“Ahhh.” Madame looked at her with sympathy. “I’ve heard a bit about that. The good news I suppose is that you’ve landed with a man who will do everything to protect you.”
“But he was so insistent that you put everyone else’s needs aside and see to mine.”
She scoffed. “Negotiations, my dear. I’ll charge him triple. He won’t know the difference. And you shan’t tell him.”
“I’m not certain I would try to cheat him.”
“Oh, he may bark very loudly, but I don’t think he bites women. Not if the way he looked at you is any indication. Now come along to the back room. You’ll need to remove your clothing so I can get proper measurements.”
“Why did you call them the lost lords?” Evelyn asked as she followed Madame into a small room.
As Madame helped Evelyn out of her clothing, she said, “Now that’s a story. When they were lads, they disappeared after their father died. Rumors abounded. Some said they’d fallen ill. Some that they were murdered by gypsies. Some that they were eaten by wolves. Then I suppose it was ... what, three years ago? Something like that. I remember because Lady Mary—who is now the Duchess of Keswick—had just come to London, and I’d made her a ball gown. Anyway, the lords appeared at the ball. Caused quite the stir.”
“Where were they all those years?”
“Keswick was in the army, fought in the Crimea. Ghastly business that. Lord Tristan returned as captain of a ship, so I assume he was on the sea. Lord Rafe was about here somewhere. Not much is known of him. He shuns Society, or perhaps it shuns him.”
Evelyn thought of the empty feeling of his residence, the way he had sat alone during hercoming out,his gruff manner, his rule that she could never hold him. She wondered if his claiming her for a mistress had nothing at all to do with Ekroth, but with his own loneliness.
Leaving his carriage near the dressmaker’s, Rafe strode with purpose down the street. He needed a sweet, a nice, hard, sugary sweet. He couldn’t recall the last time he’d had such a craving. He wanted something to make him feel good instead of like a rotten bastard.
Whatever had overcome him to press the dressmaker as he had? It was Eve, dammit all. The look of mortification and a wish for death that had crossed her face when she realized that an inconsequential shop owner had determined her purpose in Rafe’s life—and disapproved of it. Who was this woman to disapprove of anything he did?
He was providing Eve with a sanctuary. Yes, she had to pay a price for it, but then nothing in life came free. Not even freedom. It was the highest price of all.
To make matters worse, he’d fallen back on his heritage to get the respect he wanted for Eve. Lord Rafe Easton. He’d not referred to himself as lord since Sebastian’s place was secure. He couldn’t be more disappointed in himself. He was his own man. He didn’t need to tie himself in with his brothers to gain what he desired.
But he had been angry, so very angry that Eve was feeling as though she was less than she was, that she appeared to be on the verge of tears. But she had been strong enough not to shed them, and that had made him want to take a lash to himself.
Finally, to his immense relief, he caught sight of a sweet shop. He opened the door as two ladies were coming out. He tipped his hat and as soon as they were through, he charged inside. Some little imp of a girl was standing beside an older scruffy-looking lad, holding his hand, trying to decide what she wanted. He could see a penny clutched in the boy’s grip. A penny’s worth of candy. How long was this going to take?
Children. He would never have any. Didn’t want them, wouldn’t know what to do with them. Still, this girl drew his attention, a blue ribbon holding her blond tangled hair from her face while it flowed down her back. He imagined Eve at that age. Had she ever held her brother’s hand, had he ever looked out for her? Why had her father not arranged to see that Eve was properly taken care of after his death? Surely he was not blind to the fact that his son was lacking in character.
Perhaps he thought leaving her to her brother’s care would force the man to grow up, to assume responsibility, to learn to put someone before himself. Instead, he’d followed his nature and selfishly rid himself of her as soon as possible in a way that profited him, selling off her things. He wished she’d asked for more than a portrait and a horse, because he’d have acquired the whole blasted house if she’d wanted it. Not because he cared for her, but because it would have been the right thing to do. It had been a long time since he’d wanted to do anything simply because it was the right thing to do.
Last year sometime. When Tristan had needed his help to locate the man everyone thought should marry Anne. And two years before that when he’d attended balls that he didn’t want to attend, in order to ensure Sebastian’s rightful place in Society. And since then he’d cared only about what he wanted. Maybe he wasn’t that different from Wortham. The thought sickened him—that he might have anything in common with that scapegrace.
The child was sucking on her finger now and dancing on the tips of her toes. The clerk behind the counter gave him an I’ll-be-with-you-in-a-moment look that truly meant I may never be with you.
“Come on, Lizzie. Pick sumfink,” the lad said.
Yes, Lizzie,Rafe thought.Pick something.
“Dunno. They’re all so pretty.”
The clerk sighed, pursed his lips. “May I help you, sir?”
“A dozen peppermint humbugs.”
As the clerk scooped the light and dark brown striped hard candies into a sack, Rafe’s mouth began to water. He’d gone too long without the indulgence. As soon as the clerk handed over the sack, Rafe dug out one of the hard nuggets, popped it into his mouth, and savored the sweetness.
The girl looked up at him with wide blue eyes, not the shade of Eve’s, but still a color that would draw men to her as she got older. He extended the bag toward her. “Here, you may have the rest.”
The boy pulled her nearer to his side, and put his arm protectively around her narrow shoulders. “We dun know ye. Wot ye be wantin’?”
Street children then, old enough to already have learned not to trust. It was a hard lesson, one Rafe had not excelled at quite quickly enough. He’d innocently taken food offered by a fellow named Dimmick, and before he knew it he became one of Dimmick’s lackeys, doing what he was ordered to do because the man’s punishments generally involved mutilation of some sort.
“Nothing, lad. I simply misjudged how hungry I was. The clerk can’t take them back once he’s handed them over. I’m not of a mood to toss them in the garbage bin. Do you want them or not?”
