Surrender (4 page)

But Evelyn bit her lip, as memories of her childhood tried to
rush up and engulf her. She suddenly recalled spending the day pressing her
cousin Lucille’s gowns, her fingers burned from the hot iron, her stomach so
empty it was aching. She couldn’t recall what mischief she had been accused of
committing, but Lucille had habitually fabricated attacks upon her, causing her
aunt to find some suitable punishment.

She hadn’t seen her cousin, now married to a squire, since her
wedding, and she hoped Lucille had matured, and had better things to do than
amuse herself at Evelyn’s expense. But clearly, her aunt remained inclined
against her. It was so petty.

“Then you must remember that she is merely a gentlewoman, while
you are the Comtesse D’Orsay,” Laurent said firmly.

Evelyn did smile at him. But she had no intention of throwing
her title in anyone’s face, especially not when her finances were so strained.
She hesitated on the threshold of the salon, which was as threadbare as her
bedroom. The walls were painted a pleasing yellow, and the wainscoting and
woodwork were very fine, but only a striped gold-and-white sofa and two
cream-colored chairs remained in the room, surrounding a lonely marble-topped
table. And everyone she had seen at the funeral was now crowded into the
room.

Evelyn entered the salon and turned immediately to her closest
guests. A big, bluff man with dark hair bowed awkwardly over her hand, his tiny
wife at his side. Evelyn fought to identify him.

“John Trim, my lady, of the Black Briar Inn. I saw your husband
once or twice, when he was on the road to London and he stopped for a drink and
eats. My wife baked you scones. And we have brought you some very fine
Darjeeling tea.”

“I am Mrs. Trim.” A tiny, dark-haired woman stepped forward.
“Oh, you poor dear, I can’t imagine what you are going through! And your
daughter is so pretty—just like you! She will love the scones, I am certain. The
tea, of course, is for you.”

Evelyn was speechless.

“Come down to the inn when you can. We have some very fine
teas, my lady, and you will enjoy them.” She was firm. “We take care of our own,
we do.”

Evelyn realized that this Cornishwoman considered her a
neighbor, still, never mind that she had spent five years living in France, and
that she had married a Frenchman. Now she regretted never stopping by the Black
Briar Inn for tea since moving to Roselynd. If she had, she would know these
good, kind people.

And as she began greeting the villagers, she realized that
everyone seemed genuinely sympathetic and that most of the women present had
brought her pies, muffins, dried preserves or some other kind of edible gift.
Evelyn was so moved. She knew she was going to become undone by all of the
compassion her neighbors were evincing.

The villagers finally drifted away, leaving for their homes.
Evelyn now saw her aunt and uncle, as only her family remained in the room.

Aunt Enid stood with her two daughters by the marble mantel
above the fireplace. Enid Faraday was a stout woman in a beautiful gray-satin
gown and pearls. Her eldest daughter, Lucille—the initiator of so many of
Evelyn’s childhood woes—also wore pearls and an expensive and fashionable dark
blue velvet gown. She was now pleasantly plump, but she was still a pretty
blonde.

Evelyn glanced at Annabelle, her other cousin, who remained
unwed. She wore gray silk, had brownish-blond hair, and while once fat, she was
now very slim and very pretty. Annabelle had always followed Lucille’s lead and
had been very submissive to her mother. Evelyn wondered if she had learned how
to think for herself. She certainly hoped so.

Her aunt and cousins had seen her, as well. They all stared,
brows raised.

Evelyn managed a slight smile; none of her female relations
smiled back.

Evelyn turned to her uncle, who was approaching her. Robert
Faraday was a tall, portly man with a rather distinguished air. Her father’s
older brother, he had inherited the estate, while her father had taken his
annual pension and gone gaming in Europe’s infamous brothels and halls. In
appearance, Robert hadn’t changed.

“I am terribly sorry for your loss, Evelyn,” Robert said
gravely. He took both of her hands in his and kissed her on the cheek,
surprising her. “I liked Henri, very much.”

Evelyn knew he meant it. Robert had become friendly with her
husband when he had first come to stay at Faraday Hall. When Henri wasn’t
courting Evelyn, he and Robert had been hacking, hunting or taking brandy
together in the library. He had attended the wedding in Paris, and unlike Enid,
he had enjoyed himself extremely. But then, he had never shared his wife’s
antipathy toward Evelyn. If anything, he had been somewhat absent and
indifferent.

“It is a damned shame,” her uncle continued. “I so liked the
fellow and he has been good to you. I remember when he first laid eyes on you.
His mouth dropped open and he turned as red as a beet.” Robert smiled. “By the
time supper was over, you were strolling in the garden with him.”

Evelyn smiled sadly. “It is a beautiful memory. I will cherish
it forever.”

“Of course you will.” He remained grave, his gaze direct. “You
will get through, Evelyn. You were a strong child and you have obviously become
a strong woman. And you are a very young woman, still, so in time, you will
recover from this tragedy. Let me know what I can do to help.”

She thought about the tin mine. “I wouldn’t mind asking you for
some advice.”

“Anytime,” he said firmly. He turned.

Enid Faraday stepped forward, smiling. “I am so sorry about the
count, Evelyn.”

Evelyn managed to smile in return. “Thank you. I am consoling
myself by remembering that he is at peace now. He suffered greatly in the
end.”

“You know we wish to help you in any way that we can.” She
smiled, but her gaze was on Evelyn’s expensive black velvet gown and the pearls
she wore with them. Diamonds encrusted the clasp, which she wore on the side of
her neck. “You must only ask.”

“I am sure I will be fine,” Evelyn said firmly. “But thank you
for coming today.”

“How could I fail to attend the funeral? The count was the
catch of your lifetime,” Enid responded. “You know how happy I was for you.
Lucille? Annabelle? Come, give your cousin your condolences.”

Evelyn was too tired to decipher the innuendo, if there was
one, or to dispute her version of the past. Now she hoped to end the
conversation as quickly as possible, as most of her guests were gone and she
wished to retire. Lucille presented herself. As she stiffly embraced her, Evelyn
saw that her eyes glittered with malice, as if the past decade hadn’t happened.
“Hello, Evelyn. I am so sorry for your loss.”

Evelyn simply nodded. “Thank you for attending the funeral,
Lucille. I appreciate it.”

“Of course I would come—we are family!” She smiled. “And this
is my husband, Lord Harold. I don’t believe you have met.”

Evelyn somehow smiled at the plump young man who nodded at
her.

“It is so tragic, really, to be reunited under such
circumstances,” Lucille cried, jostling in front of her husband, who stepped
backward to accommodate her. “It feels like yesterday that we were at that
magnificent church in Paris. Do you remember? You were sixteen, and I was a year
older. And I do believe D’Orsay had a hundred guests, everyone in rubies and
emeralds.”

Evelyn wondered what Lucille was doing—certain that a barb was
coming. “I doubt that everyone was in jewels.” But unfortunately, her
description of the wedding was more accurate than not; before the revolution,
the French aristocracy was prone to terribly lavish displays of wealth. And
Henri had spent a fortune on the affair—as if there were no tomorrow. A pang of
regret went through her—but neither one of them could have foreseen the
future.

“I had never seen so many wealthy aristocrats. But now, most of
them must be as poor as paupers—or even dead!” Lucille stared, seemingly rather
innocently.

But Evelyn could hardly breathe. Of course Lucille wished to
point out how impoverished Evelyn now was. “That is a terrible remark to make.”
It was rude and cruel—Evelyn would never say such a thing.

“You berate me?” Lucille was incredulous.

“I am not trying to berate anyone,” Evelyn said, instantly
retreating. She was tired, and she had no interest in fanning the flames of any
old wars.

“Lucille,” Robert interjected with disapproval. “The French are
our friends—and they have suffered greatly—unjustly.”

“And apparently, so has Evelyn.” Lucille finally smirked. “Look
at this house! It is threadbare! And, Papa, I am not retracting a single word!
We gave her a roof over her head, and the first thing she did was to ensnare the
count the moment he stepped in our door.” She glared.

Evelyn fought to keep her temper, no easy task when she was so
unbearably tired. She would ignore the dig that she was a fortune hunter. “What
has happened to my husband’s family and his countrymen is a tragedy,” Evelyn
said tersely.

“I hardly said it was not!” Lucille was annoyed. “We all hate
the republicans, Evelyn, surely you know that! But now, you are here, a widow of
almost twenty-five, a
countess,
and where is your
furniture?”

Lucille hated her even now, Evelyn thought. And while she knew
she did not have to respond, she said, “We fled France—to keep our heads. A
great deal was left behind.”

Lucille made a mocking sound as her father took her elbow. “It
is time for us to go, Lucille, and you have a long drive home. Lady Faraday,”
Robert said decisively to his wife. He nodded at Evelyn and began guiding Enid
and Lucille out, Harold following with Annabelle.

Evelyn slumped in relief. But Annabelle looked back at her,
offering a tentative and commiserating smile. Evelyn straightened, surprised.
Then Annabelle, along with her family, disappeared into the front hall.

Evelyn turned, relieved. But the feeling vanished as she was
instantly faced with two young gentlemen.

Her cousin John smiled hesitantly at her. “Hello, Evelyn.”

Evelyn hadn’t seen John since her wedding. He was tall and
attractive, taking after his father both physically and in character. And he had
been her one somewhat secret ally, during those difficult years of her
childhood. He had been her friend, even if he had chosen not to engage his
sisters directly.

Evelyn leaped into his arms. “I am so glad to see you! Why
haven’t you called? Oh, you have become so handsome!”

He pulled back, blushing. “I am a solicitor now, Evelyn, and my
offices are in Falmouth. And…I wasn’t sure I would be welcome—not after all you
endured at the hands of my family. I am sorry that Lucille is still so hatefully
disposed toward you.”

“But you are my friend,” she cried, meaning it. She had glanced
at the dark handsome man standing with him, and recognized him instantly.
Shocked, she felt her smile vanish.

He grinned a bit at her, but no mirth entered his dark eyes.
“She is jealous,” he said softly.

“Trev?” she asked.

Edward Trevelyan stepped forward. “Lady D’Orsay. I am flattered
that you remember me.”

“You haven’t changed that much,” she said slowly, still
surprised. Trevelyan had evinced a strong interest in her before Henri had swept
into her life. The heir to a large estate with several mines and a great tenant
farm, it had almost seemed that he meant to seriously court her—until her aunt
had forbidden Evelyn from accepting his calls. She hadn’t seen him since she was
fifteen years old. He had been handsome and titled then; he was handsome and
commanding now.

“Neither have you. You remain the most beautiful woman I have
ever seen.”

She knew she blushed. “That is certainly an exaggeration—so you
are still the ladies’ man?”

“Hardly. I merely wish to flatter an old and dear
friend—truthfully.” He bowed. Then, he said, “My wife died last year. I am a
widower, my lady.”

Without thinking, she said, “Evelyn. We can hardly stand on
formality, can we? And I am sorry to hear that.”

He smiled at her, but his gaze was filled with speculation.

John stepped in. “And I am affianced. We are to wed in June. I
wish for you to meet Matilda, Evelyn. You will like her very much.”

She took his hand impulsively. “I am so happy for you.”

Evelyn realized that she was now standing alone with the two
gentlemen—everyone else had left. Her salon mostly empty, she became aware of
just how exhausted she was—and that, as happy as she was to see both John and
Trev, she desperately needed to lie down and rest.

“You seem tired,” John said. “We will take our leave.”

She walked them to the front door. “I am so glad you called.
Give me a few days—I can’t wait to meet your fiancée.”

John hugged her, rather inappropriately. “Of course.”

Trev was more formal. “I know this is a terrible time for you,
Evelyn. If I can help, in any way, I would love to do so.”

“I doubt that anyone can help. My heart, Trev, is sorely
broken.”

He studied her for a moment, and then both men stepped
outside.

Evelyn saw their mounts tied to the railing as she closed the
door—and that was the last thing she saw. Instantly, blackness claimed her and
she collapsed.

* * *

“Y
OU
ARE
SO
exhausted that you
fainted!”

Evelyn shoved the smelling salts with their sickly odor from
her nostrils. She was seated on the cold, hard marble floor, a pillow between
her and the front door. Laurent and his wife knelt beside her, both extremely
concerned.

And she was still light-headed. “Is everyone gone?”

“Yes, everyone has left—and you swooned the moment the last
guest was gone,” Laurent accused. “I should have never allowed the guests to
stay as long as they did.”