Page 61 of Evie and Louis: The Story so Far

“A dream, but not a dream,” she said. “Instead, my happily ever after.”

“Yes! Oh, Viv, I do like Mr Lane-Fox,” Evie said, taking Viv’s hand. “And he looks utterly besotted, the poor devil. I think you shall be very happy.”

Viv nodded, quite unable to keep the foolish grin from her face. “I think I shall too.”

Evie turned on her stomach, resting her head in her hands and looking pensive. “You knew he was the one, didn’t you? Almost at once, I mean.”

“Yes, I suppose I did.”

Evie frowned. “I don’t have the faintest idea,” she admitted. “I just cannot imagine myself married to any of the young men who have deigned to show an interest in me.”

“What about the devastatingly beautiful comte?” Vivien asked, curious now.

“Don’t be silly,” Evie said at once. “He’s my friend.”

“He’d be a difficult husband, I suppose,” Vivien mused, observing Evie’s reaction to the words. “Always being chased by beautiful women, and he’s got a wicked reputation, too. The things they whisper about him are scandalous. They say he’s astonishing in bed.”

“Viv!” Evie blushed scarlet. “Don’t speak of him so! And who are they? Where did you hear such a thing, anyway?”

Viv shrugged. “In the retiring rooms. Women gossip. Lots of women, considering he’s had a string of lovers that he discards like his waistcoats.”

Evie’s expression had closed up, giving nothing away, but her voice was curt. “Louis does not treat women so shabbily. He is faithful whilst they are together. They just do not hold his attention long. He is easily bored, but he makes no promises and is careful not to cause hurt. That is why he never lingers long with a mistress, so they cannot grow too fond of him.”

Vivien’s eyebrows went up, astonished that Evie knew something so intimate about him. “You really do know him well.”

Evie nodded. “I do.”

Vivien hesitated, wondering whether she ought to push a little further, to make her friend consider another point of view. “He’s been your faithful friend this age, Evie, but he’s very attentive. Does that not seem odd to you?”

Evie sat up, annoyance flashing in her eyes. “No. Why should it? He does not trust people, or make friends easily, but he knows I do not flatter or tell him lies because I do not lust after him like the other women do. He knows he can trust me, and we like each other. Why is that so hard to understand?”

Vivien considered this and realised she could see the truth of it. She knew that when most men looked at her, they only saw something they desired, not a complete person. She had seen the women determined to be the Comtesse de Villen—or his next mistress—that hunted Louis at every ton event, hanging on his every word, batting their eyelashes, wanting him for his beauty and his wealth and his title, not for who he was. How precious would someone like Evie become in a world where he trusted no one to give him anything but meaningless flattery?

“Forgive me,” Vivien said, meaning it. “I did not understand. But is there no one you fancy? Not even Mr Hadley-Smythe?” she teased, knowing he was among Evie’s favourites, and her most faithful suitor.

“That’s all right. I know our friendship is unusual. And yes, I do like Mr Hadley-Smythe,” Evie admitted. “He’s agreeable company and a gentle fellow. Of all of them, he is the only one I believe I could consider. I think he would be a kind husband.”

Vivien pulled a face at her words.

“What?” Evie protested.

Vivien laughed, shaking her head. “Well, that’s a start, I suppose, but… but don’t you feel anything more than that? Don’t you feel an odd fluttering in your belly when he’s close? Don’t you long to be near to him, to be in his arms? To be alone with him and for the rest of the world to be far away?”

Evie fell quiet, a puzzled frown drawing her brows together as a troubled expression settled over her. She shook her head suddenly, as if shaking away a bothersome wasp. “Well, Papa says I have ages yet, so I don’t need to worry about it for the moment, do I? I probably just need to spend more time with him to get to know him better. We only ever talk at parties and share a dance or two. It’s not much to go on.”

Chapter 27

Just a Little Daring

27th April 1841, Wedding of Vivien Anson and August Lane-Fox, Cavendish House, The Strand, London.

Louis regarded the happy couple, something horribly like envy settling with an unwelcome weight in his chest. He frowned down into his wineglass, twisting the stem back and forth between his fingers. The desire to fill his glass again was overwhelming, but he could not get drunk at such an affair, and he was liable to become maudlin if he did not do a proper job of it. His gaze settled on his brother and his wife, leaning into each other, speaking softly, their hands touching. Loneliness yawned like a great wasteland inside him, promising him endless days of emptiness if he could not make Evie love him. His attention drifted back to the happy couple and the longing for the happiness they shared, the security of knowing someone cared for him, ate at his heart.

“Wonder what it would feel like, to be that happy and that much in love?”

Louis turned to see Barnaby Godwin was considering the bridal couple, much as he had done. Louis had been sitting between Lady Aisling and Mrs Bonnie Cadogan, but Lady Aisling had excused herself, complaining of a headache. Barnaby, who’d been sitting on her right, appropriated the lady’s seat and leaned in, his voiced dropping to a confidential tone.

“Makes you feel a bit… bereft, don’t it?” he said wistfully, and Louis heartily wished him to the other side of the room.