Sarah Mallory - Pride in Regency Society

When Eve awoke to the grey dawn, her first conscious thought was disappointment. Disappointment that she was still alive. The silence in the house told her it was very early. She threw back the covers and crawled out of bed; there was a heaviness to her limbs that made every movement a struggle. She dragged herself over to the window and looked out. The garden was grey and colourless in the half-light. Very fitting, she thought. A house in mourning. She crossed her arms over her chest and tried to make sense of her grief. She had been prepared to lose her grandfather; they had said their goodbyes and she was comforted by the thought that he was no longer suffering from pain or ill-health. She was saddened by his death, but not bereft. But Nick—Nick with his dazzling smile and laughing blue eyes. He had ridden into her sheltered world and given her a glimpse of a much more exciting one. She had known him for such a short time, but now she missed him so much it was a physical pain inside her.

She gazed out at the horizon, where a watery sun was climbing through the clouds. Soon the house would be awake and Martha would come in with her hot chocolate. Life would go on and she was expected to do her duty. With a sigh she turned away from the window. The day stretched interminably before her. She had no idea how she would bear this misery.

Her fairy-tale had turned to a nightmare.

‘Ah, Cousin, here you are.’

Evelina schooled her features as Bernard Shawcross came into the morning room. To smile at him was impossible, but she must not glower.

‘So I have found you alone at last.’ He laughed gently. ‘I was beginning to think you were avoiding me.’

And with good reason, thought Eve. Aloud, she said, ‘I have been very busy. Since the funeral there have been so many visitors wishing to offer their condolences, then there are all the legal matters to attend to as well as the household duties to be done…’

‘At least with that I may assist you,’ he said, sitting down near her. ‘After all, Makerham is my home now, so I can remove that worry from your pretty shoulders.’

She repressed a shudder. ‘Makerham was never a worry, Cousin,’ she replied coolly.

‘Green tells me that you have been closeted with your lawyer this morning. Is there any news of your husband?’

She shook her head. ‘Mr Didcot urges caution. Without a—’ she swallowed hard ‘—without a b-body he is loathe to pronounce me a widow. Both he and Granby advise me to go to Yorkshire and place myself under the protection of my husband’s family.’

‘Yorkshire is a wild, uncivilised country, Cousin. You would not like it.’

She raised her brows. ‘You cannot call York and Harrogate uncivilised. Really, Bernard, you are quite Gothic at times.’

‘Perhaps, but you have always lived in the south, always at Makerham. We are the last of the Shawcross family, Cousin. It is only right that I should want to take care of you.’

He reached out as he spoke and put his hand on her knee. Eve froze.

‘Please, Cousin. I am a married woman.’

‘You are a widow, my dear.’

‘You are very certain of that.’

‘I would not have you keep false hopes alive.’ The hand on her knee tightened. ‘And now that you have experienced a man’s touch—’

She jumped up. ‘Pray stop. It is far too soon for such a conversation, Bernard! Please, excuse me!’

She turned away but his hand shot out and caught her arm.

‘Think, Evelina. What do you know of Wylder’s family? You must not go north. You would be far from everything you have ever known, ever loved. Consider what I can offer you.’ He was standing behind her now, his breath hot on her neck. ‘He was a hellraiser, that husband of yours. Did you know that? Did you think you could reform him? Impossible, madam: you cannot tame a tiger, only cage him. If he was truly changed, how could he leave you so soon after your marriage?’

She shook her head. ‘No,’ she protested. ‘I shall not listen to you!’

‘But you must! He tricked you, Eve. He never really loved you. Had he done so, he could not have left you. How could any man leave you?’ He pulled her back against him and murmured in her ear, ‘You love Makerham, and you need never leave it. You can stay here, run it as you have always done. We will marry, of course, as soon as that is possible, but until then, we can be…discreet.’

Eve fought down her growing panic. His grip on her arms was like iron, biting into her flesh. She knew she could not free herself by force. She must stay calm if she was to escape. She said in a low voice, ‘Please, Cousin. This is all so, so unexpected. My thoughts are in turmoil.’

‘Of course. I should not have spoken yet.’ She felt his lips on the back of her neck. ‘Off you go, my dear. We will talk more of this later.’

Eve forced herself to walk slowly out of the room, her back rigid with fear, as though there were some wild animal behind her, ready to pounce. As soon as she reached the hall she picked up her skirts and fled to her room, trying to blot out the memory of Bernard’s mouth upon her skin.

Eve changed her gown and at the dinner hour she made her way down to the drawing room with some trepidation. She was relieved to find only the housekeeper awaiting her. ‘Mrs Harding, I must get away from Makerham.’

‘Away from the new master, you mean.’

The blunt statement made Eve smile.

‘His intentions ar

e—ultimately—honourable.’

Mrs Harding gave a scornful laugh. ‘Aye. He’ll have to marry you if he is to get Monkhurst.’

‘I beg your pardon?’

‘I heard him talking to Lawyer Didcot when he came to read the will.’ The housekeeper flushed slightly. ‘I needed to pick some rosemary from the bush outside the study window, so I couldn’t help but overhear, mistress. He questioned Mr Didcot very closely, he did, about who would get Monkhurst now you was married. Mr Didcot said of course he wasn’t at liberty to discuss the marriage settlement, but he could tell him that Monkhurst was secured on you and your heirs. Unless you died without issue,’ she continued, her brow furrowed in concentration. ‘Then of course it would go directly to your husband. It seems Bernard was hoping it might revert to the family, but as Lawyer Didcot explained to him, it belonged to your mama’s family, the Winghams, and was never part of the entail.’

‘But why should he want Monkhurst? The house has been shut up for years, since Mama died, in fact.’

Mrs Harding spread her hands. ‘Mayhap ’tis greed, Miss Eve. He wants everything.’

‘Well he shall not have it,’ declared Eve. ‘Any more than he shall have me!’

Mrs Harding put up her hand. ‘Hush now, dearie, I hear his step in the hall. And you need not look so anxious, I am not about to leave you alone with that man.’

The housekeeper was as good as her word, and after an uncomfortable dinner Eve made her excuses to retire to her room. There she was careful to make sure her door was locked securely. She crept into her bed and lay rigidly beneath the covers.

It was little more than a week since she had tried to cheat sleep and stay awake each night to think about Nick Wylder, to go over their conversations, relive their moments together. Since the news of Nick’s death, when her whole being ached for the oblivion of sleep, it would not come. But at least now, following Bernard’s sudden declaration, she could spend the long, sleepless night making her plans.

Early the next day she summoned Granby to the morning room, and when he came in she began without preamble. ‘Granby, I am leaving Makerham.’

‘Ah. We go to Yorkshire, ma’am?’

‘No. I plan to go to Monkhurst.’