understand by your letters. She is to marry a duke?’
Now, Thorne was beaming with satisfaction. ‘Despite his rank, St Aldric is the most magnanimous of gentlemen. He is so full of good humour and generosity that his friends have shortened the title to Saint.’
Evie had won herself a saint, had she? It was no less than she deserved. Sam had best keep as far away from her as possible. His own nature proved him to be as far from that lofty state as it was possible to be. ‘Evelyn is the most fortunate of young ladies to gain such a husband.’
‘It is a shame that you cannot stay to meet him. He is expected this afternoon.’ It was as blunt as shutting the door in his face. Being ‘like a member of the family’ was not the same as recognised kinship. Now that he was raised and settled in a trade, Thorne felt no responsibility to him at all.
‘A pity, indeed. But, of course, I cannot stay,’ Sam agreed. It was just as well. He had no real desire to meet this Saint who would marry his Evie, or remain under the Thorne roof a moment more than was necessary. ‘You will give my regards to Lady Evelyn, of course.’ He added her title carefully, to avoid any sign of familiarity.
‘Of course,’ her father said. ‘And now, I do not wish to keep you.’
‘Of course not.’ Sam managed a smile and rose, as though this brief visit had been his intent all along, and his departure had nothing to do with the abrupt dismissal. ‘I only wished to thank you, sir, and to remind you of the difference your patronage has meant to my life. A letter hardly seemed appropriate.’ Sam offered a stiff bow to the man who had claimed to be his benefactor.
Thorne got up from his desk and clapped him by the shoulder, smiling as he had of old. That such approval could only come by his leaving was another bitter reminder of how things had changed. ‘I am touched, my boy. And it is good to know that you are doing well. Will we see you, again, while you are in London? For the wedding, perhaps?’ When it was too late for him to do any harm.
‘I do not know. My plans are not yet set.’ If he could find a ship in need of his services, he would be gone with the tide. And if not? Perhaps there was some distant spot in Scotland or Ireland that had need of a physician.
‘You are welcome, of course. We will have much to celebrate. Little Eve is not so little any more. St Aldric has been quite set on the match, since the beginning of the Season, but she has yet to answer him. I have told her that it does not do to play with the affections of a duke. She will not listen.’ Thorne still smiled, as though even her disobedience was a treasure, which of course, to him, it was.
If he had continued to indulge her every whim, she had likely grown into a wilful hoyden. She would run wild without a strong man to partner her. Himself, for instance … Sam put the thought from his head. ‘She will come round in time, I am sure, sir.’ With luck, he would be gone without seeing it happen. If she had not decided, it would be disaster to hang about here and run the risk of muddying her mind with his presence.
He and Thorne went through the motions of an amicable parting as he walked towards the door of the room, but it went no further than that. They might as well have been strangers, for all the emotion expressed. There had been a time when Sam had longed for a deeper bond of affection. But now that he knew the truth of their relationship, he would as soon have never met the man. It took only a few more empty promises to keep in contact, before the interview was at an end and he was out of the office and retreating down the main stairs of the house he had once thought his home.
Only a few more feet and he would be out the front door and away. But a departure without incident was unlikely, since, as he had climbed the stairs to Thorne’s office, he had known that she waited, scant feet away.
When he had passed through on the hallway, he had taken great care not to look too closely at the place she must be concealed. He did not want to see her. It would make leaving all the more difficult.
But as he’d approached the house, a part of him had feared that she would not be there to greet him. That poor fool had wanted to search the corners for her, to hold out his arms and call out her name. He would be equally foolish to suffer if she did not come to him, or if she had already gone into the arms and the house of another. One could not bring back the past, especially when one found that the happiness there had been based on ignorance and illusion.
The door had opened and he had not seen her. Torn between fear and relief, he had been afraid to enquire after her. But then, as he had passed her hiding place, he had smelled her perfume.
That was not wholly accurate. He could smell a woman’s scent in the air of the hall, fresh and growing stronger as he neared the alcove at the curve of the stairs. He could not be sure it was her. The girl he had left had smelled of lemon soap and the mildest lavender eau de toilette. This new perfume was redolent of India, mysterious, sharp and sophisticated.
He should have simply turned and acknowledged her. He’d have caught her hiding at the base of the stairs, for he was sure that was what she had been doing, just as she had done when they were children. He could have pretended that nothing was amiss and greeted her easily, as an old friend ought. They could have exchanged pleasantries. Then he could have wished her well and they’d have parted again after a few words.
But the fragrance had been an intoxicant to him and he would have needed all his wits for even a few words of greeting. If he could not master himself, there was no telling what his first words would have been. So he had taken the coward’s way, pretending that he was unaware of her presence and hoping that she would have given up in the hour of the interview and gone back to the morning room, or wherever it was that she spent her days.
He could not imagine his Evie, sitting like a lady on a divan or at a writing desk, prepared to offer a gracious but chilly welcome and banal conversation. He had spent too many years brooding on the memory of how she had been, not wanting her to change. He could picture her in the garden, running, climbing and sitting on the low tree branches he had helped her to, when no one had been there to stop them.
Yet she would have put that behaviour aside, just as she had the eau de toilet. She had grown up. She was to be a duchess. The girl he remembered was gone, replaced by a ton-weary flirt with poise enough to keep a duke dangling. Once he had met that stranger, perhaps he could finally be free of her and have some peace.
Then, as he reached the bottom step, she pelted out from hiding and into him, body to body, her arms around his neck, and called, ‘Tag.’ Her lips were on his cheeks, first one, then the other, in a pair of sisterly but forceful kisses.
He froze, body and mind stunned to immobility. With preparation, he had controlled his first reaction to her nearness. But this sudden and complete contact was simply too much. His arms had come halfway up to hug her before he’d managed to stop them and now they poked stiffly out at the elbows, afraid to touch her, unable to show any answering response. ‘Evie,’ he managed in a tone as stiff as his posture. ‘Have you learned no decorum at all in six years?’
‘Not a whit, Sam,’ she said, with a laugh. ‘You did not think to escape me so easily, did you?’
‘Of course not.’ Hadn’t he tried, going nearly to the ends of the earth to do so? If that had been a failure, what was he to do now? ‘I’d have greeted you properly, had you given me the chance,’ he lied. He reached up and pried her arms from his neck, stepping away from her.
She gave him a dour frown, meant to be an imitation of his own expression, he was sure. Then she laughed again. ‘Because we must always be proper, mustn’t we, Dr Hastings?’
He
