“A love letter,” Gayle Hodgkinson speculated. “A nice, long juicy one.” Her sister nudged her, but both giggled.
The letter was indeed from Hayden, though he’d never sent Evie passionate missives before.
During her New York sojourn, Evie had received a letter from Hayden exactly once a week, in which he noted in general what he’d been doing at the office with his father, some interesting thing he’d seen on the streets between there and home, and giving her a comment on the current weather. He’d end with well wishes from his mother and himself, to her and her mother. The letter had been the same each week, punctual and predictable.
Hayden had never sat down and penned a long, heartfelt letter expressing his love. Doubtless he hadn’t now, either. This was probably some document having to do with their upcoming nuptials that she had to sign.
“Read it in my sitting room,” Mrs. Barrow offered. “Away from prying eyes.”
“No need.” Evie crossed the room to a relatively private corner by the fire. “This will do.”
She slid her thumb under the envelope’s seal and slit it open, pulling out the folded papers without sitting down. It usually took about thirty seconds to digest Hayden’s correspondence.
The first words of perfunctory greeting slid by, followed by a long page full of Hayden’s scrawl. Evie continued to read, becoming very still as her eyes moved down the paper.
The letter couldn’t possibly say what it did. The words flowed into her mind but meant nothing, had nothing to do with her—did they?
You have my deepest apologies for causing you pain …
… reason for not helping you Thursday evening was a falsehood.
… house in Camden Town, which holds my mistress of five years.
… Thursday is my day for her … Loyalty to her is my first concern.
… releasing you from our betrothal without a stain on you. I will confess to dissolution and walk away for your own good.
Be well,
Hayden Atherton
Evie’s legs gave way, and she found herself falling onto the chair behind her, the room speeding past.
Gavina was at her side in an instant, followed by Mrs. Barrow and Belle, Agnes appearing like an angel who knew when evil had entered.
“Darling, what is it?” Gavina’s voice was gentle and quiet, all brashness gone.
Evie could not speak, could not move. She made no resistance when Gavina slid the pages from her numb fingers.
Thoughts tumbled through Evie’s head as Gavina read the letter, exclaiming out loud before she handed it to Mrs. Barrow.
Hayden excusing himself every Thursday evening, claiming a meeting at his club to discuss stocks and bonds or some such. Evie had not paid much attention, and even his father had approved of this activity.
She hadn’t questioned when Hayden had said his father demanded his presence the night of the museum heist, though she’d never seen Sir Hector work at home. She assumed it was an important project that needed their attention. She’d had no urge to ask Sir Hector if this were true, didn’t much like speaking to the man at all.
Thursday is my day for her …
Evie should be outraged, gutted, devastated, but she could only sit in the chair while the too-warm fire played over her and ice flowed through her veins.
She contrasted the courteous and respectful phrases in this letter to Hayden’s cheerful, brief style in the missives to New York, which he’d written dutifully. She saw with stark clarity now that only duty had prompted him.
Jamie had sent her instructions to remain at Gavina’s. You do not want to be at the Atherton house this evening. Because he’d known Hayden would send her this letter. Knew every word of it. Had told Hayden exactly what to write.
Evie rose abruptly, her stomach roiling. “I must speak to Jamie.”
Gavina slid her arm around her as Belle read the letter over Mrs. Barrow’s shoulder. Belle’s expression held distress and anger, the things Evie should feel.
“Perhaps you’d better have a cup of tea instead,” Gavina said in a kind voice. “With a splash of brandy.” Agnes nodded at once and hurried away.
“No.” Evie balled her fists. “This is his doing. I want to know why.”
“Jamie’s …?” Gavina wrinkled her brow. “Yes, I see what you mean. But, I’m sorry, my dear, I don’t think Mr. Atherton’s letter is a ruse.”
“Oh, I know it is the truth. It is just like Hayden to believe he can have all he wants, and everyone will be happy to give it to him.” Evie broke off, throat tight. “But Jamie had a hand in this confession. I want to speak to him.”
Mrs. Barrow took over. “In the morning. Gavina is right, what’s best is a cup of tea with a bit of spirits, and a sound sleep.”
“No.” Evie jerked from Gavina’s grasp. “You are kind, but no. I won’t sleep. I must see him.” She started across the parlor. “Where are his lodgings?”
Belle was next to her, stopping Evie from flying out the door with a surprisingly strong grip. “Do not run to his flat and get yourself talked about. Let me find out where Jamie is tonight and bring him here.”
“He’ll never come,” Gavina predicted. “To a houseful of women who will browbeat him?”
“He’ll come,” Belle said in a hard voice. “I’ll make certain of it.” She released Evie and stalked into the hall and out the front door, determination in every step.
As it happened, Jamie did not return with Belle to the house. Instead, a half hour after she’d gone, Belle arrived in a large landau pulled by fine gray horses. A groom who’d hung on the back of the coach spoke to the maid at the door, as the inhabitants of the house watched from the parlor window. The maid in turn babbled something to Agnes, who hurried into the room.
“You are to go, Miss McKnight,” Agnes said urgently. “Come. I have your coat ready.”
“Go where?” Evie asked in bewilderment.
“Belgrave Square,” Agnes announced.
Chapter 20
The landau was the most sumptuous Evie had ever ridden in. The seats were upholstered in gray velvet, the walls paneled in a marquetry of sinuously curved leaves and vines. A fire box warmed her feet, and gleaming lamps lit the space. Belle had pulled the curtains closed, shutting them into a plush box.
Belle said nothing as the coach rolled northward to Belgrave Square. The journey did not take long, and soon a footman was opening the carriage door before a brick mansion with tall, arched windows and a porticoed front door. Light shone in every window, the entire house glowing with it.
“Are they having a soiree?” Evie asked nervously once she was on the pavement. She had no intention of walking into a houseful of guests from the cream of society.
“No, it’s just the family,” Belle answered beside her. “Mum likes everything lit up at night. When she was companion to the lady who lived here before, the house was always gloomy.”
Despite Belle’s offhand reference to her mother’s humbler origins, Evie well knew the Mackenzies could afford the gas and oil that made so much light possible. They were one of the wealthiest families in Britain.
Evie’s nervousness didn’t dim. Meeting Jamie’s family might be just as harrowing as the scrutiny of the haut ton.