Page 54 of An Enchanting Dare

“You’re very kind, my lady.”

The countess drew level with him and reached out, taking his hands in her. “No. You are very kind. Mr Cootes. I have seen the change in Aisling these past weeks. She laughs more and seems to be regaining her sparkle. I do not believe I am wrong in thinking you have had something to do with this.”

Sylvester smiled, pride and love and frustration bursting in his chest. “If I have, then I have never been more pleased about anything in my life.”

“You are a good man, Mr Cootes,” the countess said. “I don’t suppose you would confide…?”

“If Aisling wishes to tell you, she will,” he said, his voice firm. “She put her trust in me, and I will not break that trust, not even for you.”

The woman’s eyes sparkled, and she swallowed hard, but she nodded. “I understand,” she said, her voice unsteady. “Well. I hope one day she will confide in me, only… I wish she had felt able to—”

“She loves you and her father, my lady, very much. It was not a distrust or fear of reprisals or any lack on your part as parents, I assure you. You have nothing to reproach yourselves for,” Sylvester said firmly, interrupted the countess, for he did not wish for her to suffer any more guilt.

Aisling adored her parents and had given him every reason to believe they had been attentive and loving.

“Oh.” The countess put her hand to her mouth, fighting tears, and Sylvester reached out and patted her shoulder, feeling extremely awkward. She made a choked sound, a laugh, he thought, which was a blessing. He was uncertain how to cope with Aisling’s mother in tears. “You have relieved my mind. I have been so worried and upset and s-so guilty. Thank you, Mr Cootes. Thank you so much. I shall never be able to repay you.”

Sylvester hesitated, wanting so much to ask but… she was hardly going to hand over her daughter’s hand in marriage to him just because she was grateful.

“There’s no debt to repay,” he said gently.

The countess sighed and smiled at him, taking his arm. “I shall escort you downstairs,” she said as Sylvester’s heart sank. He’d hoped to take his leave of Aisling in private, but now that would be impossible. “I hope we shall see you here at Trevick again soon, Mr Cootes?”

“I hope so too,” he said, brightening with the hope the lady might think to invite him. “I should be delighted to visit again.”

“You will be returning to Marcross Manor to your brother’s estate?”

Sylvester nodded, his heart turning over as he saw Aisling waiting for him in the entrance hall. Alana was there with Cara and Violette, the three girls hugging each other and whispering secrets. “Yes. Once I have delivered Miss Alana back to her parents.”

“Well, we must wish our guests a safe journey, darling,” the countess said, taking Aisling’s arm.

Sylvester forced a smile to his lips, too aware of the quality of the countess’ gaze. She was watching them closely. Perhaps she suspected Sylvester’s feelings for her daughter. Well, he would do nothing to cause Aisling trouble, but would behave like a gentleman.

He took Aisling’s hand in his and bowed over it, formal and excruciatingly polite. “Thank you for being such a charming hostess, Lady Aisling. You have made my stay here at Trevick a memorable one.”

“The pleasure was mine, Mr Cootes,” she said, and though he ought to worry, for fear her mother took note, he could not regret the depth of regard he saw in her eyes. “I hope we shall see you again soon.”

“If fortune smiles upon me,” he said, hoping she understood the words were not as light-hearted as they sounded.

“Goodbye, my lady, countess. Come, Alana, we must not keep the horses standing, and we risk missing our train if we don’t leave now.”

Moments later, they were on their way, and the enormous edifice of the castle disappeared behind a thick screen of woodland.

15th July 1841, Swan Hall, East Sussex, Kent.

Evie smothered a yawn as Rachel brushed her hair out with long, firm sweeps of the brush. It was soothing, making her sleepy after a long and lovely day. She was nineteen years old today and her family had celebrated with her. It had been an almost perfect day.

Almost, because she had not heard from Louis and, though she hated to admit it, for it made her sound very spoiled and ungrateful, it had taken the shine off her happiness. Usually he found a way to get her gift to her, even if he could not see her in person. She wondered if perhaps he had forgotten this year, though he had always given her such wonderful gifts in the past. Ruefully, she had to admit to herself it wasn’t the gift she was missing, but his attention. She liked it when he made a fuss of her, liked being the centre of his attention. Not that she disliked the presents either, for he had such exquisite taste, always seeming to know what she liked better than she did herself.

Perhaps he really had found someone special, as she had suspected. She had nagged him for years to find himself a wife and settle down, for she knew he was lonely. Had he finally taken her advice? The idea made her stomach feel peculiar, a strange empty sensation like when the carriage rolled over a small hump in the road at speed and your belly dropped away. If he married, he might not be her friend as he was now. It would not be surprising if his wife did not like or understand their friendship, though she knew if she married, a husband would like it even less. Louis’ beautiful wife might not see Evie as a threat after all, and Louis’ wife would undoubtedly be beautiful, for he could have anyone he chose. But whoever Evie’s husband turned out to be, he would not like a man as sinfully handsome as Louis to have such a close friendship with her.

Oh, bother. It had been such a lovely day, and now she was feeling all out of sorts. Evie scolded herself for being foolish and reminded herself of how very blessed she was. Mama had arranged a splendid family party, and Papa had spoiled her dreadfully as he always did. Her older sister Florence had come with Henry and their new son, Oscar, who was simply adorable. Evie had enjoyed playing auntie to her nephew and holding him in her arms had confirmed her hopes for the future. She wanted a big family, with lots and lots of children. A mad, chaotic, wonderful mess of a family who would cause havoc and noise and let her love them and organise them and make them happy. Perhaps, she thought sadly, if she had all that, she could come to accept the loss of her dearest friend.

Whoever she married must understand and support her in that endeavour, though. She could not choose a man who thought children should be seen and not heard, who thought the nannies should be responsible for everything and his children presented to him for five minutes before bedtime, all pink-cheeked and smiling.

“Shall I plait it for you, miss?” Rachel asked, setting the brush aside.

Evie shook her head and patted Rachel’s arm. “No, thank you. I can manage. You can go now. I’m sure you must be tired, too.”