Evelyn narrowed her own. “Elizabeth I. She had red hair and was titled The Virgin Queen.”
“Her cousin Mary was a harlot who’d hair like a putrid throat.”
“Catherine of Aragon. The people loved her.”
“Queen Guinevere, adulterous strumpet.”
“Vice-Admiral Horatio Nelson.” Yes, she was getting desperate.
“Wore a wig, so unproven.” Lady Owlswick sniffed. “Jezebel.”
“I most certainly am no–”
“Biblical queen, dear. Admit defeat.”
“Boadicea. Queen of the Celts.”
Lady Owlswick sat back with hands folded beneath generous bosom, an almost impressed expression upon her lined face. “I concede.” One corner of her lip curved. “And how is your sister this morning?”
“Better. Although…we may be leaving soon.”
A haughty brow rose in noble question, obliging of an answer.
“The duke is under a certain…misapprehension. One that I intend to correct this morning.”
Lady Owlswick remained silent in that uncanny manner which encouraged blurting in others.
“I am not who I say I am,” Evelyn admitted.
The noble nose scrunched. “Are any of us?” She lifted the quizzing glass which hung on a gold chain around her neck and perused Evelyn. “Do you know, I haven’t been invited to this house for eight months, two weeks and three days, and I find myself enjoying it immensely: the complete lack of chaperoning required, readingThe Midnight Bellto your sister and Monsieur de Fogeron’s soup ofpomme de terre. Am I making myself clear?”
Evelyn shook her head, and Lady Owlswick sighed a sigh that made her thoughts on Evelyn’s intelligence very clear. “Let me put it simply. If you depart this household, so do I.”
Oh. An ally…of sorts.
“I understand, my lady, but I can lie to the duke no longer.”
“And then what? Your sister has been telling me a little of your…situation. I have no wish to see that sweet child returned to a den of immorality such as Covent Garden. Filthy place.”
“I am applying for positions as governess and I hope the duke may–”
“You will come to me,” Lady Owlswick stated with true Rothwell imperiousness. “I require a companion. Your sister revealed that you have done everything within your power to provide for her, and I respect such gumption in a world that gives women few options. Working for a curmudgeon like me will provide you both with food, warmth, beds and a small wage. Acceptable?”
Evelyn took no time to fret or wring her hands. “I accept, thank you, but the duke–”
She waved a shooing hand. “Pfff. Dukes do not intimidate me, only kings and at times even they can be rather underwhelming.”
Smiling Evelyn bobbed a curtsey, fresh hope for the future rising within her. With the promise of a roof over their heads and a small wage, she could perhaps pay Filgrave at the one shilling a week they had originally agreed.
“I am most grateful, my lady, and I promise to attend to your needs most diligently and obediently.” Evelyn crossed her fingers.
Lady Owlswick sniffed. “No fawning. It’s your pluck I admire.” She peered to the silver locket watch suspended from her neck and tutted. “Rothwell will have ingested his kippers by now.” A gimlet eye flickered up. “But beware, my dear, when informing the duke of his…misapprehension, for that boy does not care for dishonesty after his scapegrace of a father’s antics.”
That did not ease Evelyn’s nerves as she gave another curtsey and backed from the room, softly closing the door to tip her forehead upon it.
Yet her heart was no longer able to lie, another emotion having taken hold.
In her wildest dreams, she imagined that the truth of her was irrelevant to Casper’s feelings, that her deception did not matter one jot…
