she murmured. ‘No one calls me that here.’ She looked up. ‘One more thing, Mr Granby. My husband’s body…?’
The valet hesitated. He avoided her eyes as he murmured, ‘Lost, ma’am.’
‘It might still be recovered,’ put in Bernard.
‘The news was spread along the coast.’ Granby nodded. ‘They have promised to send word if he is…found.’
‘They?’ said Bernard. ‘Who would that be?’
‘The master’s business acquaintances.’
In spite of the numbness that had settled over her, Eve almost smiled. The valet’s haughty tone and the look that accompanied his words said very clearly that Nick Wylder’s business was his own affair, certainly not to be shared with Bernard Shawcross. She rose.
‘We will talk later, Mr Granby.’ She turned to her cousin, ‘Perhaps you would escort me to the carriage, Bernard.’
‘My dear cousin, it is not necessary—indeed, it is not usual—for females to attend a funeral.’ Eve stared at him and he continued gently, ‘I have no doubt you would prefer to go to your room. Shall I send your maid to you?’
‘No, Cousin. I will go to the church. I need to be active.’
‘But surely—’
She put up a hand. Her voice, when she spoke, was barely under control. ‘I wish, Cousin, you would stop trying to order my life. I shall go on much better if I am allowed to keep busy. Please let me have my way in this.’
‘My dear Evelina, I am head of the family now—’
Granby coughed. ‘Beggin’ your pardon, sir, but Mrs Wylder is part of Lord Darrington’s family now.’
Eve felt a flicker of gratitude for Richard Granby. Bernard scowled, but as he opened his mouth to retort she forestalled him.
‘Yes, thank you, Mr Granby. That is all for now. You may go.’ She reached up to her bonnet and pulled the veil down over her face. ‘Cousin, our carriage is at the door.’
Sir Benjamin had been an important figure in Makerham and the little village church was packed with those wishing to pay their last respects. The sight of Evelina in her flowing black robes and leaning heavily on her cousin’s arm caused more than one stolid parishioner to blink away a tear. When the coffin was carried out of the church and Miss Shawcross fainted clean away, there were many that said it was a blessing she should be spared the sight of her beloved grandfather’s body being consigned to the earth.
Martha accompanied her mistress back to the house and half-carried her up to her room, but it was not until her maid had tucked her up in her bed and departed that Eve allowed her pent-up grief to spill over. Tears burned her eyes and huge, gasping sobs racked her body as she mourned for the loss of her grandfather and her husband. She curled herself into a ball and sank her teeth into her fist to prevent herself screaming with rage and grief and pain. Sir Benjamin’s death had long been anticipated, but Nick’s loss was unbearable; she was not prepared for the agony and in some strange way she felt betrayed. He had ridden into her life and she had tumbled headlong into love with him. She had trusted him with her heart and now he was gone, as quickly as he had come. She dragged the covers over her head and allowed the tears to fall, crying for her grandfather, for Nick, for herself. Finally, as exhaustion set in, she buried her face in her damp pillow, praying that the expensive feather-and-down filling would deprive her lungs of air and suffocate her.
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.
