“Oh really, Mama!” Evelyn laughed, shrugging her shoulders. “Mr. Hawkins is quite content with the way things stand between us. We are mere acquaintances, and likely to remain so.”
“I do know a few things, Evelyn, however flighty I may appear. Mr. Hawkins will call again, and his intent is quite other than friendship,” said Mrs. Dower complacently.
Evelyn knew that it was of no use at all to attempt to disabuse her mother of the absurd notion, so she sat back with a sigh. Time would prove her mother wrong, of that she was certain. For some unfathomable reason, the reflection was not particularly contenting.
Chapter Eighteen
On the afternoon of the race, Mr. Hawkins appeared at the town house to request the pleasure of Evelyn’s company in watching it. Evelyn, who was unreasonably annoyed that he had chosen not to call in the two days since the luncheon in Lansdown Crescent, hesitated in giving her answer.
She wanted to let the gentleman know that she had noticed his neglect, when actually she had nothing whatsoever of which to complain. Mr. Hawkins was merely an amusing companion, after all. Certainly she should not care whether he extended an invitation to her for the race or to some other lady. It was the thought of that other unknown lady that Mr. Hawkins could well take up in her stead that unexpectedly made Evelyn hesitate in spurning his offer outright.
“Oh, do go with Mr. Hawkins, dearest. You know that you do not wish to be sitting here at home when all the rest of the world is going,” said Mrs. Dower.
Evelyn directed at her mother a reproachful glance. She knew that her mother had accepted a similar such invitation from Lord Hughes, and though that gentleman had politely extended it to include her as well, it had been obvious to her that his lordship would prefer to have Mrs. Dower to himself. She had consequently declined, citing as her excuse a stack of correspondence that required her attention. Lord Hughes had not urged her to change her mind, but had said merely that he would not press her against her inclinations.
Evelyn had half expected that her mother would attempt to persuade her to join the party, but Mrs. Dower had surprised her by doing no such thing. That lady had uncharacteristically held her tongue until after Lord Hughes had taken his leave, and then her argument was so tepid that Evelyn had had no difficulty in discerning where her mother’s heart really lay.
“Mama, you know quite well that Lord Hughes would much rather have you to himself, and I suspect that perfectly suits your own inclinations,” Evelyn said dryly.
Mrs. Dower had colored, confirming her daughter’s observation. “I am quite . .
.fond
of Lord Hughes’s company.” She gave Evelyn an anxious look. “You do not mind so very, very much, do you, Evelyn?”
Evelyn laughed, shaking her head. She went over and hugged her mother lightly. “You silly goose. Of course I do not. I wish only for you to be happy. I would never cut up stiff over one of your flirtations unless I saw that the gentleman was completely unworthy of you.”
“Oh, my dear!” Mrs. Dower smiled tremulously up at Evelyn, not having heard the underlying seriousness in her daughter’s voice. “I am happy, I assure you. Happier than I have been in many years.”
“Then that is all there is to be said,” Evelyn said gaily. “I shall write my letters, and you shall go off to the race with Lord Hughes.”
That had been the end of the subject until Mr. Hawkins had come to make his own invitation. Suddenly Mrs. Dower was absolutely set against Evelyn missing such an unusual treat. She smiled brilliantly at Mr. Hawkins and her daughter.
“It is so very pretty out of doors, dearest, and you have been looking wan this age. It will do you good to be out in the fresh air, and I trust completely to Mr. Hawkins to be all that is solicitous. There can be no question of impropriety, you know, for you may take your maid with you,” she said.
Evelyn was caught on the horns of a dilemma. She knew that Mr. Hawkins had rightly divined her pique at being oversighted by the gentlemen when the race had originally been discussed, and her pride urged her to prove to him that she cared not one wit for such an idiotic event. In addition, she wished very much to prove the nonchalance of their relationship by giving him the go-by. But the dull program she had set for herself that afternoon held little appeal when the sunshine streamed in the window and she knew that most of her acquaintances would be attending the race.
Despite her reluctance to give any notice to an event whose planning had so discommoded her, Evelyn was forced to acknowledge to herself her own rampant curiosity. Everywhere she had gone there had been talk of little else but the race, until even she was beginning to catch the spirit of the thing. In the end, she yielded to the temptation.
Mr. Hawkins was not to take it for granted that she was excited at the possibility of witnessing the race, however, so she accepted his invitation with a small sniff. “Oh, very well, Mr. Hawkins. I shall accompany you for the occasion,” she said with a singular lack of enthusiasm.
“I am gratified by your gracious assent, ma’am,” said Mr. Hawkins. He saw her out of the drawing room, his eyes resting on her profile. Evelyn refused to turn her head and meet his glance, suspecting that if she did so she would discover a discomfiting twinkle of amusement in their depths.
Evelyn went upstairs to fetch her bonnet and informed her maid of the treat in store.
“Are we actually, miss? Well, isn’t it grand!” exclaimed the maid, pleased.
“I suppose,” said Evelyn, covering a false yawn. However, when she met the maid’s knowing eyes in the mirror, she could not help laughing. “Oh, very well! Have it your own way. It is grand, indeed.”
When Evelyn returned downstairs to the drawing room, it was to find only Mr. Hawkins, Lord Hughes having already called for her mother. Evelyn was at once aware of the gentleman’s proximity and that they were alone, for she had naturally left her maid to wait in the entry hall. Her sudden nervousness was not aided when Mr. Hawkins gave her a slow approving glance.
“That is a very fetching bonnet,” he said softly.
Her pulse fluttered at the unexpected intimacy of his voice. She hid her reaction beneath a very correct exterior. “Shall we go, Mr. Hawkins?”
“Of course, Miss Dower.” He held open the drawing room door so that she could precede him and then accompanied her to the front door. The maid trailed them.
When Evelyn stepped outside, she was unsurprised to see that Mr. Hawkins had brought a cabriolet. He had not turned a hair when her mother had suggested that the maid accompany them, which, if he had been driving a gig, would have meant squeezing three persons on a seat meant for two. But of course Mr. Hawkins had anticipated that there would be a chaperon and had provided for their comfort accordingly.
Mr. Hawkins flashed what Evelyn had come to think of as his infuriating smile, but she managed to ignore his obvious satisfaction as he handed her up onto the carriage seat. Her maid sat on the seat behind.
As he joined her on the narrow seat, his broad shoulder brushed hers, startling her.
He glanced down. “My apologies. I trust that you are comfortable. Miss Dower?”
Evelyn nodded as though it were the most mundane occurrence. “Of course, Mr. Hawkins.”
Evelyn forgot her studied indifference as Mr. Hawkins drove them in the direction of the scheduled event. Carriages of all sorts as well as those on horseback had created a stream of the curious. There was such an exchange of lighthearted banter and speculation called between the various racegoers that Evelyn could not ignore, or be unaffected, by the general atmosphere of excitement.
What had begun as a private wager between Sir Charles Reginald and Mr. Ned Woodthorpe had quickly become a major public event. It was said that a small fortune had been wagered, the odds running heavily in favor of the local favorite. But Sir Charles had his supporters, as well. Those who were already familiar with his reputation and those who had thoughtfully and knowledgeably inspected his team contended vocally that their man must win. Ned Woodthorpe’s backers just as vociferously defended their own champion, and so at the hour of the race the designated course was lined with spectators.
Mr. Hawkins had wisely marked out a spot above the course and the jostling crowd on a small hill. As the cabriolet emerged out from under the lace-leafed trees, Evelyn was delighted at once by their splendid view.
She became filled with amazement as she looked down over the innumerable filled carriages and riders that lined the road below. “I had no notion that a simple race would gamer such attention.”
“It bids fair to be a satisfying entertainment,” said Mr. Hawkins, maneuvering his carriage so that it faced the edge of the small promontory overlooking the course of the race. “I have had an opportunity to see Mr. Woodthorpe’s horses since the race was first proposed, and I must admit that they are some of the best I have ever seen.”
“Better than Sir Charles’s team?” asked Evelyn, glancing at him curiously.
“I think it more accurate to say their equal. It will not be the teams so much as the skill of the drivers that will make the winning difference,” said Mr. Hawkins.
“Ned knows the roads,” said Evelyn thoughtfully.
“Yes,” Mr. Hawkins agreed. Suddenly he flung out his arm, pointing. “There! They have begun.”
Evelyn craned her neck to see what was happening. The two carriages were made small by distance, but it was nevertheless easy to discern Sir Charles’s yellow phaeton from the other.
Evelyn watched, fascinated. The teams surged up and down, the faint thunder of their hooves a counterpoint to the dust that boiled up from behind the streaking carriages.
“Oh! Ned has taken the lead!” she exclaimed.
After a long, tense moment, she threw a glance at the gentleman seated beside her. “I am let down, indeed! I thought it would be a spirited contest, but it is obvious that Ned has it in his pocket.”
“I would not be so certain of that. Miss Dower,” said Mr. Hawkins, not removing his gaze from the race below.
Evelyn looked down quickly, and drew in her breath on a gasp.
Sir Charles had pulled out to one side, his obvious intention to pass on the impossibly narrow road. His team began to move up on Mr. Woodthorpe’s off-wheel. But Mr. Woodthorpe seemed to anticipate his opponent’s intent and he quickly flung his carriage into the gap. Sir Charles was obliged to fall back behind to his former position.
“There! You see! Ned has it well in hand,” she exclaimed, turning to Mr. Hawkins. Her tawny eyes sparkled and her face was brightened by excitement.
“Mr. Woodthorpe is indeed a credible whip. I shall give him that,” said Mr. Hawkins.
Evelyn turned full-face to her companion. “But you do not believe that he will win?”
Mr. Hawkins smiled. In an apologetic tone, he said, “I know Sir Charles so very well, you see.”
Evelyn’s eyes flashed. “A wager then, sir!”
Behind her, she heard her maid give a startled gasp. A faint flush rose in her face, but otherwise she paid no heed to the woman’s horror. She set her chin challengingly. “What say you, Mr. Hawkins? Shall you back Sir Charles against my wager on Ned Woodthorpe?”
“That is highly unorthodox for a lady, surely?” asked Mr. Hawkins quietly.
Evelyn tossed her head, refusing to give in even to her own amazement at her impulsive challenge. “I do just as I please, sir. I have no need of anyone else’s approval, as long as I am satisfied with my own conduct.”
The maid squeaked in protest “Miss!”
Evelyn’s cheeks burned, but she had, however rashly, thrown down the gauntlet and she would not retreat. Instead she stared daringly at Mr. Hawkins. “What is it to be, Mr. Hawkins? I shall wager ten pounds on the outcome.”
“Very well, Miss Dower. I accept your wager,” said Mr. Hawkins. He smiled at her, the corner of his mouth quirking in that fascinating way it had.
Evelyn felt quite suddenly short of breath. Her eyes widened, caught by the degree of warmth in the vividness of his blue eyes. She turned quickly away, her heart pounding loud in her own ears.
She pretended to watch the remainder of the furiously contested race, but her attention was not entirely fixed on the duel below. She puzzled over the extraordinary effect that a singularly attractive smile had on her.
It simply made no sense at all when she was so completely interested in Sir Charles Reginald.
At the thought of that other gentleman, her attention abruptly snapped back to what was happening. Disbelievingly, she saw that the carriages were running neck to neck, in danger of either locking their wheels or of slewing off the road to disaster. The crowd lining the course fell back before the oncoming carriages, only to wave back into place after their furious passing.
Evelyn’s heart thudded as the horses pounded toward the designated finish point. She held her breath, scarcely aware that she did so. She clenched her hands. Finally unable to contain herself, she exclaimed, “Oh,
do
come on, Ned!”
The impossible tableau held, wavered. Then Sir Charles’s yellow phaeton swept cleanly past the other and away. His team plunged strongly, pulling him steadily ahead of the contending carriage.
Evelyn leaped up, scarcely aware that she had done so or that Mr. Hawkins threw out a hand to catch her elbow to steady her. “Ned! Ned! Do not let him get away from you!” She continued to shriek encouragement, even though it was quickly apparent which driver was to be the winner.
In a moment, all was well over and Evelyn could hear the far-off cheering of the spectators as their ranks broke and they surged after the two slowing carriages.
Evelyn sat down limply. “I have never seen anything half so exciting in my life,” she said wonderingly. A half smile curled her lips. “It quite makes one want to attempt it oneself.”
“Miss Evelyn! ‘Tis bad enough that you wagered!” exclaimed the maid, who then guiltily clapped her hand over her mouth for daring to speak.
Evelyn cast a startled glance at her maid. Then her eyes flew to Mr. Hawkins’s bland expression. Color rose in her face, but she said bravely, “It is true, I lost my wager. You did not say what you were wagering for, sir.”