Jamie huffed a laugh. “Good old Andrew. All right then, thank heavens I uncovered Hayden’s peccadillo with his mistress. Poor fellow—I should probably warn him about his father. Though he wouldn’t believe me.”
“No.” Ian watched Jamie closely.
“I will warn Brigitte instead. She might be able to convince Hayden to put a stop to it.” Jamie drew a long breath. “Very well, I am a saint for rescuing Evie from that family. That does not mean she’ll embrace this one.”
Ian observed him a while longer, his golden eyes meeting Jamie’s. “I was very afraid the night you were born.”
“So you’ve told me.” Jamie spread his arms. “But I am well and robust, and so is Mother.”
“That night, I knew for certain I’d been right to make Beth mine.”
Jamie had not heard this particular detail before. “You hadn’t been certain prior to that? I thought the moment you saw Mother in that theatre box, you knew she was true and pure and the one for you.”
Ian didn’t smile. “I did. But I was afraid I’d made her unhappy by pursuing her. I nearly got her killed.” His eyes darkened, the remembered terror of that still tapping at him. “The night you were born, when Beth looked at me as I held you, I knew. She regretted nothing.”
“Mother is besotted with you,” Jamie said, nodding. “Embarrassingly so, sometimes.”
Ian pinned him with his gaze, as though willing Jamie to understand his point. “I knew that my instincts had been right. I’d done what I needed to for both of us to find happiness.”
Jamie sobered. “You mean that is what I must do with Evie.”
“You must give her what she needs.”
A bratty son? Jamie wanted to joke, but he held his tongue.
Ian was telling Jamie he must decide his path and then forge it. If Jamie loved Evie, then he couldn’t simply give up. He had set things in motion, and he must continue.
“Atherton would have given her much wealth,” Jamie said slowly. “That is, if his stupid father didn’t land himself in prison and his family in the workhouse. She’d have had a mansion in Mayfair, invitations to all the society dos in Atherton’s world, and be dressed in beautiful gowns and jewels to prove how successful the Athertons are. I don’t think Evie will be impressed by that sort of thing.”
Jamie imagined that handing Evie a glittering necklace would only earn him a puzzled look. She wouldn’t turn gooey-eyed and throw herself into his arms because of a few baubles. Jewels were not what would win her.
He thought he understood what would.
“I do know what she needs.” Jamie’s confidence resurged. “Something Atherton would never have been able to give her, because the idiot wouldn’t have thought of it.”
Jamie flashed his father a triumphant smile. Ian nodded, as though he understood exactly what Jamie had in mind, and maybe he did. He’d probably been waiting for his slow-thinking son to catch up.
“I will tell Hart.” Ian picked up his book and opened it, finished with the discussion.
Jamie had been interpreting his father’s words for years, and he knew exactly what Ian meant. Ian would instruct Hart to prepare Jamie a suite for himself and a wife and family in the massive Kilmorgan Castle that was the Mackenzie family seat. Aunt Eleanor would do the actual preparing, which meant she would bombard Jamie and Evie with questions once she knew.
Ian also meant, Jamie peeling back the man’s words even more, that he believed Jamie would succeed.
Which made Jamie know he would. His heart light, he drained his whisky and left the room, whistling a merry tune.
Three days later, Evie boarded a train with a swarm of Mackenzies to head to Newmarket and the racing meet there.
For the last three days, she’d barely been able to sit down. Her trunk had arrived from the Athertons’ the morning after her first night at the Belgrave Square house, her gowns, hats, and shoes packed neatly. Evie had half expected her clothes to be cut to ribbons, but everything was present, and looked as though they had been freshly washed and pressed.
“What did you say to them?” Evie asked Curry when she found the man in an upstairs chamber, where he sat mending one of Lord Ian’s coats.
Curry had been a pickpocket once, Megan had told her, before becoming their father’s devoted servant. He’d married Katie Sullivan, who had once been Beth’s companion, Katie now ruling below stairs as head housekeeper.
“Say to them, Miss?” Curry rose, his form lithe, hair black with only a bit of gray at the temples. Evie could well imagine his nimble fingers lifting pocketbooks from unwary pedestrians.
“To the servants at Sir Hector’s house. My clothes are pristine. More so than when I packed them in the first place.”
“Don’t know what yer mean, Miss.” Curry blinked in bewilderment, though Evie caught an impish twinkle in his eyes. “Maybe they’re conscientious, like.”
“Well, whatever you did, I thank you.”
“Pleased to be of service, Miss.” Curry winked as he sat down, pretending to scowl at a rent in Ian’s coat.
Evie imagined he’d gone below stairs at the house in Upper Brook Street and told the Atherton servants in no uncertain terms that Miss McKnight’s clothing was to be packed precisely or they’d answer to him. Hayden’s mother would no doubt have preferred the maids to dump Evie’s things into the trunk and set it out on the side of the road.
She imagined Mrs. Atherton was not happy with Evie for the broken engagement. Though Hayden’s letter had promised he’d take the blame, his mother would blame Evie, no matter what.
Not that Evie had heard one word from Hayden, Mrs. Atherton, or Sir Hector. Jamie and his family, she suspected, were protecting her from that.
She’d not had any time to be alone with Jamie since their kiss in the drawing room, which she also suspected was by design. Megan and Beth took Evie shopping. Ostensibly, they went shopping and brought Evie with them, but Evie somehow ended up with new hats and gloves and an order for new gowns, which Evie had asked for in Belle’s neat style.
After supper each night, the entire family adjourned to the smaller sitting room where Evie had first been ushered. While Megan played the piano and Ian read, Beth, Jamie, and Evie would turn to card or board games. They couldn’t let Ian play, Jamie explained, because he always won. Ian pretended not to hear him.
Then Megan would link arms with Evie and walk with her up to bed. Evie began to feel close to the gentle Megan, who was a year younger than she was. Megan’s dream was to compose and perform music, though she had difficulty convincing others to take her seriously. She’d start a position teaching a young lady in the autumn, which she was looking forward to, though it meant leaving home.
To be certain, Jamie flirted outrageously with Evie, sending her long and intense looks, as well as smiles across the supper table that warmed her bones. But he kept his distance. No more stolen kisses, not even a brush of hands.
She was grateful for the Mackenzies’ hospitality—no one could have been better hosts. But soon, her mother and father would arrive, and Evie would go home with them. She’d see nothing of Jamie after that, which was as it should be. But Evie didn’t like the hollow feeling the thought gave her.