Evelyn drew back as if he’d struck her.
Of all the things he might have said, this was the last she expected.
She braced one hand on the back of the scroll-armed sofa. “You’ve heard something from Fenny and your brother?”
“Indeed.” He straightened from the mantel. “I have reason to believe the two of them are in town.”
Evelyn sank onto the sofa’s damask-cushioned seat. Better that than have her knees give way beneath her. “In London?” She could scarcely credit it. “Have you seen them?”
“I have not.” He sat down in the chair across from her. “Anthony wrote to my father, proposing a reconciliation. He didn’t say where he and your sister were staying, only that they were here in London. He requested my father reply care of Hoare’s Bank. And he’s done so, but not to Anthony’s satisfaction. That’s why father has sent me. I’m to find my brother and talk some sense into him. Pray God he hasn’t already returned to France.”
Evelyn was stunned. “Is that where they’ve been all this time?”
“That surprises you?”
“We suspected they’d crossed the Channel, but we had no proof of it.”
“Nor did we, until my brother wrote from Paris, begging permission to marry your sister. Naturally, my father refused out of hand.”
“When did this happen?”
“Two years ago, or thereabouts.”
She stared at him in disbelief. “Do you mean to say . . . your family has been in correspondence with them all this time?”
“With my brother, yes. Though one can hardly term it correspondence. He writes from various locations abroad when he requires money. My father wires it to him, care of whichever bank Anthony specifies—so long as Anthony hasn’t married without his blessing.”
A tide of outrage rose in Evelyn’s breast. All these years of waiting and worrying, and all the while, the Connaughts had known where Fenny and Anthony were? “Why on earth did you never say anything?”
“We presumed you knew. It’s why I’ve come. To tell you that if you receive word from your sister, you must let me know immediately.”
It was all Evelyn could do to keep from raising her voice. “My family hasn’t heard from Fenny in three years!”
His eyes narrowed. “Then why are you in London?”
“Not on Fenny’s account.”
“Why else? You’ve never shown any interest in visiting town. Only a sense of familial obligation could have prompted you to do so. If not your sister—”
“I had no idea where Fenny was. She’s never written so much as a word to any of us.”
The truth of her assertion seemed to finally sink into Stephen’s brain.
“Well,” he said at last, “if that’s the case, then I can’t say I’m shocked. Your sister was never the most sensible of girls.”
“Is that all you have to say for yourself?” She could no longer hold her temper. “Good lord, Stephen, we didn’t know if Fenny was alive or dead!”
“Your sister was in no danger. Women of her stripe always land on their feet. It’s my brother who—”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Anthony is my father’s heir. He can’t marry without father’s permission, and he comes into no money of his own until his next birthday. If your sister thinks to keep him on the hook for another year—”
“Your brother ruined my sister.”
Stephen gave a derisive snort.
“And his actions have very nearly ruined my family. Why couldn’t he leave Fenny alone?”
“Don’t try to pin this on my brother.”
“It’s not all my sister’s fault.”
“Your sister was a flirt.” He imbued the single, scathing word with a wealth of evil implication.
Evelyn shot up from the sofa.
Just because she and Aunt Nora criticized Fenny didn’t mean she would countenance hearing criticism of her from anyone else.
“Is that why your father still objects to them marrying? Because Fenny smiled too much and laughed too much? Because she used to enjoy a bit of fun?”
Stephen rose from his seat. “Don’t be absurd. He objects for the same reasons he’s always objected.”
“Because of my family’s lack of fortune and pedigree?” Evelyn scorned to say it. “Those concerns can hardly matter in the face of such a scandal.
“You think not?” Stephen’s eyes were hard as flint. “Do you suppose my father relishes the idea of the baronetcy one day falling to a grandchild who’s half Maltravers? My father, who can trace our lineage back to the Tudors?”
She refrained from pointing out that Sir William had seemed to have no objections where his second son was concerned. If he had, she’d never have dared hope that Stephen might one day propose. But the rules had always been different where Anthony was concerned.
“There’s nothing wrong with a grandchild who’s half Maltravers,” she said. “And shame on you for saying so.”
Stephen was unrepentant. “Your sister’s lack of breeding isn’t my father’s only objection.”
“What else?”
“If you must know, he refuses to sanction my brother tying himself to a woman who’s lived with a man outside the bounds of matrimony.”
“The man she’s living with is your brother!”
“A fine way for the future Lady Connaught to behave.” Stephen straightened his waistcoat. “I’m determined to run the two of them to earth. With luck, I can persuade Anthony to come home. He’s always listened more to me than to Father.”
“And Fenny? If you find them, what will happen to her?”
“Your aunt must do with her what she will.” His lips pursed in a moue of distaste. “I regret her conduct has tarnished your reputation, and that of your sisters. You are to be pitied.”
Evelyn didn’t want his pity. She didn’t want anything from him save his silence. “Fenny’s conduct is hers alone. My reputation—and that of my younger sisters—is unblemished. So long as you don’t go about stirring the scandal up again.”
“What can it matter now?”
“It matters. News of Fenny’s disgrace could very well harm my prospects. I would ask that you exercise discretion when speaking of it.”