Tugging open the creaking gate, he stalked the central garden’s geometric pathways of stone, the clack of his boots the lone accompaniment – no flame hair to light the dark, or porcelain skin to ease his mind.
“Evelyn?” he shouted as he tracked from the gardens to the far end of Grosvenor, dashing up North Audley and peering down Providence Court.
But naught.
Refusing to believe she could disappear like a wraith, he tramped back to the south side of the square, squinting down basement steps and scaring maids at their evening toil.
Did Evelyn hide, fearing his anger? Was she trembling, shamed at her deception?
“Seeking someone, Rothwell?”
Whirling, he encountered the Duke of Rakecombe descending the steps from No. 38, cane tapping.
“Mrs Swift. Have you seen her?”
An amused smile. “Ah. The redhead from the ball who…resides with you?” He raised a brow. “I did happen to observe two females hail a hackney from the south corner some moments ago, and one did indeed fit that description.”
Casper cursed. A foul one.
“If we can be of aid at all, do call upon my duchess.” And with a tip of hat, Rakecombe ambled into the night, the shadows embracing his cloaked frame like a long-lost friend.
Damn it! Where would she go? Would she–
“Nephew!”
A black greatcoat enveloped him, and only now did he realise he’d departed the house in nothing but shirt sleeves.
His teeth grit against the bitter cold, that chill north wind freezing his blood. “It’s her, Uncle.” He gripped the coat tight. “Evelyn is the woman in my painting. Sir Henry’s daughter.”
“Hmm.” Uncle nodded sagely, lifting his Pulcinella Venetian eye mask to scratch his cheek. “I thought it might be something like that.”
“What?” Casper stared, lost for good manners or indeed anything else.
“Well, I vaguely remember the fuss of Sir Henry’s elopement with some red-headed chit called Swift from years back–”
“And you didn’t think tosharethat snippet of information, Uncle?”
“I don’t like to interfere, as you know, and besides, you seemed to be enjoying yourself… That desk, eh?”
Casper refused to gape as Uncle slapped him on the back, the elongated nose of that absurd mask wobbling.
“She won’t have gone far,” consoled Uncle, “not with her sister still at home so why don’t we go for a tipple and I’ll try to recall what I can.”
A curt nod, but narrowing his eyes, Casper glowered into the pitch night. “But first, there’s someone we need to speak with.”
Chapter 28
If ifs and buts were pots and pans,
How rich the tinker would be.
“The Earl of Sidlow attempted to insert his tongue in my mouth. Can you imagine? Men are quite foul. I hate to think where he picked up such a perversion.”
Crowded around the fire, with shoes and stockings discarded beneath the chaise, Evelyn and Flora thrust their toes to the warmth whilst Matilda held court upon the gold-damask fireside chair.
“And then,” Matilda continued, quite into her stride, “he outlined his marital expectations. My duties are to include the wearing of black garters, oiling his corsets and keeping his lance polished.”
Evelyn blinked.
