A look of amazement passed over his face. “The spirits told you this?”
“No. This much I know for a fact. And if you wish to concern yourself with the living, you might start with them.”
Uncle Harris seemed to consider this. And then he nodded. “How much do they require?”
* * *
“Obviously he still believed it was a message from beyond,” Stella said, bringing Locket up alongside Hephaestus.
“I suspect he did.” Evelyn shortened her reins, slowing Hephaestus so that she and Stella could ride abreast. “It was wrong of me to tease him.”
“Bah. Stuffy old men need a bit of teasing,” Stella said. “I tease my older brother with regularity.”
“Your brother isn’t an old man, surely?”
“He acts as though he is. He’s sober and self-righteous. Dreadfully old-fashioned. He doesn’t appreciate being nettled. Which is a sure sign that one must nettle him more.”
The two of them walked their horses along Rotten Row, navigating through the fashionable crowd.
Evelyn had been surprised that Stella had agreed to ride with her at this hour. Anne had ceased doing so, preferring to ride in the mornings with Julia instead. Evelyn might have preferred it, too, if she hadn’t a plan to enact.
Her plan.
Thus far it consisted of little more than a determination to keep Ahmad’s designs at the forefront of society. As for the rest of it . . .
She felt a flash of frustration.
Perhaps Fenny was right. Perhaps the youngest three of their sisters didn’t require London seasons and well-to-do matches.
Evelyn supposed it was possible.
It didn’t lessen her obligation. She must still contrive a way to support them.
A daunting proposition given the changing circumstances.
At least Fenny’s dilemma had been successfully dealt with. No sooner had Uncle Harris written out a check than Evelyn had tucked it into an envelope, along with the note she’d penned to her sister, and sent it off to the Jolly Tar in care of a footman.
Now all that was left was for Evelyn to resolve the remainder of her problems. It was no small feat. Not when Ahmad was ready to quit the field before the battle had even begun.
He was being noble. She recognized that much. It was why he’d told her about his mother and about the burdens Evelyn would face if she became part of his life. He was trying to shield her from pain. To prevent her from throwing everything away on his account.
Little did he know, his story of adversity had only made her admire him more.
“Will your sister truly go back to France now?” Stella asked.
“I believe so.” Evelyn had confided a little about Fenny’s predicament. Just enough to illustrate the danger presented by her remaining in town.
Stella had a way of inviting confidences. Perhaps it was because, like Evelyn, she came from relatively humble origins. Whereas Anne’s and Julia’s parents were wealthy, Stella had only enough funds from her clergyman brother to keep her horse and to purchase a modest wardrobe for the season.
Or perhaps it was the way Stella had of looking at one with such tender gravity. Her silver eyes steady, her gray hair lending her an air of uncommon solemnity.
Not that Evelyn could see her friend’s hair at the moment. Whenever they were riding together, Stella concealed it with a hat, paired with a closely-woven silk hairnet.
“It seems, then,” she said, “that the crisis has been averted.”
Evelyn cast her a glance. “This crisis, anyway.”
Stella laughed. “Have you so many others?”
“Several,” Evelyn said. She guided Hephaestus around an open carriage. He was in fine form today, his thick neck arched and his ears pricked forward. Bristling with energy, he intermittently sprang into a lofty passage. It took most of Evelyn’s attention to keep him to a walk.
She used her leg and her seat, along with the steadiness of her hands, encouraging him to engage his hindquarters. It was a delicate balance of weight and pressure. A conversation, of sorts, in a language Hephaestus could understand.
It was a language she spoke with fluency.
There was infinitely more to riding than simply kicking a horse to go faster or pulling on his mouth to slow him down. A fact that appeared to be unknown to many of the other riders out today. Lady Heatherton among them.
She trotted by on an elegant mare. She was glamorously clad and ruthlessly tight-laced, applying her whip to her horse’s flank with no little force. Her gaze locked onto Evelyn as she rode past. “Miss Maltravers.”
Evelyn inclined her head. “Lady Heatherton.”
Her ladyship rode on, without so much as a word of greeting to Stella.
Stella didn’t appear offended. “Thank goodness she didn’t stop to converse with us.”
“I don’t think she likes me very much,” Evelyn said.
“Indeed. She looked at you as though you were her rival.”
“I’m certainly not.” Before Evelyn could say anything more, another rider approached. She stiffened slightly in her sidesaddle.
“Miss Maltravers.” Stephen Connaught tipped his hat. He was mounted on a rawboned bay.
Evelyn swiftly dispensed with the introductions.
Stella greeted him civilly, if not warmly.
Stephen didn’t seem to notice. He was too busy admiring Hephaestus. “He’s looking fit,” he said. “How is he acclimating to town life?”
“Wonderfully,” Evelyn said. “As am I.”
Stephen’s gaze drifted up over her figure before coming to rest on her face. “It suits you.”
Once, the compliment might have meant something. But not anymore. “What about you?” she asked. “How long do you intend to remain in London?”
“Until my business is concluded,” he said.
His business with Fenny and Anthony.
Evelyn prayed Stephen wouldn’t find them. With luck, the moment Fenny received the check, she and Anthony would be on the next steamer back to France.
“We shan’t keep you from it.” Evelyn urged Hephaestus on, dismissing Stephen with a curt bow of her head. “Good day.”
Stephen turned in his saddle to watch them as they passed.
“Does his remaining in London pose any difficulty for you?” Stella inquired when they were out of earshot.
“Not anymore,” Evelyn said. “Not unless he’s indiscreet about my sister.”