Surrender. Brenda Joyce
and when she saw Evelyn, Annabelle faltered. Trev instantly came forward, smiling. “This is a delightful surprise,” he said with a brief bow.
The gesture was not affected—it was casual and elegant. Evelyn was as surprised to see them—and especially to see them together, but of course, they had all been friends since childhood. She smiled and came forward. “Hello, Trev. Have you been escorting my cousin about?”
“Actually, I was calling on Robert, and I bumped into her in the drive. How are you, Evelyn? You are looking very well today.”
“I am doing better, thank you,” she said, having briefly wondered if a romance might be brewing between Trev and her cousin. She turned to Annabelle. “We did not have a chance to speak the other day. You have become a beautiful young woman, Annabelle.”
Annabelle blushed. “Hello, Evelyn, I mean, Countess. Thank you. I am sorry I could not greet you properly the other day.” She stopped. She glanced at Trev. “I am also sorry it became a bit awkward. Lucille still has her temper.”
Evelyn thanked Thomas as he handed her cloak to her. “It is difficult, I suppose, after so many years have passed, to be reunited as we have. But we all have different lives now and a great deal has changed.”
“You are being patient and kind,” Annabelle said.
“Is there a point in being impatient and cruel?” Evelyn smiled.
Trev looked at them both. “Lucille has more than a temper, and she has always been jealous of Evelyn, for obvious reasons. She is now a married woman, so one would think bygones were just that. But there is no reason that the two of you cannot patch things up and become friends.”
While Evelyn looked at him in some surprise, Annabelle looked at him with obvious admiration. Evelyn said, “You are right, I think. When you feel like it, Annabelle, please call. You are Aimee’s cousin and she would love to meet you.”
Annabelle nodded. “I will try to come by next week.”
Trev took Evelyn’s cloak from her and draped it over her shoulders. “And may I come by, as well? Strictly as a family friend, of course?”
She started, wondering at his choice of words—wondering if he had a romantic inclination toward her. Surely, she was mistaken. “Of course you can call.” She stared closely at him. Trev’s father had always been as actively involved in the free trade as her uncle had been. She happened to have heard, in the past weeks, that he remained in good health, being about seventy years of age now, but that he had given Trev control of the estate and its affairs. Perhaps he had the information Evelyn sought. “Can I speak with you for a moment?”
Annabelle flushed again. “I must go anyway. It was nice seeing you, Evelyn. Good day, Trev.” She quickly left.
He smiled at her. “Hmm, should I be flattered?”
“Surely you are not flirting with me?”
“Of course I am flirting. You are impossibly attractive.” A dimple joined his smile.
She couldn’t help it—she smiled back. “I had forgotten how charming you are.”
“I do not believe it. I think you have been pining away for me for years.”
She laughed for the first time since Henri had died. It felt rather good. Then she became serious. “Can you help me locate Jack Greystone?”
His smile vanished. “Why?” His tone was sharp.
She was not about to tell Trevelyan her reasons. “He helped us flee France, Trev, but other than that, I cannot tell you why I am looking for him. It is a business matter.”
“Are you thinking of getting into the trade?” He was incredulous.
She did not want to lie, but misleading him was not lying, so she said, “Maybe.”
“You are a woman—a lady!”
She laid her hand on his arm, surprising them both. “I am sure you have noticed that I am in very strained circumstances. I need to speak with Greystone, Trev, and frankly, I am rather desperate.”
He was grim. “You could lose everything, Evelyn.”
“I know the risks.”
She stared back at him, releasing his arm. He looked about to curse. “I will think about what you have asked.”
“Does that mean you know how to reach him?”
“It means, I will think about what you have asked.”
* * *
IT HAD BEGUN TO DRIZZLE, and as Evelyn looked up at the dark, cloudy sky, she knew it would soon rain. She shivered as the wind picked up, but she had just reached the iron front gates at the head of Roselynd’s drive.
Ahead, Roselynd was a three-story square house, statuesque in impression, and very current in design. Cast of pale, nearly white stone, it stood out eerily in the darkness. All the windows were dark except for one on an upper floor, which she happened to know was Laurent and Adelaide’s room.
It was later than she had thought, and her poor mare was tired—it had been a long difficult week for her, with all the traipsing about that Evelyn had done. The mare had hardly been used in the months prior.
She felt a pang, thinking of Henri, and a stirring of anger as she thought about the predicament she was in. Very firmly, she told herself that he had not left her destitute by choice; the revolution had done that.
She halted the mare before the barn, and as she did so, she heard Laurent calling to her. She smiled as she slipped from the gig, and Laurent approached from the house. “I was becoming very worried about you, madame.”
“I am fine. I had a very good conversation with my uncle, Laurent, and if I am fortunate, he will locate Greystone for me.” She was too tired to tell him about Trevelyan, and decided she would do so tomorrow. “It is later than I thought. Is Aimee awake?”
“She is asleep, and Adelaide has left a covered tray in your rooms. I will put the mare away.”
She thanked him, as the drizzle turned abruptly into a pounding rain. They both cried out, Laurent hurrying the mare into the stables, as Evelyn pulled up her skirts and ran for the house.
Inside, she slammed the front door closed, breathing hard. The front hall was in darkness, which pleased her—why waste candles to light the entry when she was the only one expected? Evelyn removed her soaking cloak. The rest of her clothes remained dry, but her shoes and stockings were wet.
Her cloak over her arm, Evelyn went upstairs in the darkness, going directly to Aimee’s room. As Laurent had said, she was soundly asleep. Evelyn pulled the covers up, kissing her forehead, the rain now pounding on the windows and the roof above their heads.
In her own bedroom she lit a single taper, hung up her cloak and removed her wet shoes and stockings. Thunder boomed. Just after it did, she heard Laurent entering the house, the front door closing. She felt a moment of relief, for, like a child, she disliked fierce storms. But now, the mare was settled and fed for the night, Laurent was on his way upstairs and the house was securely locked.
She removed the pins from her hair, which always made her head ache at this time of the day, letting it down. As she shook her hair out, she realized that she was exhausted. Undressing would be a chore, but she somehow removed her gown and underclothes, donning her white cotton nightgown. In France, the loose but luxurious garment with its puffed sleeves and lace trim was called a robe innocente.
She was just about to uncover the tray Adelaide had left for her and try to eat a morsel or two when she heard a movement downstairs. She stiffened, alarmed, until she realized that it was the sound of a shutter banging against the side of the house.
She was going to have to close those shutters—she would never sleep with all of that banging. Evelyn took the taper she had lit and hurried down the hall. Then she hesitated, and as the wind