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"Good night, Mother." He bowed and turned on his heel, murmuring in an undertone to the butler as he passed not to keep a footman waiting up for him. As the heavy front door closed behind him, his mother was still at the stairway staring speculatively after him.
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With a sigh Emily laid aside the book she'd not been reading for the last hour. It was after midnight, well past the time a shopkeeper who must be up before dawn should be sleeping. Yet an edgy restlessness kept her from slumber.
Evan had not called for four days now, not since the morning he'd arrived to find Drew here. He'd seemed affronted, almost furious at her for failing to confide in him about her son. Was he still angry?
Or was that anger merely a catalyst for the beginning of the end? Or the end itself? Having never indulged in one before, she had no idea how an affair ended. If she'd considered the matter at all, she'd supposed Evan's visits would gradually become less frequent and finally cease, probably with him attempting to give her some sort of lavish farewell present she would firmly refuse.
But mayhap that wasn't so. Mayhap it just—ended, abruptly, with no warning. 'Twas the nature of an affair, after all, that there were no formal ties binding the couple together. And therefore none to sever.
She might never see him again, feel his touch, hear the engaging warmth of his laughter. A wave of bleakness swept over her, so unexpectedly strong it robbed her of breath.
"Emily."
She gasped at the sound, at first thinking she'd only imagined his voice. Then he stepped into the candlelight. With a little cry, she jumped up and ran to him, the book falling forgotten to the floor.
He caught her in his arms and crushed her close, then cradled her cheek in one hand as he kissed her hair, her forehead. "Entity, sweeting," he sighed against her brow. "I'm sorry, my darling. If I'd known how much blasted trouble this business of come-outs was going to be, I'd have fled the country."
His caressing fingers touched the wetness at the corner of her eye and stopped abruptly. Drawing back a bit, he tilted her chin up. "What is it? What's troubling you?"
She swiped impatiently at the tears. "Nothing, now. I'd been thinking you were still angry. That perhaps you wouldn't—come here again."
He stared at her a moment as if her words were incomprehensible. Then his eyes lit with tenderness and his lips curved into a smile. "Ah, sweeting," he whispered. "I'll never leave you, never. If ever we part, it will be you who sends me away."
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Dawn was but the faintest promise of light at the east window when an insistent rapping brought Emily out of deep sleep. "Lord Cheverley! It's Baines! Please, my lord, you must come!"
Alarm shocking through her, she shook Evan's bare shoulder. As his eyes opened groggily, Baine's knock sounded again. "Please, my lord, I've an urgent message."
Comprehension dawned and his eyes snapped open. "I'll be right there, Baines. Give me a moment."
Evan leaped out of bed, pawing among the tangle of clothes on the bedside chair for his breeches. As he struggled into them, Emily found flint and lit a chamber candle. With a nod of thanks, Evan took it and strode to the door, opening it just a little so that his body shielded Emily from the servant's view.
"Thank God I've found you, my lord. A messenger arrived nearly an hour ago and set the house in an uproar. He brought you this letter."
Evan snatched the note, broke the seal and held the candle close as he read. "Dear God," he whispered when he'd finished, squeezing his eyes together tightly as though reeling from a blow. Folding the note with hands that now trembled, he took a deep breath.
"Have the stables ready my two fastest horses and pack me a kit. Did you tell my mother where—"
"No, my lord. I didn't tell her ladyship nobbit but that I'd find you. I figured as how you'd be either here or at the office. I tried here first."
Evan nodded. "Good. Go, then. I'll want to leave at once."
"Yes, my lord." After a surreptitious glance over Evan's shoulder toward Emily, the valet disappeared.
Evan shut the door. Reaching the chair in two strides, he thrust down the candle and began gathering his clothes. Emily threw on a robe and went to assist.
"Is there anything I can do?" she asked as she fastened one shirt cuff.
"Nothing. It's Richard."
"Your friend—the one in the army?"
"Yes. The note is from a regimental surgeon. Richard's been wounded, perhaps mortally. He was evacuated with some other soldiers on a packet that made port yesterday. He told the doctors to contact me. I must go at once."
"Of course. I'm so sorry."
Looking up from the boot he was jamming on his foot, Evan opened his lips as if to speak, then swallowed hard instead. He nodded and picked up the other boot.
"Mistress, està bien?" Francesca's voice sounded from behind the door.
Emily ran to open it. "Tell Jenkins to saddle Lord Cheverley's horse at once."
Francesca, a shawl wrapped around her nightdress, frilly nightcap askew, peered in at the frantic activity and made the sign of the cross. "Imediatamente, mistress."
Emily followed Evan downstairs, helped him shrug on his overcoat. He leaned down to give her a swift, fierce kiss. "I don't know how long I'll be gone. I'll send word as soon as I can."
"A safe journey. I'll be praying for you—and him."
He brought her fingers to his lips briefly, squeezed them, then flung open the front door and disappeared into the night.
Chapter 9
Evan saw lights at the windows, a groom holding horses and servants hurrying about as he approached his front door at a gallop. Tossing his reins to a stable boy, he leaped from the saddle and ran up the steps.
The entry hall held more milling servants, his weeping sister in the arms of his mother, and Andrea. Stone-faced and tearless, she stood in her riding dress, crop in one gloved hand. "I'm going with you," she said flatly.
"Andrea, dearest, you mustn't," his mother said over Clare's head, continuing what appeared to be a running argument. '"Tis a grueling ride, and you know Evan can proceed faster without you. Reaching Richard as quickly as possible is the most important consideration."
“I may not walk well, but I can still ride better than Evan. Richard's my brother, the only family I have left, and I'm going." She looked over at Evan and raised her chin. "If you won't take me, I'll ride alone."
Evan smiled at her. "I'll take you."
"Evan!" his mother protested, and shook her head. "Oh. very well. But I'm bringing the coach. Someone must be sensible, and we'll need a comfortable conveyance to bring him home, not some ill-sprung jarvey."
"Then I'm coming, too!" Clare cried.
"I need you to stay and get the house ready." She gave the tear-stained girl a shake. "You'll do that for me, won't you darling? And for Richard?"
Baines appeared at the landing, saddlebag and heavy riding boots in hand. While Evan changed boots, his mama briefly related the news they'd gleaned from the messenger: Richard and several other wounded soldiers had been carried to the Cross and Anchor, tended by the regimental surgeon who'd written Evan. And his case appeared grave.
"I've had the messenger fed and shown to bed," his mama finished as he donned the heavy greatcoat Billingsly held out, and drew on his thickest gloves.
"Good. Fetch my cloak for Miss Marlowe, please," he told the butler, and turned to Andrea. "We'll wrap you up in that. 'Twill be a cold ride. Thank you, Baines. Billingsly, you'll help Miss Clare prepare?"
"Of course, my lord. Godspeed to you both."
Evan gave his mother and sister a quick kiss. “We'll see you at the inn, Mama." He held out a hand to Andrea.
She threw her arms around him and hugged tightly. "Thank you," she whispered. Then she took his wrist, and the two made their way to the waiting horses.
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After a long, frigid, punishing ride, during which they stopped only to change mounts and fortify themselves with bread, meat and steaming mugs of tea, they reached the coast. Though he knew she must be exhausted by the pace— he was exhausted himself—Andrea uttered not a word of complaint. There was iron under that fragile exterior, Evan thought with admiration.
They found the well-known inn without difficulty. When Evan helped Andrea to dismount, her lame leg crumpled.
"I'll be all right," she protested as he lifted her. "I'm just stiff from the saddle."
"And no wonder," he said, setting her on her feet gently. "You've been a trooper. I'm proud of you, Andy."
She gave him a brief smile and took his arm. "Let's find Richard."
They were directed to a small private chamber. A surgeon met them at the door. "Lord Cheverley? Thank God you've arrived! And..."
"Captain Marlowe's sister. She will come in, so there's no use telling her she can't. What can we do?"
"Not much, I'm afraid. Captain Marlowe is feverish and unconscious now, though I'm hoping he may come round. He was most insistent that he talk with you."
"And his condition?" Evan asked.
The surgeon glanced at Andrea.
"Tell us straight out. She didn't ride all day to hear it sugarcoated."
