Page 57 of The Siren of Sussex

“Never,” she’d answered. “I’m happy in Combe Regis.”

“You’re sensible,” he’d said approvingly. “Too sensible to indulge in a season in town. You’d never suit London society. And there’s no use your going there just to be disappointed.”

Evelyn had been stung by his words. Hurt, and a trifle confused. Like much of what Stephen had said to her during the last year of their friendship, it had seemed to be an insult wrapped in a compliment. Words engineered to make her doubt her own value.

His silence had made her doubt herself even more.

After the scandal, he’d not only stopped speaking to her, but when they’d next encountered each other in the village, he’d given her the cut direct. Everyone had seen him do it. Everyone had known.

That had hurt worst of all.

Back in her room at Russell Square, Evelyn changed out of her habit and boots and into a comfortable dress and a pair of soft slippers. Wrapping an old cashmere shawl about herself, she repaired to the drawing room. It was less drafty there than her bedchamber, and warmer, too. The wall sconces were lit, and a fire blazed in the hearth.

Snuggling up in the cushioned window seat, she perused the society page of her uncle’s daily paper in an effort to refocus her attention on the task at hand.

A futile enterprise.

Stephen was here, and with him all of the knowledge of Fenny’s scandal. Who knew but that he might rake it all up again?

It was Evelyn’s greatest fear. That her older sister’s conduct would reach out from the past to, once more, spoil the prospects of the Maltravers family. It was bad enough that the scandal had hurt them three years ago. But to do so again, right when Evelyn was on the verge of making a success of things?

She couldn’t stand to think of it.

Her younger sisters didn’t deserve to have their futures thwarted. They had hopes and dreams of their own, some of which Evelyn knew and others she only guessed at.

Gussie was a gentle soul who craved a home and children. Caro wanted to write her own gothic novel someday. Bette had often mentioned the possibility of attending the Ladies College in Bedford Square. And Izzy longed for travel. To see Paris, Rome, and Constantinople.

What chance had they for any of that if Evelyn didn’t succeed in her goal?

Resting her cheek against the rain-streaked glass, she made another vain attempt at reading the society page. She was still huddled there, nearly a half hour later, when Mrs. Quick appeared in the doorway.

“There’s a tradesman come calling at the kitchen door, Miss Maltravers. He’s asking to speak with you.”

Evelyn lowered the paper. “With me? Whatever for?”

“He claims to be your habit-maker.”

Evelyn’s pulse jumped. Mr. Malik was here? She wasn’t set to see him again until next week. She’d quite resigned herself to the fact.

“Shall I send him away?” Mrs. Quick asked.

“No, no. That won’t be necessary.” Setting aside the paper, Evelyn hastily rose from her seat. “I don’t suppose my uncle’s back from the museum?”

“Not yet.”

“And Agnes? Has she returned?”

“No, miss. I wouldn’t expect her back before eight o’clock.”

Evelyn smoothed her faded gray dress. It was only Mr. Malik. They’d been alone together plenty of times in far more intimate circumstances than these. She didn’t need her uncle to lend her countenance. And she certainly didn’t require the presence of her maid.

But it wasn’t her lack of a chaperone that made her hesitate. It was that kiss.

That kiss.

It had changed everything. And now—

“Miss Maltravers?”