lord Hughes.

Lady Pomerancy snorted again. “You are of delicate sensibilities, Mrs. Dower.”

Lord Hughes’s smile was even. His eyes were very hard as he looked over at his sister. “Mrs. Dower is indeed a lady of sensibility, Agatha. I, however, as I am certain you are particularly aware, possess not the least measure of that virtue. Quite the contrary. I have been known to issue quite cutting remarks.”

Lady Pomerancy’s brows arched, a telltale indication of her astonishment. Her glance passed from her brother to the lady that he had chosen to seat himself beside. “I am certain that you malign yourself, Horace,” she said softly. She uttered nothing of her thoughts as she continued to regard Mrs. Dower, though there could be seen ripe speculation in her eyes.

Luncheon was served, and for several moments thereafter conversation was taken up with appreciation for the excellence of the repast.

Mr. Hawkins finally introduced the topic that he hoped would be the catalyst in weaning his cousin of his infatuation with Miss Dowers. “I suppose that you, like the rest of us, must be awaiting the race between Sir Charles and Ned Woodthorpe with great anticipation, Miss Dower.”

Evelyn looked over at him coolly, instantly aware that he was baiting her. However, she could not conceive of his motive for doing so, and the blandness of his expression did not present a clue.

It hardly seemed credible that the correct Mr. Hawkins would deliberately set about putting a lady to the blush. He had made it so patent that he had known how piqued she had been over the origination of that race, so that she was now in the position of having to pass off a polite fib or admit to her true feelings. Either choice must cause discomfort for her; if she said everything that was polite, he, at least, would know that she had told less than the truth; but if she revealed her disaffection with the race, she could inadvertently touch match to just the sort of sporting discussion that she had discovered she most detested.

Evelyn set her chin, determined that Mr. Hawkins would be disappointed in his ploy. He expected her to swallow, or, at the least, water down, her opinion. However, she would prove that she had the backbone of her convictions.
She
was not to be so easily put out of countenance. In a repressive voice, she said, “You know well that I am not, sir. I think it a boring matter in the extreme.”

Lord Waithe’s hand and fork stopped in midair and abruptly dropped to his plate as he exclaimed, “I say! Surely you jest, Miss Dower. Why, it is to be a splendid contest!”

Evelyn shook her head, her icy expression easing into a laugh as she turned her warming glance on the viscount. “I fear not to me, my lord. I have never cared overmuch for such sporting events, nor even very much for horses. It is odd in me, I know, but there it is.”

Lord Waithe’s mouth opened and closed. He gaped at Miss Dower with an expression of utmost astonishment. “You do not care for horses?”

“Evelyn is frightened of the beasts, you see, which is perfectly understandable when one considers how close she came to being killed by that awful toss she took last year,” said Mrs. Dower. She shuddered. “I do not particularly like horses myself now.”

“Oh! Well, I do see. Of course I do. Perfectly understandable,” said Lord Waithe, awash but manfully attempting to uphold civility despite his shock that anyone could lay claim to such an unnatural attitude. He had taken more falls than he cared to remember, and some devilishly serious to boot, but none had ever served to turn him from his beloved horses.

Lord Waithe was hideously surprised that Miss Dower could harbor such an opinion about sporting events and, most particularly, about horses. He was himself an enthusiast regarding anything having to do with equines and in fact his close-held ambition was to one day retire to his father’s expansive country estate and breed steeplechasers. One did not wish for the old gentleman’s demise, of course, especially when his lordship was still a hale fellow at threescore; but it could not be denied that his own place would not support the bloodline that he had always envisioned building up.

In recent months, there had been a vague feminine image accompanying him in his imaginings, that of his chosen lady who would encourage and aid him in attaining his goal. Since meeting Miss Dower, the viscount’s vision of what he thought of as his lady had taken on her face and figure.

Now as Lord Waithe glanced at Miss Dower with troubled eyes, he saw her for the first time without the gilding of his assumptions. She was still one of the loveliest ladies and possibly one of the kindest that he had ever known, yet he felt the hopes of his heart crumbling slowly into disillusion. He had taken for granted that Miss Dower would be everything that he had envisioned and that she would enter wholeheartedly into his ambitions. It was distressing to discover that the lady one had intended to offer for was not at all as perfect as one had thought.

At that instant, Lord Waithe realized that he no longer meant to press his suit with Miss Dower. He had fallen out of love in scarce than a heartbeat. “A singularly lowering reflection,” he murmured under his breath, disliking his own flits of affection. His wayward nature had caused him pain in the past and he was grown rather weary of the temporariness of his own emotions.

Evelyn realized that her declaration had for some reason proven upsetting to Lord Waithe. She smiled apologetically at him. “I do hope I have not given you a disgust in me, my lord, for I know that you are quite smitten by our four-legged friends. They are very beautiful, of course.”

“Yes, yes, they are,” said Lord Waithe, at once feeling the inanity of his reply. He managed to summon up his usual smile, though there was a shadow in the depths of his eyes. “I have suffered no disgust, as you put it, Miss Dower. It—it merely caught me by surprise. However, I shall manfully accept that one of my acquaintance does not share my own inordinate interest.”

There was such a note of amazement in his voice that Evelyn laughed. Her eyes gleaming with a rueful light, she said, “I am quite pea-brained, in fact. Thank you, my lord, for that salutary set-down.”

Lord Waithe was for once bereft of a polite word. He could not think how he had come to deliver a set-down, but that he had done so could not be denied in the face of the lady’s amusement.

“A well-deserved one, I might add,” said Mr. Hawkins, coming to his cousin’s rescue. He said lightly, “I must inform you, Miss Dower, that your disinterest in this area of masculine obsession is quite, quite beyond the pale.”

Evelyn eyed Mr. Hawkins a moment, wondering at his about-face, before she responded to his bantering tone. “I am cast down, then, indeed, Mr. Hawkins. However, it is my guarded opinion that I shall come about, for I am not one to fall easily into a decline.”

“No, I am certain that you are not. Fortitude is an admirable quality,” said Mr. Hawkins. He smiled slightly. “I suspect that you will be required to call upon your reserves many times over before this race becomes past history.”

Evelyn laughed outright at that. “Indeed, sir! I fear that you are quite correct. In light of my coming trial, do, pray, take pity on me at least for today and introduce a decidedly different topic.”

“Your wish is naturally my command,” said Mr. Hawkins.

For the remainder of luncheon, neither the race, and by extension, Sir Charles, was discussed. Mr. Hawkins endeavored to direct the conversation into channels best calculated to capture Mrs. Dower’s interest and succeeded so well that Mrs. Dower forgot her nervous awareness of Lady Pomerancy and chatted away with all at the table.

When it came time for the Dower ladies to take their leave, Mrs. Dower was able to say to Lady Pomerancy with perfect truth that she had thoroughly enjoyed herself. Lady Pomerancy was apparently so gratified by this observation that she was made speechless and in the carriage Mrs. Dower remarked, “Her ladyship is not half as frightening when one comes to be better acquainted with her. Of course, Lord Hughes’s presence made me feel at once at ease.”

“I am glad. Mama,” said Evelyn, laughing a little.

“I was quite certain that Lord Waithe meant to offer for you.”

Evelyn glanced quickly at her parent. “But he did not, nor do I wish him to do so.”

Mrs. Dower shook her head, her expression regretful. “A pity. He is such a nice young gentleman. However, I shall not press the point, for there is still Mr. Hawkins.”