She didn’t know what she’d been expecting. More danger, perhaps. A threat of fisticuffs—or worse.
No doubt things would have transpired differently had she been alone. She was exceedingly grateful she wasn’t.
“We may yet have some excitement,” Ahmad said. “Stay on your guard.”
“I will,” she promised.
He stopped outside the door of the third room on the right of the corridor. “I’ll wait here.”
“You needn’t—”
“This is between you and your sister,” he said.
He was right. Fenny wasn’t likely to listen if Ahmad was present. Gathering her courage, Evelyn knocked softly on the door.
There was no answer.
She was just raising her hand to strike again when a woman called out sharply from inside: “Who’s there?”
It was Fenny’s voice.
At the sound of it, Evelyn’s eyes burned with unexpected moisture. Bowing her head, she rested her brow against the paneled wood of the door, her own voice sinking to a whisper. “Fenny? It’s Evie.”
“Evie?” Seconds later, the door was flung open. Fenny stood there, her dark hair loose about her shoulders and her rosebud mouth parted in horrified surprise. The bodice of her dress strained over her swollen belly. “By all the saints. What in heaven are you doing here?”
Twenty-Two
Evelyn folded her hands in her lap to stop their trembling. Seated in a shabby armchair situated beside an equally shabby washstand, she watched her heavily pregnant sister pace the confines of her rented room. Fenny was clad in faded linen, wearing neither corset nor stockings. Her bare feet padded silently on the ash-singed carpet.
She looked older than when Evelyn had last seen her.
And not only in years.
There were lines on Fenny’s face that spoke of hardship and dissolute living.
“How far along are you?” Evelyn asked.
“Six months,” Fenny said.
“Is that why you came back?”
Fenny’s expression tightened. “Anthony was convinced his father would finally give permission for us to marry. But Sir William won’t budge an inch. His pride won’t allow it. He still can’t forgive Anthony for defying him and chasing after me to London.”
“Does Sir William know you’re with child?”
“He doesn’t care. He says that many gentlemen sire children on their mistresses, but it doesn’t mean they’re obliged to wed them.”
Evelyn winced. “When did he say that?”
“He wrote it in reply to Anthony’s letter. Anthony was furious. He said we’d return to France straightaway, but we don’t have enough money for our passage. We had expenses. Food and lodgings at this wretched place. Sir William made us wait over a week on his reply. He must have known that lingering here would leave us short of funds.”
The rough voices of inebriated sailors and dockworkers drifted up from the dining room below. An unsettling sound. Evelyn was grateful that Ahmad was standing guard at the door.
“What will you do?” she asked.
Fenny shrugged. “Find the money somehow. That’s where Anthony is now. Trying to win our passage in a card game with some sailors he met on the steamer from France.”
Evelyn didn’t like the sound of that. It seemed reckless—and dangerous. “Surely gambling isn’t the answer?”
“How do you suppose we manage to make Sir William’s quarterly allowance last so long? If not for Anthony’s prowess at the gaming tables, I shudder to think where we’d be.”
“I didn’t even know Sir William was in contact with you,” Evelyn said. “Not until Stephen told me. You can imagine how I felt, learning that you were alive and well and here in London.”
Fenny ceased pacing. Her mouth flattened into a mulish line. She didn’t apologize. Didn’t ask after Aunt Nora or inquire about their sisters. She just stood there, glaring.
Evelyn recognized that look from their childhood. Fenny had been willful even then. Stubborn and selfish. It was one of the reasons she and Evelyn had never been as close as Evelyn was with her younger sisters.
It didn’t mean Evelyn didn’t care for her. As difficult as Fenny had been over the years, there had still been moments of sisterly affection between them.
“Why didn’t you write to us?” Evelyn asked.
“And tell you what?”
“You might have explained.”
“After Aunt Nora had spent all of her savings on my debut? And you and all our sisters counting on me? There was nothing I could say.”
“You could have told us where you were. Aunt Nora has worried herself sick over you. I have, too.”
“You? I thought you’d be glad to see the back of me. You were always so disapproving of my having fun.”
Evelyn frowned. Is that how her sister had perceived her? It wasn’t the truth. Not anywhere near it. “I’m sorry if I seemed that way,” she said. “Our lives were so different. You with your friends and parties—”
“And you with your horse. Off riding without a care in the world.”
“I had as many cares as you did.”
Fenny snorted. “You weren’t expected to be the savior of us all. To give up your happiness—your very future—for the sake of the family.”
Evelyn’s stomach knotted.
It might not have been expected of her then, but it was certainly expected of her now.
When she’d set out for London, it had seemed a worthy sacrifice. But not anymore. Not since her affections had been engaged.
And they were engaged.
Indeed, driving here tonight with Ahmad, the two of them pressed against each other inside the brougham, everything had seemed to fall into focus.
He was the one for her. The only one. There could be no other.
In just a few short weeks, he’d become essential to her happiness. Even now, when he was but a short distance away, all she could think of was seeing him again.
Is this what it was like to lose one’s heart to a gentleman? This feeling that you’d risk everything—give up everything—just to be with him?
“It’s why you’re here, isn’t it?” Fenny asked. “With me gone, you’re the next in line to play sacrificial lamb. Take my advice and save yourself the trouble. Our sisters won’t thank you for it. Not unless they’ve changed a great deal during the past three years.”