Page 83 of Evie and Louis: The Story so Far

“Oh, well, that’s all right,” he replied, mollified. “She’s a sweet girl. Credit to you.”

“A credit to Lady Eliza’s school and her own character,” Louis said, shaking his head. “I can accept no praise for it.”

“I suspect that is not true,” Hester said, her eyes eyeing the comte with interest. “Barnaby, run and fetch my shawl, there’s a dear. I left it in the library.”

Barnaby huffed. “Can’t you ring for a—” He closed his mouth at the look he was given and set his teacup down. “Right you are, then.”

Closing the door on Louis and his aunt, he looked about, trying to remember which direction the library was in when a door opened, and Lady Rosamund appeared.

“Mr Godwin, how do you do?”

“Jolly well, thank you, and you’re looking in prime twig today, if I might say so.”

Lady Rosamund laughed, her green eyes dancing. “You might, I thank you. Can I help you? You seem lost, not that it’s any wonder in this cavernous place.”

“If you would direct me to the library, I should be grateful. Aunt Hester has left her shawl and demands I fetch it for her.”

“I’d be happy to escort you,” she offered.

“That’s very good of you, if it’s no trouble.”

It wasn’t, she assured him, and led Barnaby through rooms of such grandeur that it was all he could do not to gape. The life of a duke differed significantly from that of a baron’s younger son, and no mistake.

“Lady Millicent asked after you,” she said, nearly making Barnaby trip over his own feet.

“Did she, by Jove?” he exclaimed, with such obvious surprise that Lady Rosamund laughed.

“Yes, she did. She was sorry to have missed you last night. They got delayed at another event and you’d left to escort your aunt home by the time she arrived.”

“Well,” Barnaby said, flabbergasted. “Well.”

Rosamund smiled at him and patted his arm. “Perhaps you should call upon her. Take some flowers.”

Barnaby grinned. “Perhaps I shall.”

1st July 1842, Beverwyck, London

Unlike Barnaby, Louis did not believe for one moment that Lady Balderston had left her shawl in the library. She had been trying to get him alone ever since Fort William, to no avail. Not that Louis had helped her in that endeavour, too aware of her sharp mind and penchant for overly personal questions to invite any further intimacy. He liked the lady a good deal and respected her more, but that did not mean he wanted her digging up his past or interfering in his future.

“Well then,” she said, fixing him with a look that boded ill. “What happened at Fort William? Hmmm?”

Louis sat back, knowing he looked entirely at ease even if he did not feel it. He studied the tea in his cup and wished fervently that it was cognac. “’Appened?” he replied, deliberately dropping the h as ladies found his accent charming and, the more charmed she was, the less likely to pursue this topic.

“You heard me. When you finally returned to the dress shop, you looked like a tomcat who’d found a deal more than a cream pot to indulge in.”

“You paint a vivid and not terribly flattering picture, my lady,” Louis murmured, sipping his tea.

Lady Balderston snorted. “Barnaby has finally grown a backbone—your influence, I collect—and refuses to breathe a word about you to anyone. Even me!” she added, as though this was inconceivable. “You found her, didn’t you? Your young lady.”

Louis held her gaze and his tongue while she studied him as though she could pry the information from his brain if she tried hard enough. She wagged a bony, bejewelled finger at him.

“I will discover who the gel is, you mark my words.”

“And what then?” Louis demanded, too aware she could do it.

“Oh, keep your hair on. I won’t interfere,” she said, setting her cup and saucer down.

Louis returned an incredulous expression.