Page 39 of Evie and Louis: The Story so Far

“Well, Mama ought to be pleased. Parliament doesn’t open until the end of the month, so she feared everyone would still be in Brighton or in the country, but it’s a crush. It will be the talk of the ton for weeks.”

Viv nodded her agreement, too distracted to say more whilst her brother kept up an amusing commentary upon the guests, their attire, who they were talking to—and about.

“Goodness, will you look at Evie?” he exclaimed. “Such a change has come over her recently. I swear she gets prettier every time I see her.”

Viv turned in the direction Ash was staring and smiled with pleasure. “So she does. Another new gown. My, but she looks lovely.”

“I can’t believe she is still seeing Madame Blanchet. The old bat never designed that. The cut of the bodice is exquisite and quite out of the ordinary. I’d lay money on that being someone else’s work.”

“Ash!” Viv said with a choked laugh.

Ash shrugged. “Well, really. She’s not half so talented as she thinks she is. It’s all very well designing for the standard English rose, but give the woman anyone out of the ordinary and she doesn’t know what to do with her. A one-trick pony is the expression, I believe.”

Viv bit back a smile, remembering the irritated words Ash had exchanged with the woman when he’d seen the yellow gown. Viv had thought it beautiful, but had understood it did not suit her the moment Ash had held it up to her before a looking glass. It was perhaps not in the ordinary way of things to take one's brother to help choose her gowns, but Viv didn’t much care. She found the entire process tedious, and Ash got so heated when she chose badly that it was far easier to let him be a part of the process. How a man could choose so well for her and wear such hideous waistcoats, however, was one of life’s great mysteries. Tonight’s was a deep purple with tiny golden suns embroidered all over, and quite restrained by her brother’s standards.

“Miss Knight!” Ash called, grinning as Evie spotted them and hurried over.

“Good evening, Mr Anson. Viv,” she said, dipping a curtsey to Ash and embracing Viv. “Oh, Vivien, how beautiful you look. Simply ravishing,” she said, staring at Viv.

“We were just saying the same of you,” Viv said with a laugh. “What a lovely gown. That shade of sea green matches your eyes perfectly. Wherever did you get it?”

To her surprise, Evie blushed. “Oh, Madame Blanchet made it for me,” she said, though she avoided Viv’s gaze. Ash glanced at Viv, eyebrows raised.

“Does she have a new designer?” he demanded.

“Oh, er… no, she doesn’t. Do excuse me, I said I’d dance with Mr Godwin.”

Evie hurried off again as her partner came to claim her. The mystery of Evie’s new gown was swiftly forgotten, though, as Viv saw some late arrivals appear in the grand entrance to the ballroom. Their names resonated around the room as the butler announced them, and many heads swivelled to stare.

31st December 1840, Cavendish House, The Strand, London.

“Oh, I say, I beg your pardon!”

Louis César bit back an oath as a man careened into him, nearly knocking the glass from his hand. By some miracle, he avoided being drowned in champagne and only spilled a little over his fingers.

“Dreadfully sorry,” the man said, his face flaming scarlet. “Someone pushed me, and it was you or the lady dripping diamonds, and I figured you were the safer bet all things considered.”

Louis let out a huff of laughter, unable to fault his reasoning. The stern-looking matron standing to Louis’ left—and indeed dripping diamonds—would undoubtedly have given the poor fool a fine set down.

“No harm done,” Louis replied.

The man beamed at him. He was a stout fellow, of average height and with a plain but friendly face framed by wavy chestnut hair: the kind of nondescript, average English gentleman that would pass unnoticed at a grand affair like this. Well dressed, if not exactly elegant, he had an affable air about him, and he was staring at Louis with undisguised interest.

“You’re that comte fellow, aren’t you? Villen. That’s it, I think? Barnaby Godwin,” he said, grinning and holding out his hand. “Pleased to crash into you.”

“A pleasure,” Louis replied, rather wishing the fellow would go away and find whatever party it was he’d come with. He’d just caught sight of Evie for the first time that night, dancing with bloody Hadley-Smythe, and he was not in the mood for polite chitchat.

“Knew it had to be you. Couldn’t be two fellows with a face like that in one place. The handsomest man on three continents, is what the ladies say. Did you know?”

“No,” Louis replied, endeavouring not to sound impatient.

“Oh, yes. They’re all talking about you. Taking bets on who’ll be your next mistress, or who’ll you’ll wed. Do you know they keep a book? Must say I was a bit shocked. Just like at White’s! You don’t think of ladies doing such things, do you? Well, I don’t, leastways, but then I’m not very clever with females. Always get my tongue in a knot. Invariably say something stupid. Still, I don’t suppose you need say much, with a face like that, I mean. Wish I could borrow it,” he mused.

Louis tried counting to ten.

“Ah, there’s Miss Knight. Dancing with Cyril, ain’t she? Mr Hadley-Smythe, I mean. Now, she’s a jolly female. I like her a good deal. She’s kind, too. Never makes a fellow feel a fool, but always smiles and seems pleased to see you, and she laughs at my jokes, even when they’re not funny. My jokes are never very funny,” he said wistfully. “Always forget the punchline.”

“She is kind,” Louis said, the words out before he could think better of them.