Page 10 of Evie and Louis: The Story so Far

I count on your help in this matter.

―Excerpt of a letter from Louis César de Montluc, Comte de Villen to Miss Evie Knight (daughter of Lady Helena and Mr Gabriel Knight).

Chapter 5

Dare it all for Love

7th August 1839, Saxenhurst Hall, Sussex.

Florence could not help but feel relieved when she entered the parlour. Most of the guests, including the sophisticated widows Lady St Clair had invited, had left that morning, which meant she might have half a chance of conversing with her elusive heart’s desire, Mr Henry Stanhope. Assuming he ever so much as glanced in her direction. Though she had only seen him for the first time here at Holbrook just days ago, she had the strangest feeling that there was no other man who would ever capture her attention as thoroughly as he had. She did not know exactly what it was about him, only that he drew her to him whenever he was in the room, and she could concentrate on nothing else. She made her way over to Evie, who was laughing at something Louis César had said.

“Good evening, Monsieur le Comte,” she said as he bowed politely. “I hope my sister isn’t teasing you?”

“Yes, she is,” he replied with a sad shake of his head. “She is a dreadful girl and I wish you would take her away.”

Florence grinned, knowing he didn’t mean it. She had been worried by the rather odd friendship between the comte and her little sister, even speaking to her mother about it. She knew Mama was keeping a close eye on them too, but now she saw what Mama had told her, that Louis César regarded Evie much as she did, as a sister. For Evie’s part, she truly did not seem to see the man’s stunning good looks. This bewildered Florence, who found them somewhat intimidating. She could not imagine being married to a man who was so much more beautiful than you were. It would be a constant source of stress and anxiety, as other women would always want him and try to take him from you.

“You are only sulking because I won our bet,” Evie said, her plump cheeks dimpling as she gave a smug smile. “I told you Ash’s waistcoat would outshine yours, and it does.”

Louis César made a sound of disgust. “Being garish enough to induce a megrim does not mean it has superior attributes.”

“I heard that,” Ash remarked, turning around. “And of course my waistcoat is superior, it has canaries on it.”

An expression of pain crossed Louis César’s exquisite features as he cast Ash’s waistcoat a dubious glance. “Is that what they are? I thought they were goldfish.”

“With wings?” Ash retorted.

Ash’s twin sister Vivien joined the conversation and squinted at the canaries. “Well, they could be fins, not wings.”

“Traitor,” Ash said hotly.

Vivien patted his arm. “Well, darling, really. Lime green with yellow birds is a little de trop, even for you.”

“Philistines, every one of you,” he muttered, before stalking away.

8th August 1839, Saxenhurst Hall, Sussex.

Florence considered her mama, who stared thoughtfully out at the view before them.

Grace frowned down at her plate, tracing a pattern in the crumbs. She seemed to have the weight of the world on her shoulders. Florence looked between them. Had Grace taken a chance on someone?

“But if you’d not taken a chance, if you’d not dared him to race you to Brighton, you’d never have won him, would you,” she urged, wanting to hear her mother agree to give her reassurance.

Her mother shrugged, her green eyes taking on a faraway look, her beautiful mouth curving with a soft smile. “Oh, I don’t know about that. I think I would have found another way. It might have taken me longer, but… I’m nothing if not persistent.”

“It is a family trait,” Louis César murmured, gaining himself an elbow in the ribs from Evie, who had also been listening.

“Someone has to stop you from misbehaving. I think of myself as the voice of your conscience,” Evie said airily. “Without me you’d go to the devil in no time.”

Louis César snorted at that and cut a neat slice of apple, handing it to Evie before cutting another for himself. “Between you and Agatha, I shall be willing to enrol myself in the nearest monastery before the year is out, just to get a little peace.”

“Piffle. You enjoy the attention. Oooh, look, macarons! My favourite.”

“At least you are easily distracted,” Louis César observed, reaching for the plate and setting it in front of her. “Do not eat all the pink ones.”

“Why not?”

“I like them best,” he replied with a wink. He turned to where the children were playing some game of their own devising across the field and called out. “Aggie, viens ici, mon enfant.”