Page 86 of Evie and Louis: The Story so Far

Evie’s mind raced. She had no talent for deception or intrigue, but she understood if she argued the point, Papa would have cause to distrust her. That she could not have, for she had no intention of losing Louis’ friendship entirely. What that meant, she did not know, but she could not simply cut him from her life any more than she could cut him out of her heart. She loved him. Irrespective of whether she wished to marry him, he had been her dearest friend and confidant for years, and now… and now she was going to break down if she did not get out of this room. Belatedly, she realised she still had not answered.

“I understand,” she said carefully, for she would not agree to her father’s commands and then break her promise, but she did understand them, even if she had every intention of disregarding them. “May I go now?”

Thankfully, Papa could see she was on the verge of tears and nodded, so Evie got to her feet and was immediately enfolded in his strong arms. It was impossible not to cry then, and she sobbed into his waistcoat.

“Forgive me, my darling Evie. I swear I am sorry for it.”

She nodded without looking up and then pushed out of his arms and ran for the door, needing nothing but to escape, so that she might break her heart in private.

Chapter 40

Sinfully Daring

Monsieur Boucher,

What you ask is impossible. My likeness is plastered over walls and windows the length and breadth of the city. I hardly dare leave my rat-infested rooms. I have lost everything, and you think to blackmail me into giving more? What more have I left? If I must be your damned puppet, then so be it, but not for nothing. You’ll pay me as agreed, or perhaps the pretty comte you are so fascinated with will do better with the information I have about you?

―Excerpt of a letter from Mr Graham Franklin to Monsieur Etienne Boucher.

3rd July 1842, Mrs Palmer’s Summer Ball, Piccadilly, London.

“Lady Rosamund?”

Rosamund turned, blinking in surprise as it took her a moment to place the man before her. He was tall and strong, with powerful shoulders and laughing tawny eyes. Rosamund frowned.

“Do ye nae remember me? It’s only been a year and a half since we last met.”

“Muir!” Rosamund exclaimed in shock. “But… But you look….”

Words failed her. The last time she had seen Muir Anderson he had been romping through the fields around his home with dogs barking at his heels, his hair wild and shaggy and looking thoroughly disreputable. Now, though….

Muir pulled a face and rubbed the back of his neck, the picture of embarrassment. “Aye, well, Ma said I had better not let her down in front of all her cronies. I feel a right numpty.”

“You look splendid,” Rosamund said on a breath, meaning it. His hair, for once, was neatly trimmed, and his coat and trousers hugged an impressively muscular figure that was already drawing many admiring gazes from the females in their corner of the ballroom.

“Ach, I don’t know about that, but Da said I scrub up well enough, so I guess it’s fine. Am I too late to secure a dance with ye?”

“Oh, no. I only arrived a moment ago so you may have the next if you like?” Rosamund found the space upon her card and took up the small pencil attached. “Does this mean Evie is back?”

“Ah dinnae ken,” he said, watching as she wrote his name in for the galop, an exuberant dance that ought to suit him nicely. “I was hoping you might know. Her family left Scotland before I did but they were visiting friends on their way home. Is she nae here tonight?”

Rosamund studied him, noting with interest that he looked disappointed. Ah, so that was how the wind was blowing.

“I don’t know. Shall we see if we can find out before the dance begins? I see Lady Balderston there and she has been busy gathering the latest gossip ever since she came to town.”

Muir agreed with this plan and so they made their way towards where Rosamund had glimpsed Lady Balderston’s shock of thick white hair, which had been elegantly arranged with diamond hair clips and deep purple feathers which matched perfectly the stunning evening gown she wore. As they drew closer, Rosamund smiled to see her nephew Mr Godwin was there too with his friend, the Comte de Villen. As ever, the Frenchman looked like a fallen angel, almost too beautiful to be the same breed as the other mere mortals about him. His dark hair glinted in the candlelight, and though he wore the same outfit of fitted black coat, black trousers, and white waistcoat as every other man in the room, somehow he made everyone else look as though they had either slept in their clothes or were trying far too hard.

“Good evening, my lady,” Rosamund said, giving her a curtsey before greeting the two men. She turned back to Lady Balderston “How wonderful you look tonight. That gown is simply divine.”

“Thank you, my dear, but divinity certainly had nothing to do with it,” she said with a twinkle in her eye. Her mouth quirked, and she glanced at the comte, who met her gaze and inclined his head slightly. Not understanding the exchange, Rosamund carried on.

“Might I introduce my friend to you, my lady?”

The lady snorted and extended her hand to Muir. “No need. Barnaby and I know this scoundrel. Good evening, you young scamp. My, you look almost civilised this evening.”

“Thank ye kindly, my lady. Good evening, Mr Godwin. It is good to see ye both again, and almost civilised is exactly what I was aiming for. There’s nae need to get overexcited, aye?”

“Hmmm,” the lady said, considering this. “That rather depends on your point of view, I fear, but you look very well, very much like your father. Is he here?”