Page 134 of The Siren of Sussex

He stepped forward, an expression of entreaty on his face. “I’d be grateful for the opportunity to speak with you in private.”

She gave a sudden start. “It isn’t about Fenny and your brother?”

“Yes,” he said. “And, er, other matters.”

Evelyn pressed a hand to her midsection. As far as she knew, her sister had safely returned to France. That didn’t mean Fenny was free of danger. A pregnant woman was always at risk. Especially one living among strangers so far from home.

“Very well,” she said. “Give me a moment to fetch my jacket and hat.”

“I’ll meet you in the square,” Stephen said.

In short order, he was handing her up into his new gig. It was a smart vehicle, with a glossy black-painted body and bright yellow wheels. Two matching black horses danced in the traces.

“They’re very elegant,” she remarked as she slipped her spectacles into the pocket of her skirt.

“And priced accordingly.” Hopping up onto the seat, Stephen gathered the reins and gave the horses the office to start. “I daresay I could have got the entire rig for less if I’d bought it in Sussex.”

“Why didn’t you?” she asked. “I thought you’d have returned there weeks ago.”

He guided the horses from the square. Their steel-shod hooves clattered noisily on the cobblestones. “As did I.”

Evelyn settled her wide-brimmed hat more firmly on her head. “Have you had news of them?”

“Of my brother? Yes. He’s gone back to France if you can believe it. And your sister with him.”

“Oh?” She made an effort to sound as if this was news to her. “It’s for the best, I expect.”

“For your sister, perhaps. For Anthony? I wonder. Sometimes I think he must be mad.” He clucked to the horses, urging them into a trot. “You’ll be glad, in any case.”

“I am glad.”

“Not for them. For yourself. You were concerned that your sister might harm your prospects.” There was an undercurrent to his words, just shy of mockery.

She shot him a look.

“I didn’t fully comprehend you at the time,” he said. “But I’ve since come to understand.”

“Have you?” She was doubtful. He didn’t sound very understanding.

“I won’t claim I wasn’t surprised,” he admitted. “A lack of imagination on my part.”

That, Evelyn could well believe. “You never saw me as anything more than a comrade.”

“A comrade. Yes. We were, weren’t we?”

“I thought us friends,” she said. “Until we weren’t.”

“You can’t blame me for that. You know how my father is.”

She did, but it was no excuse for Stephen’s own behavior. “Your father wasn’t anywhere near the village three years ago when you cut me dead in the street.”

“Three years ago, I was a child.”

“You were one and twenty. Nearly the same age as I was.” She rested a hand on the side of the gig, gripping it to keep from being jostled against him. “There’s no point in arguing over the past. What’s done is done.”

“Yes,” he agreed. “Let’s put that unpleasantness behind us. It makes no difference to our future.”

“What do you mean our—” She broke off, turning sharply in her seat. “You’re going in the wrong direction! Hyde Park is that way.”