Surrender. Brenda Joyce
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.
* * *
“YOU 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.”
“Aimee?”
“She is still asleep,” Adelaide said. She stood. “I am going to get you something to eat.”
Evelyn saw from the look on her face that protesting that she was not hungry would not dissuade her. Adelaide walked away, and she looked at Laurent.