“But now we must return the glass slippers and continue with our real lives,” Evie said whimsically. “I will write Mr. Mackenzie and Miss Mackenzie notes of thanks. They have been so kind.”
Marjorie regarded Evie with wise eyes. “The prince brought the glass slipper back to Cinderella, and they lived happily ever after. Perhaps your prince will return for you.”
Evie could see she meant Jamie, and something hot stirred in her body.
Her sleep hadn’t been entirely unbroken. Dreams of Jamie, he in his wet clothes, eyes full of sin as he’d leaned to kiss her, had threaded into her slumber, making her wake, breathless and too warm. She’d also dreamed of riding beside him in the motorcar, watching his broad hands on the steering wheel, he sending her sly smiles that burned her blood. He’d halt the car and gather her to him to sear her lips with another kiss …
“Don’t be silly,” Evie said, desperately trying to banish the visions. “There is no prince in this story.”
“Mmm-hmm.”
Marjorie did not much care for Hayden Atherton, though Evie wasn’t certain why. The man had done everything he could to befriend Marjorie, but Marjorie remained cold, which was odd for her, because she was usually so friendly.
Marjorie said nothing more, but stuck her nose in the air and wafted out, the black ribbon that hung from her straw boater dancing.
Downstairs on the carpet outside the hotel’s entrance, Evie embraced each sister and then her mother, bidding them goodbye. Mrs. McKnight held Evie hard, making Evie’s eyes sting and her heart wrench. When she saw them again, she would be getting married.
“Write and tell us everything,” Mrs. McKnight whispered before she released Evie.
“There won’t be much to tell,” Evie said. “Planning for the future, is all. Very responsible and steady plans.”
“Mmm-hmm.” Marjorie’s mmm-hmms were playing on Evie’s nerves. What did Marjorie believe she knew? Her smirk spoke volumes.
At last Mrs. McKnight, Clara, and Marjorie were bundled into a hansom cab, which rolled them away toward their train station. Marjorie waved and blew kisses to Evie until the cab was lost among the thick traffic heading toward Regent’s Park.
Another hansom slid forward, and the hotel’s majordomo opened its door for Evie. “Good day, Miss McKnight. I hope we see you again.”
He was being polite, doing his job, but Evie returned that she too hoped so, though she knew it was unlikely, which made her sad.
She had a sudden vision of entering the glittering lobby once more, this time with Jamie Mackenzie at her side. Evie would be in a glorious silk gown, her ears and bosom sparkling with jewels, while Jamie waltzed along next to her, a greeting for each of the staff who came out of the woodwork to wait on him.
“Nonsense,” Evie said out loud as the cab jerked forward. She must simply be tired. A few good nights’ sleep, and Evie would think of Jamie no more.
She had much more important things to occupy her time, didn’t she? Such as helping Iris with her troubles. Or rather, her family’s troubles.
Iris Georgiou had been a dear friend at Girton and a member of the rowing team. Evie would have felt a loyalty to her for that alone, but Iris was such a sweet young woman, and she and Evie had become fast friends. When Iris had returned to Greece with her family after she’d finished university, Evie had wept. They’d written often, but it hadn’t been the same.
When Iris had telegraphed Evie that she and her father were traveling to London, Evie had been ecstatic. She’d received the cable on board the Baltic en route to New York, and had been excited for the reunion upon her return. That is until she’d received Iris’s letter, delivered to their New York hotel, outlining her problem.
Poor Iris. Her father faced ruin, and possibly worse, and Iris was desperate to help him. The first person Iris had thought of to assist her was Evie.
Now that Evie was back in England, she could put plans in motion. She had many ideas.
But first, she would reunite with Hayden, her fiancé, for the first time in two months.
Hayden’s mother, a small woman with flaxen hair, smiled when Evie alighted at the Upper Brook Street house and entered its large foyer.
“How lovely to see you again, dear.” Mrs. Atherton hugged Evie with plump arms, her rose-scented perfume wafting. “How was your journey? Cook has just sent up luncheon, and you must be hungry.”
Evie could not help thinking, as a footman took her coat, that the majordomo of the Langham hotel had spoken in much the same tones as did Mrs. Atherton. Perfectly polite phrases, but rote and rehearsed.
Evie scolded herself for being uncharitable. Mrs. Atherton had been brought up to be expertly polite, was all. Plus, she had to make up for her husband’s gruffness.
Sir Hector Atherton, a gray-haired, bearded man in a well-tailored suit, folded the newspaper he’d carried out of the drawing room and looked Evie up and down with hard blue eyes.
“Well, I can see that gadding about New York hasn’t turned you into a frivolous ninny,” he growled. “At least not obviously. Thank heavens you still dress sensibly.”
Evie had worn a fairly plain blue gown, styles simpler this year. Bodices draped softly instead of being tightly cinched, and her skirt flowed gently to her high-heeled Oxford shoes.
“Is that a way to greet our returning traveler?” Hayden’s good-natured voice floated from the drawing room, and Hayden himself soon followed. “Ignore him, darling. Welcome home.”
The handsome man with a shock of golden hair and keen blue eyes, who dressed like his father in a well-fitted dark suit, flashed Evie a wide smile.
Evie waited for the thump-thump of her heart and the warming of her skin that should wash over her. How lucky I am, she’d told herself. He is attractive and charming, and many people like him.
Nothing happened. Her heart remained unruffled, as usual, her face cool. Perhaps one day, she’d feel that quickening of excitement—like the one she’d experienced when she’d run smack into Jamie Mackenzie yesterday …
She quickly broke off the thought.
Hayden, either not noticing Evie’s numbness or deciding to overlook it, took her arm and led her into the dining room, as he’d done every other time she’d visited Hayden’s home. It was as though she’d never been gone.
The dining room’s curtains were closed, as always, lest any sunlight leak in and mar the perfect decor of the blue and green chamber. A chandelier lit the scene, crystals dancing like those in the Langham suite.
Sir Hector escorted his wife to her chair at the foot of the table at the same time Hayden escorted Evie to one of the long sides. Both men waited until the ladies had been seated before they took their own chairs.
A footman sprang forward and offered Mrs. Atherton soup. She requested a polite ladleful and then the soup came to Evie.
Cream of chicken with lots of potatoes floating in the broth. Mmm. Evie, hungry, snatched the ladle before the footman could serve her, as she did at home, filling her bowl partway. She reached in for a second helping, but the footman, supposing she would release the ladle, had already started moving the tureen toward Sir Hector. The ladle slipped, and soup splashed her blue skirt.
“Careful,” Sir Hector snarled at the footman, though his glare caught Evie too.