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He laughed. “I didn’t know I had a ‘displeased’ look, Evelyn.”
She waited.
He sighed. “I don’t like him. He was a friend when we were young but he showed his true colours and I dropped him. Perhaps he’s changed? I suppose I shouldn’t be so judgmental.”
“Perhaps,” she agreed. “We can’t all be perfect, Harry.”
Now he was frowning. “I don’t expect that. How can I, when I am hardly perfect myself?”
“Well, your instincts are correct. I know Digby isn’t a very nice man, and I’m sure he wasn’t a very nice boy. He’s jealous and vengeful. But his father was a friend of my father, and his brother was—”
She stopped herself before she could finish, biting her lip.
Now Harry looked at her more closely. He had never considered Evelyn to be secretive. She always seemed so open and charming. That, he reminded himself, was one of the things he liked about her. He would never have to worry about coming across something unpleasant in her past.
“What about his brother?” he asked. “I take it you m
ean James?”
“Yes. He’s come into his inheritance now, of course, so he’s Lord Abbott, Viscount Westbrook. Not that they have any money to speak of. Their estate is heavily in debt. Their father gambled most of their fortune away and it looks as if Digby is set to be the same sort of chap. James was always paying off his debts, although these days I think he’s stopped.”
She was babbling. Evelyn didn’t normally babble. Harry noted how nervous and upset she was, and he had a feeling it was seeing Digby that had done it.
“He hurt you, didn’t he?” he asked her darkly, thinking of Sophy lying in the white snow with Digby on top of her, tearing at her clothes. Fury surged up inside him, so strong it was as if it had happened yesterday. He had to consciously hold himself back, in case he frightened her.
It was a moment before he realised that Evelyn was looking at him in surprise. “How did you know?” she asked. “No one is supposed to know.”
“Supposed to know what?”
“That he asked me to marry him. And I turned him down.”
They had stopped, the shade of the old trees dappled about them, the feathers bobbing on Evelyn’s hat. “I shouldn’t have told you,” she said quickly. “I’m sorry, Harry. Forget I said it.”
“Digby asked you to marry him?” he said, making his voice quiet while his hands clenched on the reins.
She turned to him, wide-eyed, and shook her head. “Not Digby,” she said. “James.”
Harry sat a moment, watching her averted face. James Abbott had asked Evelyn to marry him and she had refused? It must have been before he laid his own proposal at her feet. He tried to understand it, and then to dismiss it, because it didn’t matter, did it? There were always proposals floating about, and a beauty like Evelyn must have received dozens during the two Seasons she had been on the town. And yet something about the expression in her dark eyes, the way she said Abbott’s name, made him curious.
James Abbott was older than Digby and himself by around six years. A debonair, elegant man about town. He may not be wealthy but he was well bred and eligible. Why then had Evelyn refused him?
Harry shook the reins, setting the horses off again at a faster pace. He decided not to ask any more questions. It was none of his business, just as his past was none of hers. Whatever had been before was best forgotten.
“Did I tell you how beautiful you look?” he asked her.
Her lip had been drooping but now she turned and smiled at him from under the brim of her hat. She appeared to be relieved he’d dropped the subject. “Not for at least five minutes,” she said.
“Then I will now.” He leaned closer and took her hand, raising it to his lips. “November can’t come soon enough,” he added.
Pink flushed her cheeks and she squeezed his fingers before letting go. “For me, too, Harry.”
Chapter 15
SOPHY
Sophy was attending a picnic—a small, select gathering—and she was enjoying herself. Or at least as much as a girl with a broken heart could enjoy anything. Every time she felt her mouth droop or eyes water, she remembered how hard her grandmother had worked to get her here and strove to cheer up. Or at least pretend to.
Mrs Harding had once again chaperoned Sophy and her two daughters, and although she looked as if she had a nasty taste in her mouth every time her cold eyes rested on Sophy, she was polite. In contrast, Lucy and Charlotte seemed genuinely delighted to see her and Sophy was touched by their welcoming smiles.
