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“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.
* * *
“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. “This has been the longest day of my life.” God, the tears threatened her again. Damn it. She would not cry!
“It is over,” he soothed.
She gave him her hand and he helped her to stand up. As she did, a terrible migraine began. And with it came the now-familiar surging of panic and fear. “What are we going to do now?” she whispered.
He had become her confidant in these past few years, and she did not have to elaborate. “You can worry about Aimee’s future tomorrow.”
“I cannot think about anything else!”
He sighed. “Madame, you just fainted. We do not need to discuss finances tonight.”
“There are hardly any finances to discuss. But I intend to start going over the estate ledgers and my accounts tomorrow.”
“And how will you read them? They befuddled the count. I tried to help him, but I could not understand the numbers myself.”
She studied him. “I heard you and Henri discussing the arrival of a new foreman. Did the previous foreman leave?”
Laurent was grim. “He was dismissed, madame.”
“Why?”
“We have suspected theft, Lady D’Orsay, for some time. When le comte purchased this estate, the mine was doing handsomely. Now, there is nothing.”
So there was hope, she thought, staring at the dapper Frenchman.
“I am afraid to ask what you are thinking,” he said.
“Laurent, I am thinking that I have very little left to pawn.”
“And?”
He knew her so well, she thought. And he knew almost everything there was to know about her, Henri and their affairs. But did he know about the gold? “Two weeks ago, Henri told me that he had buried a chest filled with gold at the château in Nantes.”
Laurent simply met her gaze.
“You know!” she exclaimed, surprised.
“Of course I know—I was there—I helped him bury the chest.”
Evelyn started. “So it’s true. He did not leave us penniless. He left a fortune for us.”
“It’s true.” They stared at each other. “What are you going to do?” he said unhappily.
“It has been quiet in France, since the fall of Robespierre.”
He inhaled. “Please do not tell me that you are considering retrieving the gold!”
“No, I am not considering it—I have made up my mind.” And she was resolved. Her decision was made. “I am going to find someone to take me to France, and I am bringing that gold back—not for myself—but for Aimee.”
“And who could you possibly trust with such a fortune?” he cried, paling.
But even as he spoke, the image came to her mind of a tall, powerful man standing on the deck of a ship racing the sea with unfurled black sails, his golden hair blowing in the wind....
