Mrs. Dower regarded her with approval. “Quite, quite appropriate. I am so glad that you have taste and discretion, Evelyn. So many poor girls do not, and they fall into all manner of scrapes as a result.”
“One indiscretion and I am in the basket with all the rest,” Evelyn said, only half in jest as she was reminded of her wager. She slipped the gilt-edged card bearing Mr. Hawkins’s strong script into her pocket, where it seemed to bum a hole through the fabric of her dress.
Evelyn knew very well the censor that would be hers if word of her idiotic wager was to come out. She could rely upon Mr. Hawkins’s discretion, naturally, but she felt it would be wise to have a quiet word with her maid. Hopefully it was not too late to warn the woman against spilling what she knew in the servants’ wing, for that was the surest way to see gossip spread throughout the town. It was bad enough that the housekeeper had been present as long as she had, for Evelyn suspected that Mrs. Howard would embellish the note with a romantic significance that was quite unwarranted. However, she would far rather have the staff believe that she was wheedling Mr. Hawkins for driving lessons than for them to know the lurid truth.
“Oh, I have far too much faith in you to be anxious on that head,” said Mrs. Dower comfortably.
Evelyn started to laugh, struck by the irony. At her mother’s bewildered look, she shook her head. “It is nothing that I can readily explain. A nonsensical thought, really. Quite, quite silly of me.”
“I do believe you have had too much excitement, dear. Perhaps you should rest this afternoon before dressing for the ball at the manor,” said Mrs. Dower. She got up from the settee to lay hold of the bellpull. “I should have the furniture put back where it belongs, do you not agree? It would look very odd to anyone coming to call.”
Evelyn scarcely heard her mother’s question. “Oh! I had quite forgot the Woodthorpe ball.” Her amusement was abruptly cut short as she realized that she would see Mr. Hawkins again in a few short hours. Her heart thumped. She wondered with a flutter of dread if he would make known to her that evening the stipulations of the rash wager that she had lost to him. It was obvious from his note that he fully intended to have payment.
Her maid’s opinion came back to haunt her, and she wondered whether she could indeed place her complete trust in Mr. Hawkins. He was a gentleman, albeit a finer one than most, but still a
gentleman.
Everything that she had ever observed and heard had long since led her to the conclusion that, for the most part, gentlemen took advantage of the fairer sex whenever they were given the opportunity.
It would really be too bad of Mr. Hawkins if he chose to take advantage of her. The possibility unaccountably cheered her, even as a frisson of nervousness went down her spine.
“Mama, I think that perhaps I will do as you suggest. I wish to speak to Millie, besides,” said Evelyn, rising from the settee.
“Is there something wrong with your gown, dear?” asked Mrs. Dower, at once concerned.
“Oh no. I merely wished to be certain that she has everything well in hand,” said Evelyn.
“I think that you may trust her on that score,” said Mrs. Dower.
“I am certain that you are right. Mama,” said Evelyn, again hoping that she was not already too late with her warning to the maid. She left the chaotic drawing room as the footmen entered it and were given directions from Mrs. Dower, and went upstairs.
Chapter Twenty
Evelyn had the private word with her maid that she intended. The woman was affronted that her mistress would suspect her of such disloyalty and let Evelyn know it by her wounded silence while dressing Evelyn for the ball.
Evelyn’s temper was somewhat tried by her maid’s martyred air, but when she tripped downstairs to join her mother her irritation vanished and was replaced by a growing anticipation for the delightful evening ahead.
The Dower ladies took their carriage to the Woodthorpe manor. After greeting the squire and Mrs. Woodthorpe, they joined the other guests already in the beautifully decorated ballroom.
The Woodthorpe ball was the most glittering affair of the Season. It appeared that everyone who had received an invitation had chosen to make an appearance. As she surveyed the crowd, Evelyn recognized virtually every personage. It was a good feeling and gave Evelyn confidence in her own social standing. She had always felt the faintest flutter of anxiety when first entering a crowded room, but now she was able to set it aside much more quickly because she was familiar with so many people.
Evelyn’s dance card was filled almost at once, and she was able to completely relax without wondering whether she would suffer the ignobility of sitting out any of the sets. She noticed that her mother’s card was also filled, and she said teasingly, “Mama, I did not know that matrons were in such high demand.”
Mrs. Dower’s slid a light glance at her daughter. “I am a very fine dancer,” she said simply.
Evelyn laughed. There was not time to say more because the first set was forming and her partner had come up to claim her hand. He was a young gentleman, ill at ease as though it was not often that he was in company. Since Evelyn had met Mr. Sanders before and knew him to be a writer who lived with his elder sister in almost complete seclusion, she was not at all surprised or offended by his tongue-tied greeting.
As Evelyn took her place in the set, she glanced back to see that Lord Hughes was bending over her mother’s hand. Evelyn frowned a little. She had grown accustomed to the attentions that Lord Hughes was forever playing to her mother, but she was still a little uncertain how to take that gentleman. His lordship was perfectly polite toward herself, yet there seemed always an indefinable amusement lurking in his eyes and his manner that made her uncomfortable in his presence. No, not uncomfortable, Evelyn amended, but as though his lordship knew something that she did not. It was a feeling that Evelyn disliked.
The set was a country dance, and as Evelyn came together with her partner, Mr. Sanders asked, “Is something untoward. Miss Dower? You seem rather preoccupied.”
Evelyn looked at the gentleman, startled. She had not realized that Mr. Sanders was so perceptive. She would have to keep closer guard over her expression, she thought, as she smiled at him. “I am merely concentrating on the intricacies of the steps. If I do not, I make a perfect mull of it.”
“I say, that is awfully brave of you to admit.” In a burst of candor, Mr. Sanders confided, “I do also, you know.”
Evelyn had already discovered that the gentleman was a heavy trodder. Her sore toes were proof of it, but she only smiled again. “No one would immediately guess it, sir.”
Mr. Sanders was not at all affronted, but instead grinned. He began counting under his breath and miraculously his steps evened out. Evelyn nodded her encouragement, wanting to laugh but not daring to do so. “Very good, Mr. Sanders. I do believe that with a little practice you will have it down perfectly.”
As the movement of the country dance separated them, Mr. Sanders threw her a grateful look. Evelyn smiled at him, thinking that the youthful gentleman was rather endearing. It did not occur to her that Mr. Sanders was actually several years older than herself.
When the set ended and Mr. Sanders returned Evelyn to her chair, her next partner was already waiting to take her out to the floor. For some time then, Evelyn was in a constant whirl as gentleman after gentleman claimed her hand for the dance floor. She laughed and parried their pretty compliments, enjoying herself tremendously.
Then she looked up to meet Mr. Hawkins’s eyes as she placed her hand in his, and the crowded ballroom appeared to recede, leaving just the two of them. In the silence, they regarded one another. Evelyn had never noticed how very like a dark pool of water his eyes looked. She felt as though she were drowning in their blue depths. She drew her breath, struggling against the odd feeling. “Mr. Hawkins, I—”
He drew her up out of her chair. “It is a waltz, Miss Dower.”
His quiet words sent a frisson along her nerve endings. Evelyn looked up at his face quickly, then away. She had danced the waltz before. She had danced it before with Mr. Hawkins. She did not understand why she should be so aware of him walking beside her, nor, when he turned and took her into his arms, why she should actually tremble.
It was the fault of that idiotic wager, she decided crossly. She was consciously aware of being ill at ease. It was dread of what he would demand of her that caused her heart to flutter in her throat so that she could scarcely speak. Of course that was what it was.
“Did you say something, Miss Dower?”
Startled, Evelyn met Mr. Hawkins’s eyes. She realized that she must have made some inarticulate sound. The color rose in her face. “It was nothing of any consequence, Mr. Hawkins.” She was acutely aware of his arm about her, that his hand pressed firmly against her waist, that she was held ever closer in the swirl of turns.
He smiled down at her, amusement lighting his eyes. “Are you frightened of me, Miss Dower?” he asked softly.
“What a question, Mr. Hawkins! Of course I am not.” Evelyn gave a laugh that sounded nervous even to her own ears.
That so greatly annoyed her that she threw a glittering glance of resentment up at him. She hissed in a low voice, “If you must know, I am wondering what you shall demand in payment of my wager.”
“I see.” Mr. Hawkins did not enlarge upon his reply, but merely squired her in another round of dizzying spirals about the dance floor.
The exhilarating feeling of floating proved a fine counterpoint to her anxiety. Evelyn could not stand the suspense, and breathlessly she demanded, “Well?”
Mr. Hawkins threw back his head and laughed. When he looked at her again, he acknowledged her offended tawny eyes with a shrug. “Forgive me for teasing you, Miss Dower. That was ungentlemanly of me. I have not decided what form the payment shall take ... yet.” His gaze lowered to her slightly parted lips and lingered.
Evelyn’s breath caught. It was almost as though he caressed her with that long half-lidded glance. Then his eyes swept up and caught her own. She averted her face to fix her eyes on the point over his broad shoulder. “You—you have the most disconcerting effect upon my good sense. I am inclined to give you a set-down each time we meet,” she said, forcing irritation into her voice.
“So I have noticed, Miss Dower.”
Evelyn looked at him sharply. His voice was wry, though with an underlying current that she could not quite identify. Of all her admirers, Mr. Hawkins was the most incomprehensible. She had sent him away with a finality that must have wounded his pride, and yet he had become one of her most faithful admirers. She had shown herself at her most hoydenish, and though he had been surprised by her wagering on the outcome of the race, he did not act as though he had developed a disgust of her. He was universally polite in address and gesture, but he had often astonished her with a teasing word or warmth of gaze.
Mr. Hawkins was an enigma. Reflecting, Evelyn thought that she did not care for such a gentleman. She was too unsure of herself when she was in his company.
“Surely I am not such grim company as your frown indicates, Miss Dower?”
Chapter Twenty-one
The quiet question disconcerted her. Evelyn found that she had been staring at him and she looked away, thoroughly embarrassed. “On the contrary, Mr. Hawkins. I fear it is I who is not being particularly good company,” she said, managing a credible smile. “I do apologize, sir. It is a perfectly lovely evening, is it not? The Woodthorpes always arrange grand entertainments when they are not caught up in hunting and other such sport.”
“It is plain that you do not share the same interest in sport, Miss Dower,” said Mr. Hawkins, apparently quite willing to follow her lead in conversation.
Evelyn relaxed, laughing a little ruefully. “No, I fear I do not. It is a great disappointment to Pol—Miss Woodthorpe, but she remains fast friends with me despite my most glaring fault.”
“I had noticed that the lady was most knowledgeable. My cousin was quite impressed with Miss Woodthorpe’s horse savvy. In fact, I believe that he has called on her several times since discovering that she is a kindred spirit,” said Mr. Hawkins, throwing Evelyn a quick penetrating glance.
“Viscount Waithe?” Evelyn looked around for the viscount. She had vaguely wondered at his less assiduous attentions of late, having become used to his lordship’s appearance nearly every afternoon in Queen Square. She located the viscount, who was at that moment seated beside Miss Woodthorpe, and from what she could discern before her view was blocked by the passing of a dancing couple, the two were in deep discussion.
Evelyn chuckled softly. Of course they were talking about horses, for she was certain nothing was closer to either heart than equines. “I am not at all surprised. It was only a matter of time before they discovered one another.”
“You do not mind it. Miss Dower?” asked Mr. Hawkins quietly, still looking at her quite keenly.
Evelyn was surprised. “Why should I mind, Mr. Hawkins?”
His mouth turned upward at one corner. He met her puzzled gaze with an odd expression in his own eyes. “Many young ladies would resent losing an admirer to another young lady, no matter how friendly she was with that lady.”
“Resent Pol? Of course I do not. As for Viscount Waithe, I counted him as more a brother than an admirer. But you shall not tell him that, if you please,” said Evelyn.
Mr. Hawkins’s smile broadened. The watchful expression in his eyes had disappeared. “Be assured that I will not, Miss Dower.” He casually introduced another topic.
The set ended swiftly after that, and the orchestra indicated that there would be a short intermission for refreshments to be served.
Mr. Hawkins escorted Evelyn off the floor. They chanced to encounter Miss Sparrow and her betrothed also leaving the floor. After the couples greeted one another, Miss Sparrow said, “I am simply parched. What of you, Evelyn? Will you gentlemen be so kind as to find us refreshments?”