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“How old are you?” The question sprang from her without her making the conscious decision to ask. “I’m being impolite and improper, forgive me, my lord,” she said, each word carefully measured. It baffled Evie how much she wanted his admiration after so little time spent in his company.
A young lady must never be obvious in her regard for a gentleman. That was another gentle lesson from her governess, to which she so desperately wanted to adhere.
He strolled closer, careful to stay hidden from the view of the other guests who were peering up, no doubt wondering what kept her riveted. “I thought we were to be friends.”
“Oh, yes, most assuredly,” she said with far too much enthusiasm.
Lord Richard’s enigmatic smile was fleeting, but she could feel every nuance of his stare as it skimmed across her features. Delight stirred in her veins at the admiration she espied.
“Discourse between friends can never be improper. Trust and honesty are values I treasure. Let’s not taint our interactions with hypocrisy and false senses of propriety.”
She was quite pleased with his unpretentiousness. “Of course. I shall be optimistic of our friendship, and I will endeavor to always be trustworthy and candid.” Her promise was very much in opposition to the lessons drilled into her by her mamma and governess. A lady must never be bold with the truth but should be coy and modest, even if her heart holds another sentiment. It was quite appealing to have a relationship not riddled with polite half-truths.
His eyes warmed. “Thank you, Lady Evie. I will accord you the same honor, though I shall try to be mindful of my tongue.”
“As long as your mindfulness is not in a bid to coddle my feminine sensibilities, I daresay our friendship shall be favorable indeed.”
He moved a few steps closer, the lights from the candles now splashing across the upper part of his body. “I shall be twenty-four in a few weeks.”
Eight years separated them, and quite evidently, a wealth of experience on his part. “I shall bake a cake in celebration of the event. You must call to collect it.”
“You bake?” The man could hardly disguise his surprise. “Not at all proper, are you?” he suggested drolly.
Amusement curled inside. “Quite unconventional, I know, and Mamma would surely send me to our estate in Scotlan
d if it was made known I shared such a confidence. However, I would like to know how to prepare my favorites so I can instruct any cooks I may employ in the future.”
“Your secrets are safe with me.”
Inexplicably, she believed him. “Thank you.”
“I shall look forward to my birthday treat expectantly, and with prayers.”
“I assure you while I am quite unremarkable, I’m a capable cook. You will not be poisoned.” Though she was now regretting the impulsive offer. Outside of the kitchen staff, only her brother had been kind enough to sample whatever she created.
Footsteps alerted her, and she glanced down to spy Miss Henrietta Dawson climbing the stairs with a wide smile on her face. The cheerfulness of Miss Dawson’s nature had made them dear friends, and Evie was happy to see her.
“Oh, Evie, you are so beautiful,” Henrietta said, her blue eyes glowing with merriment.
“So are you.” Henrietta was dressed in a peach high-waisted gown, with cream lace trimmings. “I am so happy you managed to come.”
“Papa was reluctant to allow me, but dear Mamma was determined for me to have a jolly time and has accompanied me,” she said with a light laugh. Henrietta followed Evie’s quick glance toward the shadowed corner.
“Is someone there?”
Grinning, Evie looped their hands together, and they descended the staircase toward the heart of the ball. “Lord Richard Maitland. We had an occasion to meet earlier, and just now he was atop the landing.”
Henrietta frowned. “Oh, Evie, you must be careful. I overheard your mother saying he has the affable charm of a snake.”
“A very beautiful snake,” she retorted with a soft smile as they reached the last step. “And I can already tell he will be a witty and amusing conversationalist who will not be overly concerned with my sensibilities.”
“Evie!” Henrietta gasped, her eyes rounding like saucers. “He is wholly unsuitable. I’ve heard whispers he’s a rake. You ought not to favor him with any dances, should he ask.”
A rake? Earlier when she had been floundering in a sea of doubt and fear, he had been amazing. He’d comforted her instead of acting the scoundrel, lent a listening ear instead of being impatient, and in his eyes, she had seen genuine kindness. His manner had not been as cheerful as her brother’s own; instead there had been a hint of jadedness in Lord Richard’s eyes she’d not understood. Instinctively she recognized that he had many layers to his character, all wonderfully complex. He was so different from her. They were night and day, water and wine, but he was wonderfully, tantalizingly appealing.
“I would dance every dance with him if propriety permitted.” While she highly esteemed Henrietta’s opinion, Evie was still directed by her own.
Ignoring her friend’s appalled look, Evie squared her shoulders as her mother approached with the Duke of Carlyle. His eyes ran over her in a blatantly possessive scrutiny, and her stomach knotted. In quick order, he secured two dances with her mother’s beaming approval. He was also to lead her into supper, an honor that would not go unnoticed by those in attendance. The duke’s actions were informing everyone she was off the marriage mart, before she had even made her debut.
