The Rebel Heir (30 page)

St. James held up a hand to stop him. “I don't know that total honesty is wise in these situations, Claughbane.”

He didn't understand. Ash couldn't sit about while Evie married another gentleman because of him. He'd done nothing but make mistakes in his life, and he needed to fix something or he would go mad. “I hurt her, St. James. I hurt her and now she's going to marry Winfield.”

“I know,” St. James said in as close as he could come to a comforting tone. “Do you have some sort of grand plan for tonight to win her back? The Spares could help you somehow.”

“No.” They'd done enough to help him with his failed scheme. He didn't want their assistance now. This was his burden to bear. Not to mention, at this point, there was no winning her back. He'd tried. He'd failed.

I love you.

You need to leave.
The exchange played out again in his memory as he supposed it would for the remainder of his life.

“You're part of this society, you know,” St. James offered, not mentioning how Ash had failed that society already. “You don't have to do this alone.”

“No.” Ash glanced at the man at his side. “I mean that I'm not going to stop her. I have no grand plan. I'm going to set my wrongs to rights and drink heavily in the corner while Evie dances with another man.”

“That's a terrible plan,” St. James mused.

“Plans are more your territory, aren't they? I simply have a document to return.”

“And she wonders why I'm always working,” his friend muttered.

“What?”

“Nothing,” he replied as they neared the front of Evie's home. “Ah, quite the crush tonight. This should be interesting.”

Ash didn't want to discuss his plans for tonight. He only wanted to unmake his mistakes, and right now that started with Dillsworth. He moved away from St. James, his eyes scanning the crowd for the older man. A moment later he became aware that he was searching for a young lady with dark hair, not a man old enough to be his father—treacherous eyes. The truth was plain—he did want to catch just one glimpse of Evie tonight. He needed to see her. Perhaps he could live the rest of his life this way, lurking in the shadows, waiting to see her for just one moment before returning to his life of misery and regret. It sounded…promising.

“To clarify,” Brice—no, it was Hardaway now—said a few minutes later as he joined Ash in the main hall, “you're attending this ball, the engagement celebration for the lady you lost to another lord, for the purpose of returning documents that I offered to return for you…all while there's some lord asking after you all over town.”

“St. James told you already?” Ash looked around for the leader of their club, but he'd already slipped away, no doubt to see to business of some sort while here.

“He said you deserved to listen to me because of the cherubs. I don't know what he meant by that. He could have taken up drinking, though that doesn't seem likely after all these years.”

“So much for making amends on that score,” Ash muttered, his eyes still sweeping the room as he pushed his way through the crowd with Hardaway at his side.

“You know you're seeking out my father, a man I see every morning while I try to down enough coffee to erase the previous evening?” Hardaway confirmed.

“You rise early enough to see the morning?” Ash asked, deflecting his friend's concerns.

“It's morning to me, and that wasn't the point. I could return that paper to my father's desk, and he would never know it had been missing.”

“You think I'm taking an unnecessary risk,” Ash said, filling in the gaps of the discussion his friends must have had behind his back a moment ago.

“I think you've lost your bloody mind,” Hardaway countered. “It happens to the best of us. My uncle Herbert lost his mind over a woman. Of course in his case she was the parish vicar's wife. Needless to say, he was banned from services, and there was some bit about not being allowed to show himself in town. Come to think of it, I think that was meant in the literal sense of showing his bits to the ladies, which is simply good standards for anyone. You can't go about naked in town, no matter who you believe yourself to be in love with.”

“Since I'm not naked but wearing proper evening attire…”

“To attend this ball.” Hardaway spread his arms to indicate Rightworth House, almost hitting a lady in the process, but he didn't seem to notice. “This ball. The one where announcements will be made about your former lady and Lord Winfield.”

“I'm here for a valid purpose.” Ash patted the pocket of his coat where the ledger sheet was folded. He was repairing a wrong. That was all. “I need to return this document.”

“Just make sure you don't find yourself naked in town with the vicar's wife, if you know what I mean.”

“Oddly enough I know exactly what you mean.” But it was too late for him. Ash's crimes were already exposed, and he had been left raw by the experience. No clothes could cover that sort of wound.

“No one wants to see your bits and pieces, Crosby.”

“Noted.” Ash walked into the large drawing room, now emptied of furniture to allow for dancing. Evie stood with her friend Victoria along the far wall beneath the windows. He stopped. “I see your betrothed is here tonight.”

“Bollocks. I'm going to slip down the hall to the terrace before her father spots me. Have fun destroying what's left of your life so your wallow in misery can be complete.”

“Much appreciated,” Ash muttered, not shifting from where he stood with its perfect view of Evie.

She wore a blue gown covered with so much adornment and jewelry that it almost blinded one to look at her. She was beautiful beneath the frills and shine, but it was the false Evangeline she had out for display this evening. His heart clenched further. Then, she smiled at something her friend said—a real smile. Under the show of ladylike excess, was she happy about this fiasco? She appeared to be pleased until she turned and her gaze met his across the room. The smile slipped from her face.

Ash couldn't move. There was no forward. There was no plan for his future or even making amends for his past. There was only now and the clearly unrequited love he was drowning in. She'd asked him to leave her. He should leave now.

He should, but he didn't.

Inventor Ollie Dean could walk faster than this carriage was moving. He'd been on the road to London on Spare Heirs business for an eternity.

In truth he'd left his home two days ago, but an eternity seemed more fitting since his travels had taken him away from Mable's side. And this blasted trip to see St. James didn't appear to have an end in sight with the other carriages blocking the road. He leaned toward the window to determine the reason for their slow pace. “Precisely why I never come to town.”

His quiet home life called to him like a siren on a damn ocean cliff, but he had business to see to with the Spare Heirs Society. He'd worked secretly for the group of gentlemen for years now, consulting on technical matters for various endeavors. He'd often wondered why he'd been recruited to join the group. St. James had been sure of his decision, though. Secretly Ollie had always thought that as an inventor specializing in clockwork, he wouldn't ever have a large role to play in the sort of work that was popular within the society. Until now. This… He glanced to the newly drawn plans that lay on the seat at his side. This might be something.

Sighing, he settled back in his seat and forced himself to relax. He would enjoy this as best he could even while rolling down the road toward London at a snail's pace. Crosby Steam Works. He'd thought it a mad idea to attempt to produce steam from such a small apparatus. They'd
all
considered it mad. He almost smiled, and he would have if so much were not at stake.

He tugged at the dark-brown waistcoat his grandmother and his wife had insisted he wear. “No one will notice if it matches my eyes,” he'd complained. But grandmothers were an unstoppable force when teamed with any other female.

The thought of his family had his toe tapping on the floor. He glanced to the diagrams of the steam machine once more. St. James and Lord Crosby would be quite surprised indeed to see him in town.

That was, if he could ever manage to arrive in London.

* * *

Afternoon had turned into evening. A footman had stoked the fire; empty glasses had been taken away and replaced with clean ones; and the draperies had been closed on all the windows except the one Ian kept returning to with every pace of the room. The accommodations for his party were at least pleasant, even if the company he kept was not. Ian exhaled in an attempt to remain patient and turned on his heel, walking back across the private parlor they'd been offered use of at the hotel.

“I found him!” Feathsly announced as he stepped into the room…alone. He closed the door behind him.

“Crosby? You have him?” one of the gentlemen asked.

“I saw him not twenty minutes ago.” Feathsly rocked up on his toes, his chest puffed out with obvious pride.

“Yet he isn't here,” Ian muttered, trying to understand the situation.

“No. But I saw him. Laid eyes right upon the scoundrel,” Feathsly returned.

Ian stepped toward the man. “You saw him walking down the street, and you didn't think to stop him? We've been chasing Lord Crosby for weeks.”

“I know we have. I couldn't take the man alone and exclude all of you fine gentlemen. Now that we've bonded on the road and such, I thought we should confront him together. I didn't think it was right to take the credit for finding him after all we've been through.”

“Quite honorable of you, Feathsly,” one of the other gentlemen offered. “We should all have a piece of the celebration that's to come.”

“The celebration,” Ian repeated as he ran a hand over his weary eyes and turned away from the men to keep from throwing a punch. He simply wanted to find Crosby so that he could return to life as usual in Bath. Was that asking overmuch? With these men involved, it indeed did appear to be. “There will be no celebration since the quite honorable Feathsly let the man go.”

“Now see here, Braxton…” one of the gentlemen began, but Ian wasn't listening.

“We've been in London for days now, and this is the first news we've had,” Ian informed Feathsly, turning to face him once more. “We've scoured the city's inns and rented rooms. If Crosby sleeps at night, we have yet to find evidence. Not a soul will speak against the man. Yet you spy him and let him go?”

“I came straight back to tell you about it,” Feathsly defended.

“Do you even know the man's direction this evening? Where did you see him?”

“He was with another gentleman and dressed for the evening.”

“Where?” Ian practically yelled before he reined in his temper.

“On the other side of the park, in the fashionable area.”

Ian turned and began pacing the room again. “What entertainments are being held this evening? I haven't a care if we must attend three balls in one night; this chase ends today.”

“I was invited to a dinner at the Appleby residence,” one of the men said.

“The Rightworths' ball is to be the big one tonight,” another lord chimed in.

Ian turned back to look at the men in the room. “We'll start with the Rightworth event. Whatever we must do, this so-called Crosby will be found by night's end.”

Arriving at a betrothal ball at which one had no intention of becoming betrothed was much like attending one's own funeral. People had gathered together; the excess of flowers was profuse enough to cover any stench; and soon everyone would learn the truth—she wasn't deceased. Or in this case, she wasn't planning to marry. The lack of expectation on her part left her free to enjoy the festivities—as much as she could, anyway, when there was blasted freesia as far as the eye could see and she was trapped in a gown she disliked.

Evangeline glanced down at the ornate gown she wore, topped with such a show of jewels that her arms grew weary of lifting the weight of them. She touched the large necklace at her throat and looked down the wall to where her mother stood talking with a group of ladies.

This would be the last night she would be forced to wear such an ensemble, and since it was, she was almost relishing the pull of her hair into the elaborate style and the heavy jewels that tugged at her earlobes. It was like the last required smile of a dance with an undesirable partner, and much in the same way she savored the discomfort.

“Would you like some whiskey to numb the pain?” Victoria asked. “I always carry a flask in my reticule.” She raised a salute with a glass of lemonade that didn't look like lemonade at all.

“Thank you for the offer, but I find I'm quite looking forward to the announcement.” Evangeline nodded in greeting to two ladies who moved past their corner of the large drawing room.

“I thought the gentleman in question swam in cologne and wanted to use you as a trophy to trot out at parties.”

“Oh, that's all true,” Evangeline replied brightly.

Victoria eyed her over the rim of her lemonade-disguised whiskey. “I'm certain there's an explanation here somewhere.”

Oh, there was quite the explanation. Evangeline adjusted one of the bracelets at her wrist and watched her mother holding court with some other ladies halfway down the wall from where she stood. “You'll quite enjoy it, I'm sure.”

“Now I am curious.”

“I only wish everyone was here tonight,” Evangeline mused as her gaze swept over the sizable crowd.

“It's quite the crush, Evie,” Victoria countered. “No need to get down on things now.”

“I mean Isabelle and Roselyn,” Evangeline turned to say, eyeing her cousin's glass.

“I don't think Roselyn is sparing us a thought.” Victoria returned as she handed her glass to Evangeline with a roll of her eyes.

Evangeline took a sip and immediately regretted the action, handing back the glass while choking out, “True.” Roselyn had left town in rather a rush last week. With her elopement and a wedding trip, she would be gone some time, and Evangeline missed her already. But her friend had finally found happiness, and Evangeline was glad of it.

“What of Isabelle?” Evangeline asked once she'd recovered.

“I couldn't say.” A tightness entered Victoria's usually smooth voice that Evangeline had never heard before. Victoria downed the last of her whiskey in one swallow and handed the empty glass to a passing footman before she continued. “She doesn't speak to me these days. We've become strangers. She spends most of her days at the museum. I believe she may have a new love interest.” She shrugged, not meeting Evangeline's gaze. “I don't see her, not that she minds the space away from me.”

“But you mind being away from her,” Evangeline filled in.

“I do, but don't ever tell her I said as much,” Victoria warned.

“Your secrets are safe here.”

“Speaking of secrets, I sense that you're planning something devious for this evening, and you know I enjoy being involved in devious plots.”

“You're a walking devious plot.”

“Then you see why you require my assistance tonight. It's simply what I do.”

Evangeline smiled at her cousin. For all the flaws of her family, she was grateful to be related to Victoria. Life would never be dull with her around. Evangeline only hoped Lord Hardaway knew what lay ahead of him with her as his wife. As if she'd conjured up the man, she saw him just inside the far door to the room—speaking with Ash.

What was Ash doing here? He'd come back?

Her smile slipped from her face as she calmed her overwhelming desire to run to him. She'd destroyed things there quite well when she'd commanded him to leave her be. But if she ran to him anyway, heedless of shoulds and oughts, then what would she do? Aside from any wrongdoing he'd committed against her family, this void between them was entirely her fault. He was no longer hers. Would she walk up and chat about the weather as if nothing had happened? There were no words for what was in her heart, save three.

She heaved a sigh. It was too late for such confessions, and tonight she must remain focused on the task at hand.

Ripping her gaze from his, she found her mother in front of the bank of windows that lined one wall of the room. “On with the show,” Evangeline muttered to herself. She left Victoria's side to move toward them.

“Evangeline, my darling daughter,” her mother said for the benefit of the ladies who surrounded her. The bracelets on her wrists caught the candlelight as she beckoned Evangeline forward.

“Mother,” Evangeline said with a gracious smile for the group.

“We hear you might have exciting news for us this evening,” Lady Smeltings said, clasping her hands together. “We couldn't imagine a more perfectly suited couple, could we, ladies?”

“Truly? May I ask why you think so?” Evangeline asked.

“Evangeliiiiiiine,” her mother warned through a thin smile. “Of course everyone can see what an ideal match you and Lord Winfield will make.”

“Is that because of our well-matched social standing or how fine I will look in his family's jewels? As long as he has a title worthy of marrying your daughter to and a home ideal for hosting the
ton
's elite, what more could you ask for? We know what's really important, don't we, ladies?” Evangeline gave the group a much- rehearsed wink. A few titters of amusement rolled around the gathered group, along with more than one wide-eyed look of shock. These people didn't know the real Evangeline, but they were about to meet her.

“
Evangeline
.”

“You see, my mother has spent a great deal of time turning me into the type of lady a lord of Winfield's level would find appealing. And tonight is the culmination of her hard work. I believe she's earned a round of applause for her efforts, especially after I nearly wrecked our family when I was twelve years of age—”

“There's no need to discuss this, Evangeline,” her mother sang through teeth clenched into a smile.

“Do you not think so?” Evangeline turned to ask her mother. “That's odd, since you don't miss an opportunity to remind me of my faults behind closed doors.” Shifting her gaze to the circle of ladies who were all staring and hanging on her every word now, she confided, “She even denied me food for several days this season. The effort she's put forth for this day is…astounding.”

Fans fluttered around them, stirring the freesia-scented air as the ladies looked around the group. No one knew how to respond, since no governess or finishing school had ever covered how to react to the sort of show Evangeline had planned. She looked at her mother, daring the woman to contradict her words.

“All of this is for you, darling. Now, I believe we should make the announcement,” her mother said in a clear effort to change the direction of the conversation.

“Yes. Yes, we should,” Evangeline agreed. “Let's announce it.”

“Lord Winfield,” her mother called to him. She sounded nervous. She should be.

“Ah, is it time for our happy news?” Winfield asked as he left his conversation to join them.

“I believe that would be wise,” her mother said, eyeing Evangeline.

Evangeline stepped forward and laid a hand on Winfield's arm to gain his attention. “Do you mind if I say a few words before you make the announcement?”

“Already taking the lead at society events.” He gave her mother a nod of appreciation. “You were correct. She'll make a fine wife.”

Her mother only tittered uncomfortably and shot Evangeline a look of such warning that it required no words.

“Everyone, might I have your attention?” Evangeline announced and waited for the room to quiet. Heads turned and conversations paused until everyone looked in her direction.

There was no turning back. She'd worked her entire life to be the proper lady she was expected to be, and now, with all of society's eyes upon her, she was about to toss aside every bit of that work. She swept her eyes across the room before her gaze landed on Ash. He still stood just inside the far door of the room, watching her.
Everyone
was watching her, but somehow his gaze went deeper, touching her soul without words. Ash wasn't at her side, but somehow his presence steeled her for what she was about to do.

Swallowing the last shred of fear she possessed, she began. “A few moments ago, I was sharing with these lovely ladies a bit about my mother and our gracious host's kindness. Mother, step forward if you please.”

“Oh, I wasn't expecting this.” Her mother clutched a hand over her heart and glanced around uncomfortably at the crowd. “What are you doing?”

Evangeline didn't answer her. “When my mother, Lady Rightworth, was making arrangements for this event, we…had a quarrel.” She held up a hand to stay any comment. She'd spent years memorizing her half of every conversation, and it was finally her own turn to write the words she would speak.

“I'm aware that it does happen between mothers and daughters. You see, I stated that I preferred to wear a cream-colored gown with no adornment or jewels, and that I was fond of the simplicity of daisies.” She turned to her mother with a polite smile to ask, “You remember, don't you, Mother? It was just after you made that dressmaker cry with your insults. At any rate, my
dear
mother, being the wise society matron that she is, instructed me on the
correct
flowers and gown that you see before you tonight.

“What do I know of my own likes and dislikes, after all? Therefore, tonight I would like to recognize my mother, whose insistent influence can be seen in every single bloom this evening, every bit of abundance used for the sole purpose of impressing everyone here, and every piece of my own ensemble.”

Evangeline raised a glass of champagne intended for the toast to the newly betrothed couple as she continued, “As you can see, there is freesia in every available vase present this evening, and I am dressed in the gown in which she saw fit to display me.”

“Evangeline, you do jest.” Her mother batted her arm playfully, yet hard enough that a bruise would form by tomorrow. “I hope you have a liking for humor, Lord Winfield.”

“I hope so too, Mother.” Evangeline glanced at Winfield, who had a confused look on his face but was otherwise remaining silent. “Of course, you will always be around to make such decisions as flowers and gowns for me so Lord Winfield won't truly know his wife at all.” She released a false laugh just as her mother had taught her to do and forced her to practice until her voice was hoarse. “He'll have no idea that I think freesia smells like a brothel at sunset before all the men arrive for the night.”

She took a bloom out of the nearest vase and flung it at her mother. This hadn't been part of her plan, but blast it all, it felt wonderful. How much pain, fear, and sorrow had she experienced at this woman's hand? The very woman who should have cared for her had used her position to hurt her. And now that she'd begun she couldn't stop.

“Lord Winfield won't know that I find an abundance of freesia blooms perhaps more overbearing than my mother, which is a rather difficult feat to achieve.” She flung two more flowers at her mother, watching as they fell to the floor between them.

“He won't know that I'm capable of discussing more than just the weather.” She pulled out more flowers and threw them, smiling when they hit their target. There were gasps, but she didn't care. She wasn't listening to the gasps. She didn't look around to confirm the looks of dismay on every face present. She'd wasted far too much of her life trying to be the perfect lady. Everything with her mother was a show.

She wanted a show? This would be one to remember.

Evangeline was going to shed the false identity she'd been forced to wear for so long. She was Evie Green, precision in smiles and gowns be damned.

“Of course, none of my preferences matter since I'll have no say in my own home, just as I have no say in my life.” She ripped a bracelet from her wrist and hurled it at her mother.

“You'll tell me what to wear as you always do.” She pulled an earring from her ear and tossed it.

“You'll tell me what I'm allowed to eat—or not eat, as the case may be.” She removed the other earring and smirked as her mother held her hands up to block her face from harm before Evie hit her arm with the shot.

“You'll tell me what I must say and force me to rehearse conversations.” She removed the other bracelet and sent it sailing in her mother's direction. Then she ripped the necklace from her throat and threw it at the woman now surrounded by flowers and jewels, just as she'd forced Evie to be covered in adornment. “You'll tell me who I am and what I want for the rest of my life. How do I know this? Because you always have!” Evie exclaimed as she threw the last bracelet at her mother. “And for what? To marry me to a gentleman for your own social gain? How high must you climb in society to be happy, Mother?

“It ends today. I will not allow you to manage my life any longer.” She turned and grabbed the half-empty vase of freesia in her fist. But as Evie looked away, her mother grabbed her arm, attempting to drag her away from the watchful eyes of the crowd. Her grip was tight, but Evie was used to such a stranglehold on her person. Wrenching free of the woman, she turned back to face her.