Miss Dower's Paragon (22 page)

“Of course,” said Mr. Hawkins, his expression as polite as ever. Mr. Fiddle pronounced himself quite ready to be of service to the ladies. Mr. Hawkins and the excellent Mr. Fiddle left the ladies in adjoining chairs to fan themselves.

Miss Sparrow leaned toward Evelyn, her hand up before her mouth. “My dear, has Mr. Hawkins said anything to you?”

Evelyn stared at her friend in surprise. “Whatever should he say to me, Abigail?”

“Oh, you can be so frustrating, Evelyn. You must know what I am referring to. Why, it is quite obvious to the dullest intelligence that Mr. Hawkins is smitten with you,” said Miss Sparrow.

Evelyn felt heat rising in her face. “Mr. Hawkins is one of several admirers, Abigail. I do not think—”

“Pray do not think to put me off, Evelyn! I shan’t be diverted, I promise you.” Miss Sparrow regarded Evelyn’s rising brows with a sigh. “You may as well divulge it all to me, for at least I am your friend, and not like some others I could mention who have expressed their scarcely concealed curiosity to me.”

Evelyn was taken aback. “What are you talking about, Abigail?”

Miss Sparrow had the grace to look abashed. “I do not gossip, truly I do not, but one cannot help hearing what others say to one. And of late ... I do wish you would rid yourself of that frown, Evelyn. It is not so very bad, after all. It is merely being said that Mr. Hawkins is being particularly attentive to you, and I think it is quite true. He does not waltz with anyone else, and he has not done so since he arrived in Bath. Then you were seen with him at Ned Woodthorpe’s race. I know that your maid was with you, but still it appeared to some to be an indication. And the way he has of quietly discouraging some of the other gentlemen has made
me
wonder whether—I
am
sorry if I have trespassed, Evelyn.”

Evelyn looked away from Miss Sparrow’s anxious look. “Oh no, I am glad you have told me. I had no notion that my name had become linked so closely with Mr. Hawkins.” She swung around again, her eyes quite bright—but with what emotion Miss Sparrow could not have said. “Did you say that Mr. Hawkins has been discouraging some of my admirers?”

Miss Sparrow now wished that she had never said a word. “Not precisely discouraged. I should not have said that. I-it is only that I have observed on one or two occasions that Mr. Hawkins has—has intercepted a gentleman and spoken quite civilly to him. Then it would strike me a few evenings later that the gentleman would no longer be in attendance on you.”

Miss Sparrow most definitely recognized the expression that now narrowed her friend’s eyes. She said hastily, “It is nothing but conjecture, Evelyn, truly. I do have an active imagination, you know that I do.”

“So, apparently, do those others you spoke of, Abigail,” said Evelyn evenly. She saw that her friend was quite distressed at the reception of her disclosures. Evelyn smiled brightly. “Do not concern yourself, Abigail. Of course you were right to alert me to the gossip. Now I may be more circumspect in my dealings with Mr. Hawkins.”

The gentlemen returned with lemonades, and Miss Sparrow accepted hers with an air of relief. The two couples spent a few minutes in idle conversation, and all the while Evelyn held on to her smouldering temper.

She knew that Mr. Hawkins’s gaze rested thoughtfully upon her several times, but she gave no indication of it. She spoke animatedly and laughed with a naturalness that surprised her and which she knew must cloak her true feelings. She did not know that the overbrightness of her eyes gave her away.

The orchestra struck up again, indicating the short intermission was over. At once, Evelyn was approached by Viscount Waithe, who bowed to her in solicitation of her hand. “Of course, my lord. I would be delighted,” said Evelyn warmly, and promptly moved off with him, her head held high.

Mr. Hawkins stared after the lady, his expression unreadable. He had perceived almost the instant that he had come back with Miss Dower’s lemonade that she was in a towering temper. He wondered why it appeared to be directed at him, for he had not been behind in absorbing her slitted glances when she had thought he would not notice. Mr. Hawkins turned his head to regard Miss Sparrow.

That lady, with a prudent regard for her own self-preservation, had risen hastily and importuned her betrothed to take her out onto the floor. “For it is above all my favorite dance,” she said.

“But I thought the quadrille was your favorite,” said Mr. Fiddle.

Miss Sparrow cast a rather hunted look at Mr. Hawkins’s sardonic expression. “Oh, what does it matter which is my favorite, Mr. Fiddle, when I am able to dance with you.” Much gratified, Mr. Fiddle proudly led off his wonderful lady.

Mr. Hawkins was left behind with his speculations about what Miss Sparrow could possibly have said to Miss Dower concerning him. This business of courting the lady of his choice was utterly fatiguing. One moment he seemed to be making progress and the next moment he had lost every inch of ground.

Mr. Hawkins’s eyes fell on the empty glasses left by the ladies chairs. Lemonade was not precisely what he had in mind, he thought grimly. Turning on his heel, he went in search of a refreshment that was a bit stronger.

As soon as the viscount and Evelyn reached the floor, her store of witty chatter disappeared. She danced silently, almost absently. Viscount Waithe attempted several conversational gambits, to which she made answer in monosyllables or not at all.

Viscount Waithe had noticed how his cousin’s eyes had followed him and Miss Dower onto the floor, and it slowly dawned on him that there could have been something more in that than casual observation. The viscount was not used to being ignored so thoroughly, and for the sake of his own ego he finally decided to press the issue. “Miss Dower, have you and Peter had a falling out?”

Evelyn raised her eyes quickly, shocked.

Viscount Waithe was startled by her response. He had not actually thought it was true, but now as he looked down into Miss Dower’s face he was utterly certain that it had been so. He said earnestly, “You mustn’t believe everything that is said, ma’am. I assure you that Peter is as near to being a saint as it is possible for a mere mortal to be. He would never do anything to cause the least pain to anyone.”

Evelyn’s eyes fell. “I know that. Mr. Hawkins is the perfect gentleman.”

The viscount was at something of a standstill. He could not imagine what could have put such an expression into the lady’s eyes if it had not been an argument of some son. However, it couldn’t have been a quarrel, or otherwise Miss Dower would not have asserted so calmly that she agreed with him about his cousin.

“I am useless at this, I am afraid,” said Viscount Waithe. He caught Miss Dower’s glance and held it with the appeal of his charming smile. “Won’t you confide in me? Are we not good enough friends for you to do so?”

Evelyn hesitated, torn by her inclination to do just that and her pride, which would not admit anyone to the humiliation that she felt. She finally shook her head and with a wavering smile said, “Thank you, my lord, but I think it would be best if I did not say anything to you. It—it is something rather lowering to my self-esteem, you see, and I would prefer to work it out for myself.”

With blinding clarity, Viscount Waithe thought he knew the cause of her despondency. She was obviously in love with his cousin and had shown it to Peter, either through word or glance, and had been rebuffed.

The viscount saw it all. He had always been aware of the polite barrier that his cousin held between himself and the world. He counted himself fortunate that he was one of the few people that Peter had let come close. Lady Pomerancy and Sir Charles were two others who shared that intimacy, but Viscount Waithe suspected that there were very few others. His cousin was well liked and pleasant and had a wealth of acquaintances, even some who believed themselves to be close friends, but Viscount Waithe did not think that Peter himself thought of more than a dozen or so individuals as true friends.

Miss Dower was apparently not one of those individuals.

Not very long past, Viscount Waithe had thought himself to be deeply in love with Miss Dower. Enough of those feelings remained, though more in the guise of warm friendship, than he had anticipated, and her obvious distress pained him. “Miss Dower, if there is anything that I can do, anything at all, pray call upon me,” he said.

Evelyn was touched and astonished by his sincere offer. “Thank you, my lord. I shall remember that.” She smiled up at him, determined to make up for her lack of manners. “I noticed earlier that you were seated with my friend, Miss Woodthorpe. I suppose that she has told you about the perfectly stunning hunter that she bought last spring?”

Viscount Waithe smiled, admiring Miss Dower’s strength of spirit. He knew well that she had no interest whatsoever in hunters, but he was willing to allow her to lead him into safer conversational waters. For the rest of the dance, they chatted amiably on several topics. When the music ceased and Viscount Waithe returned her to her chair, he was able to leave her with some feeling of having done some good toward repairing her lowness of spirits.

Evelyn found that the next set on her card was reserved for Sir Charles. Surprisingly enough, when she read the gentleman’s name it caused hardly a flutter. Her thoughts had reverted to what she had learned about Mr. Hawkins.

Sir Charles presented himself. His dark gaze was deliberately appreciative of her appearance. “You are lovely as always, Miss Dower. I would have rushed to your side before now if I had been able to push my way through the admiring press, but alas, one must be fair to one’s competitors.”

Evelyn bestowed a smile upon the gentleman as she gave her hand to him. “What nonsense, sir. I hope that I know better than that.”

Sir Charles was somewhat taken aback by her lack of blushes at his exquisite periods, but he recovered almost at once. Lowering his voice, he asked, “I hope that you received my humble billet?”

Evelyn nodded, and the smile that entered her eyes went far toward alleviating his slight sense of pique. “Yes, and I truly thank you. Your poetry is wonderfully romantic. What lady could possibly resist such soulful sensitivity?”

“My fairest lady, I had not dared to hope that you would perceive me half so well,” he said, smiling down into her unusual eyes. Really, she had the most beguiling eyes, like molten gold, he thought.

She was saying something to him, a question of some sort. Still entranced by his thoughts, he replied absently, “Of course, lovely lady. How could one withstand the pleading of such brilliant jewels? Miss Dower, have I told you that your eyes are—”

“Oh thank you. Sir Charles!”

Her exclamation shook him out of his reverie.

“I really did not think that you would agree, sir,” said Evelyn confidingly. “For I do understand that your horses are your greatest pleasure. I promise you that I shall be very attentive to all you say.”

Evelyn laughed, quite unperceiving of his startlement. “I shall be the envy of all my friends when I tell them that you have agreed to teach me to drive.”

“What?”

Evelyn looked at him, surprised. Sir Charles was staring at her with a most peculiar expression on his face. “Oh, forgive me. My enthusiasm has quite gotten the better of me, has it not? It does not have to be at that early an hour, of course. I had forgotten that gentlemen sometimes prefer not to go out before luncheon. Will three o’clock tomorrow do instead?”

For once Sir Charles’s famed urbanity appeared to have deserted him. “Miss Dower, I—”

The set ended, and as Evelyn stepped back, a young gentleman appeared at her shoulder. Evelyn welcomed his arrival with a quick smile. “Mr. Sanders! Sir Charles, let me make known to you Mr. Sanders.”

The gentlemen exchanged polite pleasantries. Mr. Sanders reminded Miss Dower that she was promised to him for the country dance that was starting up. She agreed and excused herself to Sir Charles, who appeared strangely at loose ends. Evelyn wondered at it. She had never seen that gentleman at a loss before.

Looking back over her shoulder at Sir Charles, she said, “Three o’clock. Sir Charles?”

“I—yes, of course,” said Sir Charles, defeated.

Chapter Twenty-two

Sir Charles came to call at the appointed time. Evelyn and her mother were entertaining Lord Hughes when the gentleman was ushered into the drawing room.

Sir Charles made the correct overtures to Mrs. Dower and Lord Hughes, whom he naturally knew even though the gentlemen did not run in quite the same London circles. At last, Sir Charles turned to Evelyn.

Evelyn greeted him with a warm smile and offered her hand to him. “Sir Charles, I
am
glad to see you.”

He retained her hand, smiling down into her uplifted eyes. “Each time I meet you, I am astounded anew how the very sun seems brightened,” he said.

Evelyn blushed. “How very gallant of you, Sir Charles.”

“Indeed, I stand in awe of such adroit courtesy, my boy. I had quite thought savoir faire a fading art unto my own generation,” said Lord Hughes in a friendly way.

There was a flicker across Sir Charles’s face of what might be annoyance. Evelyn hurried into the suspected breach. “Sir Charles has come to take me driving.”

“Ah, I
had
wondered at your attire. The bronze shade of your carriage dress quite compliments you, Miss Dower,” said Lord Hughes.

“Doesn’t it, though? Evelyn had been somewhat hesitant to settle on that particular color, but I assured her it was quite perfect,” said Mrs. Dower, seemingly unconscious of the sudden tension.

“I should have guessed that it was your exquisite taste,” said Lord Hughes, lifting Mrs. Dower’s hand to his lips for a salute.

“I hold myself ready at your service. Miss Dower,” said Sir Charles.

“Of course. I shall go directly up for my bonnet,” said Evelyn, rising and exiting the drawing room.

When she returned, she said good-bye to her mother and Lord Hughes and tripped out the door on Sir Charles’s arm.

Evelyn was handed up into the phaeton. She settled on the leather seat with high anticipation. She had been looking forward to this particular outing all morning, for Sir Charles Reginald
had
promised to teach her to drive.