The Rebel Heir (11 page)

She sighed, quickly flipping through pages to find the other name. Claughbane family…

Following the line of printing with her finger, her eyes darted across the page until she found the words she was searching for. Brennen Claughbane, born seven March seventeen eighty-one, has three brothers… Isle of Man. She tapped her finger on the word
isle
. “Isles are certainly by the sea.” She grinned as she spoke. She returned her attention to the page, her eyes flitting across the lines of text in search of more information, but the subject had changed to the Duke of Clermont.

Straightening from the book, she stared unseeing across her bedchamber. “Mr. Ash Claughbane from the Isle of Man, it's a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

Jumping from her bed to dash across the room, she dropped into the seat at her small writing desk. Her hands shook with anticipation as she lowered her quill to the piece of paper before her.

Dear Mr. Claughbane,

I'm quite certain you will find this letter unusual because I am a lady and I write to you regarding a gentleman in town for the London season. Please, I beg you, do not form the wrong opinion in reference to my interest in this gentleman as we have only had tea together on one occasion.

She paused, ink pooling on the tip of her quill. There was no need to tell a stranger that she had kissed the man—twice—simply for the sake of honesty. That small detail could remain unspoken. One shared pot of tea was an innocent enough means of meeting a gentleman without any assumption about her character.

I believe this gentleman to be a relative of yours. I would like to inquire after…

Oh dear. She hadn't considered this portion of her plan. A lady couldn't very well ask after the familial background of a gentleman with no purpose to her query, yet she needed to confirm that Ash was who she suspected he might be. Ignoring the question of why this was so terribly important to her, she drummed her fingers on the small writing desk and stared out of the window. If only there was some manner of asking after Ash without actually committing a social crime in doing so.

I would like to inquire after the given names of your family members, as the poor gentleman in question is quite heartsick over his long absence.

She glanced to the abandoned embroidery she had left on the settee. She'd tossed it aside yesterday when she was too ill of looking at it to make another stitch and hadn't yet put it away. Embroidery—that was the answer. She smiled. Finally, a ladylike interest she detested was coming to good use.

With your kind assistance, I would like to make a work of embroidery to remind him of home and ease his time in the city.

Lady E.

The letter broke a thousand rules a proper lady ought not to break. She winced and signed
Lady E.
at the bottom of the note. At least the return letter would bring her answers. If this was truly his family, they would list his name among their relations. He could be a cousin or nephew of the gentleman she'd written to. Of course, he could be unrelated and she'd just signed her name on correspondence to a strange man. “At least this Mr. Brennen Claughbane lives on an island,” she muttered, and sealed the note with wax.

Soon she would know who Ash truly was, and then… She straightened in her seat. And then, what?

Evangeline hadn't a clue what her next step would be, but she knew she wanted to take that step knowing all she could about Mr. Ash Claughbane.

Evangeline leaned away from her cousin to avoid being hit in the face with Isabelle's new fan. Either Isabelle had yet to get used to the new accessory or Victoria had been correct—she was going to wound someone—or both. Evangeline tried to straighten to the proper posture for standing on the side of a ballroom, but almost had her nose removed for the second time.

“As you can see, it is indeed a fan,” Isabelle said with a flourish of her wrist that almost sent the contraption sailing across the ballroom into Lady Smeltings's hair. “And I suppose a dreadfully boring fan is better than the broken one I had in my possession before.”

That was debatable, but Evangeline wasn't going to voice her opinion to Isabelle. That was normally Victoria's job, but she was currently dancing the quadrille with a gentleman. With Roselyn not in attendance this evening, Evangeline was left to survive her cousin's new fan alone, at least for the moment. “It isn't so terrible,” Evangeline attempted. “It boasts a fine handle, quite sturdy looking.”

Isabelle stared down at the fan in her hand. “Sturdy isn't really what one looks for in a fan, Evangeline.”

“When one's sister is Victoria, perhaps one should,” Evangeline said with a small smile, turning her attention back to the dancers on the floor.

“Perhaps you're right,” Isabelle said, dropping the fan to her side and thereby allowing everyone nearby to take a breath of relief. “On a happier note, Lord Winfield has a pleasant-looking body.”

“Isabelle!” Evangeline warned as she pulled her cousin away from a group of ladies who seemed to be only half concerned with their own conversation. The other half would be devoted to listening intently to everyone else's discussions.

“What?” Isabelle asked as if they'd been discussing something as meaningless as colors of ribbon. “He's next on your dance card. I'm certain that beneath those layers of evening wear, he has a fit bum. Not as fine as Mr. Brice's bum, mind you, but not terrible.”

“How would you know what attributes a gentleman possesses beneath his clothing, let alone in his private regions?” Evangeline hissed, refusing to even glance at Lord Winfield's body to see if she might agree with her cousin.

“Mother tells me I have a vivid imagination.” Isabelle beamed as she twisted a ringlet of blond hair around her finger.

“
My
mother says you have delusions of grandeur, but what does she know of it?” Evangeline replied.

“Perhaps I do. However, I like it that way. It's quite a cheerful place, the inside of my head.”

Evangeline often wondered if Isabelle's thoughts were coated in candies like the display in the bake-shop window she'd seen with her sister years ago. A great cake had been swirled with candies up to the top, like a mountain of sweets with chocolates pouring from the center. Sue hadn't wanted to leave, but Evangeline had pulled her away.

She gave Isabelle an affectionate bump with her elbow, thinking of the sister she'd betrayed. “I wouldn't have it any other way, even if it does lead to scandalous talk while in the middle of a ballroom.” Evangeline couldn't help but notice the gentlemen's forms as they passed on the dance floor, now that the subject had been brought to mind.

Did it matter what features a man possessed? He could have no teeth and an unfortunate disposition, and he would still provide her with an escape from her current situation. She wasn't in a place to be particular, as long as someone would offer for her by season's end.

Just then, a gentleman who offered no escape from her current situation walked in the door of the ballroom. Ash was the sort of man ladies were warned about, and tonight he looked every bit the part of the devil-may-care rake. His dark evening wear matched the jet of his hair.

He scanned the room. Was he looking for her? Her heart sped.

It shouldn't matter, Evangeline
, she told herself. He was only playing at courting her—none of it was real. He would soon be gone. Would he return to the Isle of Man? And why pretend to court her while in town? Did his interest have to do with her father? Or perhaps he was only amusing himself out of ennui. She should look away from him, but she didn't.

“Gentlemen look us over, so why shouldn't we do the same?” Isabelle, she realized, was still speaking to her.

“It does pass the time between dances, I suppose,” Evangeline muttered, entranced by the cut of Ash's coat as it fell from his muscular shoulders.

Isabelle followed her gaze. “Lord Crosby has a quality bum. You can tell by the fit of his breeches. Though I'm sure you've noticed it already.”

“I didn't notice anything,” Evangeline rushed to say. The heat of a blush spread up her neck and burned her cheeks, but she couldn't tear her gaze from Ash. The memory of his body close to hers, his hands on her skin… “I would never think such…vulgar…”

“Evangeline,” Isabelle said in the flat tone one would use to complain about what was being served at dinner. “He came to your home for tea. You said you sat with him and listened to poetry.” She stopped with a dramatic shake of her head. “Poetry,” she repeated as if the one word proved her point.

“It wasn't as romantic as you imagine it, Isabelle,” she countered. It was true it hadn't been romantic. It had been something far more intriguing that Evangeline couldn't define and was quite sure she shouldn't be reflecting on in the first place.

“You're staring at him this very minute. Admitting a gentleman has a nice bum is the same as complimenting a lady's fine parlor décor or the cakes at tea.”

“That is far from the same thing, Isabelle.”

“I'm not suggesting you inform him of your opinion—can you imagine the scandal?” She giggled. “I can see it now. ‘Lady E. informed a certain lord of his fine bum at a ball Thursday last.'”

Evangeline had pulled Isabelle away from listening ears, but if anyone heard the direction of their conversation, she would be shipped away to live with Great-Aunt Mildred for certain. Yet in spite of the serious threat that posed to her future, she had to work to keep the amused smile from her face.

“You're clearly interested in him,” Isabelle finally stated once her laughter had subsided.

“Am I?” Evangeline breathed.

“Aren't you?”

What did interest matter in her situation? Somewhere in this room, Lord Winfield or some other gentleman was dancing, drinking, or discussing politics, and he would soon be her husband. Ash was only about because… She didn't know his intentions, but she knew enough to know they weren't honorable. “Mother is pushing for a courtship with Lord Winfield,” she finally replied.

“So I've heard.”

“Father practically threw Lord Crosby in my path.” She was still working to understand her father's actions in that regard. She took a breath, knowing that in the end, none of it was her concern. “Mother and Father will resolve the matter between themselves and inform me of the outcome. It's as simple as that.”

“Are you claiming not to have feelings on the matter of your future husband?” Isabelle asked.

“Of course I have feelings—” Evangeline stopped herself before she admitted too much. She found Ash in the crowd once again, and her eyes followed him as he moved down the opposite wall of the room. Everything about him was wrong. She knew it. Yet, the small rebellious act of watching him from across the room made her skin tingle with warmth. “In my case, feelings can hardly be trusted as a guide.”

Isabelle sighed. “Evangeline, I admire your prudence.”

“However…” Evangeline led in, pulling her gaze from Ash's fit body wrapped in pristine evening wear for what might be the fifth time tonight. She turned to look at her cousin. “Mother always contradicts her initial statement. I've learned to sense a
but
waiting to emerge in the next statement.”

“But what do you want for your future?” Isabelle asked, making Evangeline blink for a moment.

“I-I don't know.”

“When I'm unsure of something, I follow my heart,” Isabelle offered with a warm smile.

If only her words were of any assistance in Evangeline's tangled web of a life. “How do I know what my heart wants?”

“Your eyes always follow instructions from your heart. What do you see?”

Clear blue eyes met hers across the dance floor, and a mischievous grin tugged at Ash's lips. He
had
been searching for her. Her stomach clenched at the thought.

“What if my heart can't be trusted to give proper directions?” Evangeline asked.

“It can always be trusted, Evie. And I notice you have yet to spare a glance for Lord Winfield.” Isabelle leaned closer to whisper, “I don't blame your heart. Lord Crosby's bum is of five-rose-petal quality and poor Winfield only has three and one half petals.”

She turned to look at her cousin. “You have a system of ranking gentlemen's…rears?”

“Of course.” Isabelle nodded, her round eyes wide. “How else are we to decide whom to wed? I keep a chart in my journal—or I did before I misplaced it recently. I got the idea from a chart of horses Victoria kept hidden under her bed. If that much thought is put into which horse to wager upon, we should put at least that much effort into our husbands, shouldn't we?”

“You're very wise. You know that, don't you?” Evangeline asked, knowing Isabelle was often considered the whimsical and even naive one in her family.

“Shhh, you'll destroy my carefree image,” Isabelle said with a grin. “Now, if you'll excuse me, this amount of thought has me in need of sustenance. I think I saw cakes in the next room…and Mr. Brice was walking in that direction only a minute ago.”

“Enjoy the cakes.” Evangeline lowered her voice to add, “And the view of Mr. Brice.”

“Enjoy
your
view in my absence,” Isabelle called back as she walked away.

If Evangeline wasn't already blushing, she certainly would be doing so now with everyone nearby attempting to understand Isabelle's meaning.

“The moldings in this room are quite lovely,” she said to an older lady who was studying her.

“I suppose,” the woman returned, her wrinkles growing deeper as her brows drew together in confusion. “After your discussion of the gentlemen, I hardly noticed.”

“Excuse me,” Evangeline said as she fled the spot.

She wasn't certain what her mother would have her do after being caught discussing gentlemen's physical attributes at a ball, but Isabelle had told her to follow her heart. And right now, her heart was telling her to run.

She moved toward the door with lightning speed. Ash was moving in that direction as well. She shouldn't have noticed him.
Your eyes always follow instructions from your heart. What do you see?
It mattered little what she saw. It was, however, quite disturbing that she could find Ash in a crowd so easily. He would leave again. But her untrustworthy heart would only follow after.

The crush of guests was tighter by the door that led to the hall, and she darted this way and that to escape her actions of the past half hour. Discussing gentlemen's private parts—what had she been thinking? But as she pushed through the throng of people, she knew that wasn't all she was running from.

She found Ash again, trapped in a passing conversation with a gentleman not ten paces away, yet still watching her.

Pushing forward toward the hall, she bounced off a gentleman who had stepped into her path. She really needed to pay better attention to where she was walking.

“Apologies, Lady Evangeline.” Lord Winfield extended his arm to her. “I was coming to fetch you for our dance.”

With one last glance at Ash, she laid her hand on Winfield's arm and allowed him to lead her onto the floor. “I was hoping to see you.”

* * *

Ash gave Stapleton a questioning glance and turned the unopened letter he'd been given over in his hands several times. Only one person he knew wrote such scrunched yet precise letters, as if a great weight was pressing down on every line of text. He'd seen that writing many times as a boy, but he had no desire to see it now.

Ash had been in London for several weeks now. Things
were
taking longer than expected with Rightworth, but had he stayed so long in one place as to allow this to happen? He flipped the letter around in his hand again and stared at the writing once more. “Clearly I've stayed here too long already,” he muttered.

“We could leave,” Stapleton offered.

“No.”

Questions of how his brother had found his location so quickly swam in Ash's head. And there was no way to discover the answers unless he read the blasted letter. Ripping the letter open, he held it up to the light of a nearby candle.

Dear Ashley,

I hope this letter finds you. I received an interesting note from a lady in London today. I'm told one of my relations is heartsick for news of home. She asked for a listing of all known family relations so that she might sew some sort of reminder of the land longed for and give it as a gift. You can imagine my surprise to learn this, since I only have one family member who remains unaccounted for, and he has never shown an interest in his home, marriage-minded ladies, or needlework.

I know why you're in London, Brother. You needn't do this. It is true that Lord Rightworth took all Father possessed in repayment of that debt, but it was his right to do so. No one killed our father, Ashley. Father ended his own life. Nothing you do while there in London will make things right for our family. Isle of Man has changed, especially since I gained our cousin's title two years past. We have no need for you to take funds from a powerful man in London for our survival. Please, reconsider your actions…

Ash didn't finish reading the words scrawled in ink before him. He balled up the letter in his hand instead, his knuckles turning white around the paper. Ashley—only three people had the nerve to call him that, and he didn't want to see any of them just now. He exhaled a harsh breath. Brennen knew his whereabouts. The sharp corners of crushed paper pressed into his palm as he squeezed it even tighter. How had he been so foolish as to look into Evie's eyes and tell her his given name?