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Eve swayed, seeing the look of unconcealed disgust on Lord Stainton’s face. Before she could reply, his icy voice said,
‘I believe the lady is completely foxed, Henry. You can expect to have one hell of a hangover in the morning, Mrs Brody.’
‘I would expect it had I been drinking, but I haven’t, and if I had it would be none of your business. How dare you?’
‘I dare say a lot of things to you, Mrs Brody, but I won’t waste my breath.’ Catching her by the arm as she rocked to one side, he thrust her rudely down on to the wall. ‘Sit there while I summon your friends. I think they should take you home before you disgrace yourself and them with your undignified behaviour.’
Eve raised her head and stared up at him, unable to focus properly. ‘You don’t understand…’
‘I understand all too well,’ he said scathingly, his accusing eyes dropping to the damp stain on the front of her dress.
‘I resent that,’ she gasped, trying to get to her feet but falling back and having to close her eyes when her head began to spin in a dizzy whirl.
‘She’s going to swoon,’ Henry predicted.
‘I am not,’ Eve protested, defying her pronouncement by almost toppling off the wall.
‘Oh, for God’s sake!’ Lord Stainton thundered, casting the cigar to the ground. Grasping her about the waist, he scooped her up into his arms and headed for a bench further along the terrace. ‘Find Mrs Seagrove, Henry, and ask her to come at once—and find some hartshorn or whatever it is that brings one out of a swoon. And for heaven’s sake be discreet. Should anyone come outside and find me with a senseless woman in my arms, gossip will be raging through London like wildfire before breakfast.’
Henry rushed off to do his bidding while Lord Stainton carried his helpless burden along the terrace.
Coming to her senses and blisteringly aware of her close proximity to Lord Stainton’s broad chest, fury and indignation shot like red-hot sparks through Eve’s body. ‘How dare you?’ she cried, squirming against him, trying to break his hold. ‘Will you put me down? No matter what you think, I do not deserve such treatment.’ Her struggle only seemed to make him angrier.
‘Be quiet and keep still,’ he ordered, going a little further before dumping her unceremoniously on to a bench.
Eve fought the lethargy that was stealing over her and snapped her head up, intending to launch into a tirade, but looking past her tormentor she saw a figure in a pale pink gown rushing towards her.
‘Beth,’ she cried. Never had she been so relieved to see anyone in her life.
‘What on earth has happened?’ Beth bent over her friend, her face creased with concern. ‘Is your headache worse, Eve?’
‘No, no, it isn’t, and none of this is my fault. Beth, will you please tell this puffed-up lord who has the manners of a barbarian and who is bent on assassinating my character that I am suffering nothing more serious than an overdose of your headache powders and not over-indulgence of champagne.’
‘Headache powders?’ Instead of looking guilty because he’d made a mistake, Lord Stainton looked infuriatingly amused. ‘You are prone to headaches, Mrs Brody?’
‘No, as a matter of fact I rarely suffer minor ailments, but earlier today I had the misfortune to meet you, Lord Stainton.’
‘Then what can I say?’
‘Sorry would be a start,’ Eve bit back.
‘Very well. The mistake was mine. I apologise most humbly.’
‘Humble? You?’ she gasped, unable to believe her ears. ‘You couldn’t be humble if you tried.’
‘Contrary to what you obviously think of me,’ he drawled, ‘I was merely coming to your rescue. Your actions, like on our previous encounter, led me to believe you were in danger of swooning.’
‘And I seem to recall telling you that I never swoon—and I was not in any danger,’ Eve lied coldly, avoiding Beth’s questioning eyes, knowing full well that she would have to give her a full account of her encounter with Lord Stainton in the park.
Lazy mockery lit his eyes. ‘And you are sure of that, are you?’ he asked, as amusement seemed to drain the tension in his body.
‘I most assuredly am.’
‘To show you how wrong you are, Mrs Brody, I suggest that when you get up off that bench you will allow me to assist you.’
Eve opened her mouth to make some suitably scathing remark about his outrageous conceit, but his bold smile was too much for her. Swinging her legs on to the ground, she got to her feet unsteadily. When Lord Stainton reached out to take her arm, she snatched it away and glared at him.
‘Don’t you dare touch me. I wouldn’t let you touch me to save me from drowning,’ she retorted furiously.
‘I understand,’ Lord Stainton drawled mildly.
Placing her hand on Beth’s arm, Eve completely ignored Lord Stainton. ‘I would like to go home, if you don’t mind, Beth. I really must go to bed before I make a total fool of myself and fall asleep in Lady Ellesmere’s salon. That would never do.’
Seeing the funny side of the incident, Beth suppressed a smile. ‘No, it would not. It’s almost time to leave anyway. We’ll find William and say goodnight to Lady Ellesmere.’ She turned to Lord Stainton and Mr Channing, who was looking totally bemused and holding a bottle of hartshorn in his hand. ‘Goodnight, Lord Stainton, Mr Channing, and thank you for your assistance.’
‘Good Lord, Lucas,’ Henry uttered after a long moment of silence, staring at his friend in disbelief. Grown men rarely dared to challenge him, yet here was this young American widow—an exquisite, extremely ravishing American widow—who had done exactly that. ‘She actually accused you of having the manners of a barbarian. Mrs Brody is one angry lady,’ he said, shaking his head in disbelief. ‘I doubt she will forgive you in a hurry.’
Lucas glanced toward the closed doors through which the aforesaid lady had just disappeared, and in the space of an instant, Henry watched his lazy smile harden into a mask of ironic amusement.
‘I’m sure she won’t. But that’s Mrs Brody’s problem, Henry. Not mine.’
Beth insisted on picnicking away from the crowds of people who poured into Hyde Park to watch a French aviator’s ascent in a huge balloon, which was the cause of much excitement among the Seagrove children and Estelle. The event had generated so much interest that it had disrupted the usual cavalcade of handsome equipages that congregated daily in the afternoon. It consisted of men mounted on fine thoroughbred horses, colourful and elaborately clad dandies and women in the best society, the carriage company some of the most celebrated beauties in London. The sun was pleasantly warm, and people were laughing and joking, all talking about the giant, hissing balloon that had taken off successfully.
Accompanying the carriage carrying Miss Lacy and his children on horseback, Lucas came upon the picnic scene by chance. It was one of complete enchantment, of a small group of people—three adults, one of them a nursemaid or governess, and three children, two boys and a girl. The adults were sitting on the grass in the shade of the giant beech trees, a white cloth spread on the ground on to which baskets of food had been unpacked. The children, in high spirits, were running about trying to catch one another, shrieking with laughter.
It was the woman, dressed in a delightful lightweight blue-sprigged dress with a wide sash of deeper blue tied in a bow at the back, on whom his attention was focused. He looked at the sunlight glinting on the flaming strands of her glorious wealth of auburn hair that tumbled on to her shoulders in a mass of curls, the sides drawn to the back of her head and secured with a blue satin ribbon. Her feet were tucked under her dress, her face upturned to the sky. She looked about sixteen, though her figure was mature. She was watching the balloon, which had just become airborne, soar up beyond the clouds, causing much excitement among the crowd.
Taking her eyes off the balloon, she turned her attention to the children, a serene smile on her face as her eyes settled on the little girl. Beth’s two boys, boisterous and as audacious as a barrowload of monkeys, were a bit too much for Estelle, and she found it hard to keep up with them. But determined not to be left behind, she persevered. Suddenly Estelle stood stock still and her face broke into a bright smile at something she had seen further away, and then she was running in a fever of excitement to Eve.
‘Sophie! Mama, it’s Sophie and Abigail,’ and before Eve could stop her she was scampering off across the grass as fast as her little legs could carry her to where a carriage had halted so the occupants could watch the balloon.
Eve scrambled to her feet and ran after her, smiling delightedly on seeing Sarah Lacy and her young charges.
‘Sarah, how lovely to see you again.’ She looked at the children. ‘Have you come to watch the balloon?’
‘Yes,’ Sophie said, her eyes shining with glee, clearly having enjoyed the spectacle. ‘It was ever so exciting.’
‘And it made a hissing noise like a dragon,’ Abigail babbled happily, at three years old already having a good command of the English language.
‘The children were so excited,’ Sarah said, returning Eve’s smile. ‘They’ve never seen a balloon before.’
‘Neither have I. It was quite a novel experience. Sarah, why don’t you come and share our picnic? It would be lovely for Sophie and Abigail to play with Estelle—and there’s ample food.’
‘I don’t think so, Mrs Brody. Thank you for your kind offer, but Miss Lacy and the children must be getting back.’
Eve whirled round at that familiar deep voice, and looked into the face of Lord Stainton. She knew by his expression that he was not as stunned as she was. For some inexplicable reason her heart set up a wild thumping. His face was still, but his eyes were a brilliant, quite dangerous pale blue. He lounged indolently against the back of the open carriage with the ease of a man discussing nothing more serious than the weather. The remembrance of their previous encounters, all of which had been angry and bitter experiences, touched her deeply.
He wore a plum-coloured cutaway coat and buff knee breeches tucked into highly polished black riding boots, and his neck linen was sparkling white. His gaze was sharp and penetrating and he radiated the same strong masculine appeal. Eve watched him warily, experiencing the depth to which her mind and body were oddly stirred whenever she was in his presence.
Pushing himself away from the carriage, he bowed his dark, shining head. ‘I trust your headache is much improved today, Mrs Brody?’
‘Yes, thank you for asking,’ she replied stiffly.
‘I didn’t expect to meet you at such a gathering,’ he remarked, his expression unreadable.
‘I can’t think why not. I enjoyed watching the ascending balloon enormously—almost as much as the children.’ Distracted by Estelle, who was jumping up and down beside her, better to see Sophie and Abigail in the carriage, she said, ‘Please let your daughters play with Estelle—just for a minute.’ Lord Stainton’s face became cool with the compelling arrogance she associated with him.
‘I told you, we have to be getting back,’ he uttered sternly.
Eve looked at his daughters. Their little shoulders were slumped in dejection and her heart went out to them. There was something rather timid about Sophie and Abigail, something cowed and contrary to the normal exuberance of children.
‘Children need to run about and shout and laugh once in a while, Lord Stainton,’ she said calmly, trying to speak to him without the abrasive tongue of an enemy. ‘There’s no harm in it.’
‘Please, Papa,’ Sophie whispered tentatively, ‘can we play with Estelle for just a little while?’
Eve looked straight at him, waiting for him to reply to Sophie’s quiet plea, hoping he was not inclined to inflict his bad temper on his children. She was relieved when she saw his expression soften.
‘Very well, Sophie,’ he conceded. ‘Miss Lacy, please don’t let them out of your sight.’ Instructing the driver to wait with the carriage, he opened the carriage door and lifted his excited offspring down on to the grass, before striding back to his horse.
With Estelle and Sophie scampering on ahead, Eve took Abigail’s hand and walked with her to the picnic. Lord Stainton watched them from atop his horse and he began to smile, for their laughter was infectious. His face was soft and his eyes were warm. He had a strong sense of responsibility and felt a deep affection for his daughters.
It worried him greatly that they were growing up without the influence and love that could only come from a mother, but when his wife had walked out on him, she had also callously abandoned her children. Turning his horse away from the delightful picture of the picnicking group and feeling a knot of envy that he was not a part of that group, he trotted over to speak to an acquaintance.
Settling herself on the grass beside Sarah, Eve glanced at her with concern. Her expression was strained and apprehensive and Eve suspected things weren’t well with her. ‘You look pale, Sarah. Are you all right?’ she enquired with quiet concern. ‘It can’t be easy for you working for a man as formidable as Lord Stainton.’
Sarah smiled, watching her young charges as they laughed and chattered over their jellies and buns, happy to see them fitting in well with Mrs Seagrove’s two boys, Thomas and David. ‘It must seem like that to you, but his bark can often be worse than his bite. I’ve given much thought to what I told you yesterday—about leaving my employment.’
Eve looked at her expectantly. ‘And?’ she prompted. ‘What have you decided?’
‘I’m going to marry Mark. It’s what we both want—but it will break my heart to leave Sophie and Abigail.’
‘Have you told Lord Stainton?’
She nodded. ‘This morning. I will carry on working for him until he leaves for the country—perhaps two or three weeks. I haven’t told the children yet. I—don’t know how to.’
Eve reached out and squeezed her hand comfortingly. ‘I know just how difficult that will be for you, but I’m sure you’ll find a way—and Lord Stainton will be sure to find someone who will care for his daughters.’
‘Yes—I’m sure you’re right.’
Their attention was drawn to the children who, having finished eating, with cries of delight scampered off across the grass, Sophie and Estelle hand in hand. Not intending to be left behind, Abigail shouted, ‘Wait for me,’ and ran awkwardly after them. Unfortunately, she was so intent on catching the two older girls that she didn’t look where she was going, and the next instant she had run straight into a tree. There was a howl and Eve and Sarah turned simultaneously to see Abigail on the ground, her skirts tipped up in a froth of white lace petticoats and drawers, and a horrified Sophie running back to see what had befallen her sister.
Observing the incident from a distance, Lucas cursed beneath his breath and dismounted. As he strode towards what was quickly becoming a mêlée, an expression of immense concern clouded his face, anxious and not at all pleased.
Sophie, her eyes huge and brimming with tears, stood looking down at Abigail, her hand still clutching that of Estelle. ‘Abigail was running and bumped into the tree and banged her head,’ she wailed, crying even louder when she saw the graze and the swelling bump on her sister’s head, almost choking on her tears.
Eve immediately scooped the injured child up into her arms to comfort her while Sarah tried to console Sophie.
‘I knew this would be a mistake,’ Lord Stainton thundered, glowering accusingly at Eve. It was as if she had physically pushed the child into the tree.
For a full five minutes the picnic area was filled with the voices of crying children, the concerned voices of Beth and Sarah, and Lord Stainton’s deeper, alarmed and irate voice.
Eve looked at him coldly. ‘Will you please be quiet,’ she said, trying to keep her voice as calm as possible. ‘Shouting like that will only upset the children more than they already are and make the situation worse.’
Inconsolable, Abigail continued to sob loudly, her hand on the already swelling lump on her forehead. She was frightened and bewildered by the sharp anger of her father and she cried fiercely. Completely ignoring the glowering Lord Stainton, whose mouth had clamped shut at her firm reproach, Eve sat on a bench with her young burden and cradled her on her lap, hugging her tightly and murmuring soft, soothing words against her wet cheek.
‘Does it hurt very much?’ she asked the sobbing child. ‘Did that nasty tree get in your way?’
She nodded. ‘Yes,’ she wailed, ‘it did.’
‘Here, let me see.’ Eve wiped the hair from Abigail’s wet face.
‘I bumped my head,’ Abigail said between sobs, ‘and it hurts.’
‘I know it does, sweetheart,’ Eve murmured, hugging her once more, ‘and when you get home I’m sure Miss Lacy will put something very special on it to make it better.’
‘And will that hurt?’
‘No, of course it won’t. It will make the horrid bump go away in no time at all.’
Eve would have been surprised if she had looked up and seen Lord Stainton’s face as he watched her cradling his daughter, her cheek resting on the child’s dark curls. Looking on, he felt as though he was an intruder, a stranger, and that the two children belonged to someone else.
Mesmerised by the lovely picture the woman and child created, his expression had softened. He listened intently to her trying to sooth Abigail, which was something that came quite naturally to her. Gradually the child became quiet and ceased to cry, looking at the face of the woman with something akin to adoration and responding to the warmth in her voice.
Both the scene and the words of comfort Mrs Brody murmured bewitched him and reached out to some unknown part of him that he had not been aware he possessed. It touched and lightened a dark corner for a brief instant and then was it was gone.
Aware of Lord Stainton’s presence, Eve looked at him. Abigail saw her father and was shy of him, hiding her face in Eve’s neck. Standing up and carrying the child, Eve murmured, ‘Come, Abigail. Let’s go and find Miss Lacy, shall we? And perhaps you would like to take some of those pretty pink fairy cakes home with you that you liked so much. We shall see if we can find a fancy napkin to wrap them in. Would you like that?’
‘Yes, please,’ Abigail whispered, having enjoyed the warmth and the cuddle the kind lady had given her and beginning to feel better already.
As Sarah settled the children in the carriage, with Abigail clutching the fairy cakes to her chest as if they were the most precious things in the world, Eve walked back to Lord Stainton. He was about to mount his horse and paused to look down at her.
‘I do not believe Abigail will suffer any adverse affects from her fall, Lord Stainton, but if you are worried unduly perhaps a doctor could take a look at her.’ A slow smile curved her lips. ‘In the rough and tumble of growing up, children trip up all the time.’
‘I sincerely hope you are right, Mrs Brody, and Abigail suffers no ill effects. However, Sophie and Abigail are not in the habit of running about like young savages.’
‘Then perhaps they should be. It’s far healthier for them to be out of doors and running about. They can still be in a stable environment without being cooped up in the house all day.’
‘My children have all the stability I can give them. They have had a secure upbringing and they are happy in the affection of a nursemaid.’
‘Nursemaids are all very well for infants, Lord Stainton, but for growing girls—’
‘They need their mother,’ he interrupted in a soft, blood-chilling voice as he loomed over her, stopping her abruptly, his face taut with some emotion Eve did not recognise. ‘I couldn’t agree with you more, but they don’t have a mother—at least not the kind of mother you are familiar with.’
‘I’m sorry. If you had let me finish what I was about to say, I was going to suggest a governess.’
‘If I wanted your advice, I would ask for it. My children are my responsibility and I will guide them as I see fit.’
‘Then I would say that, with the attitude you’ve got, you will not make a very good job of it.’
‘Don’t you dare lecture me on how to raise my daughters, Mrs Brody. They are nothing to do with you, so I would be obliged if you would mind your own business.’
Eve stood back as he hoisted himself up into the saddle and without another word rode after the carriage. Her heart softened—she was not cruel, and she could well imagine how difficult it must be for him raising two young daughters alone. Sarah’s resignation must have come as a terrible blow and she sincerely hoped he would find someone who would care for his children as much as she had.
As he followed the carriage carrying his daughters, Lucas stopped every now and then, his eyes glancing back at the young woman with the deep red hair walking back to her party. Finally he turned his head away as if she didn’t exist.
The household was in bed and Eve was alone. She was tired after going with Beth and William and the children to visit their new house across the river, but she was restless and unable to sleep. Seated before the dressing table mirror, she was staring into space. She loved England and Beth’s spacious elegant house in Berkeley Street was a balm to her spirits, but she felt so alone. Instead of distracting her from her grief over her father’s death, being here in this alien country with a loving family was compounding the unreality and isolation she had felt since his funeral.
Her father had died suddenly just three months earlier. They had always been close and his parting had left her bereft. Lonely and lost without his support, with her daughter she retreated with her grief into her home, though it wasn’t long before potential suitors, aware of the vast wealth she had inherited, began arriving at her door like a swarm of locusts.
After weeks of turning her back on each and every one of them, she had emerged from her twilight world and, when a letter arrived from her good friend Beth Seagrove inviting her to come and stay with her and her lovely family, she had set sail for England. She and Beth had been close friends since childhood. Both their families had lived in New York and Eve had been sad when Beth had married William Seagrove and had gone to live in London.
Eve envied Beth her easy relationship with this lovely, supportive man, and dearly wished things had turned out like this for her. Sadly it was not meant to be. Andrew Brody, her husband of six months, had been killed in sordid circumstances, leaving her alone and pregnant with Estelle.
With a sigh she pushed her melancholia aside and studied her reflection in the glass. Decisions had to be made about what she was going to do next. No matter how much she loved staying with Beth and William, she knew that she couldn’t stay with them for ever. Besides, as yet she was unable to access her father’s money; according to the solicitor she had employed here in London, his affairs could take some considerable time to sort out.
Eve was quietly concerned about this because her available funds were limited, but her lawyer had assured her that it was only a matter of time before a conclusion was reached. So for the time being, in order to be self-sufficient, she must find some kind of employment to tide her over.
One thing she was quite clear about was that she did not want to return to New York and had already decided to settle in England, but not London. The city was too big, too noisy. She had no remaining family in England, so Eve was free to settle where she chose.
Ever optimistic, the three bitter encounters with Lord Stainton two weeks ago was forgotten, but not the gentleman himself or his beautiful children, and not for the first time she wondered if he had found a replacement for Sarah Lacy. She had not heard otherwise and, if this was indeed the case, had thought of a scheme that could prove beneficial not only to her but to Lord Stainton, if he would but listen to her and consider it.