Romance: Detective Romance: A Vicious Affair (Victorian Regency Intrigue 19th England Romance) (Historical Mystery Detective Romance) by Lisa Andersen
Authors: Lisa Andersen
Ads: Link
Alice all alone in this house. For the past few years, Eve had been their project, the purpose to their lives. Now she was under threat of being taken away. And then what will become of them?
“He is a brilliant man, Mother,” Eve persisted, pushing those thoughts aside. She wanted to marry Brigadier Charles Appleyard more than anything. Of that she was sure. “I believe he may be a perfect match for me. I believe we may be happy together.”
“Well, we will see,” Mother muttered. “I must think about this.”
The next day, Charles called again. This time he stood at the door. “I would like to walk the grounds with Miss Somerset, if that is acceptable,” he said. “Of course we will stay in sight of the house.”
Eve almost bit her lip in excitement. He just asked her! He just came out and asked her! “I do not think—” Mother paused, and then nodded. “If you walk no further than to the end of the garden, I suppose it is okay.”
Eve knew Mother only accepted because Auntie Alice was asleep upstairs and unable to throw her judgmental gaze around. The unspoken agreement was that Eve would return before Auntie Alice awoke to avoid any unnecessary complications. Eve stood and walked toward the door where Charles stood. She felt strange, walking without Mother right beside her, but Mother only looked up once and smiled supportively.
Charles and she left the house and walked down to the end of the garden: a small garden with a few flowers bordering the sides, and weeds growing here and there where a gardener hadn’t been in years. They stood in full view of the window and faced each other. “This is the first time we have been alone,” Charles said slowly, as though it was a great fact of the world. “I do hope your mother says yes,” he went on. “I could barely sleep last night for thinking of it. I need a wife, and I do not believe any lady would suit me more than you. Yes, yes, I know, I am making love to you. I cannot help it. I thought the love had been torn from my heart, but, alas, it has not.”
“Alas?” Eve said. “It saddens you?”
“The love does not sadden me,” Charles said. “The idea of losing it does.” He paused, and then said: “I do not believe I am the most perceptive of men when it comes to social situations, but I did sense a certain restrain in you yesterday when I asked you to illuminate me concerning your person. Am I correct in thinking you held something back?”
Eve struggled to keep her face impassive, impenetrable, unexcitable, as she had been taught. A flicker of a smile touched her lips for barely an instant. “How did you know?” she said.
“There was a light in your eyes,” Charles said. “It was as though it was trying to break free, but something – Mrs. Somerset and Miss Wilton, I am guessing – was keeping it trapped. Tell me, Eve, about yourself.”
Nobody had ever taken an interest in Eve before; she had never dreamt that anybody would care. She had thought that either she would become another Auntie Alice, or she would marry some cold and disinterested man. But there was fear in this openness, for what if she shared her interests, which were scandalous in the extreme, and Charles fled her? How will you know, if you do not risk it? Quickly, lest she change her mind, she told Charles of her interest in Latin and Greek and the natural arts. She told him of the sketches she had drawn of various plants, with labels and terminology taken from one dusty book on the subject she’d found buried in the library. She told him of the hours of candlelit study.
“I knew there was something different about you,” he said. “I simply knew it. The other girls, all so keen to converse about this or that until I no longer had the constitution to listen, and here is a young lady who wishes to talk about the war! Ha!” His scar wrinkled when he laughed. It didn’t bother Eve at all. “And the scar, Miss Somerset?” he said, tracing his finger along it.
“He is a brilliant man, Mother,” Eve persisted, pushing those thoughts aside. She wanted to marry Brigadier Charles Appleyard more than anything. Of that she was sure. “I believe he may be a perfect match for me. I believe we may be happy together.”
“Well, we will see,” Mother muttered. “I must think about this.”
The next day, Charles called again. This time he stood at the door. “I would like to walk the grounds with Miss Somerset, if that is acceptable,” he said. “Of course we will stay in sight of the house.”
Eve almost bit her lip in excitement. He just asked her! He just came out and asked her! “I do not think—” Mother paused, and then nodded. “If you walk no further than to the end of the garden, I suppose it is okay.”
Eve knew Mother only accepted because Auntie Alice was asleep upstairs and unable to throw her judgmental gaze around. The unspoken agreement was that Eve would return before Auntie Alice awoke to avoid any unnecessary complications. Eve stood and walked toward the door where Charles stood. She felt strange, walking without Mother right beside her, but Mother only looked up once and smiled supportively.
Charles and she left the house and walked down to the end of the garden: a small garden with a few flowers bordering the sides, and weeds growing here and there where a gardener hadn’t been in years. They stood in full view of the window and faced each other. “This is the first time we have been alone,” Charles said slowly, as though it was a great fact of the world. “I do hope your mother says yes,” he went on. “I could barely sleep last night for thinking of it. I need a wife, and I do not believe any lady would suit me more than you. Yes, yes, I know, I am making love to you. I cannot help it. I thought the love had been torn from my heart, but, alas, it has not.”
“Alas?” Eve said. “It saddens you?”
“The love does not sadden me,” Charles said. “The idea of losing it does.” He paused, and then said: “I do not believe I am the most perceptive of men when it comes to social situations, but I did sense a certain restrain in you yesterday when I asked you to illuminate me concerning your person. Am I correct in thinking you held something back?”
Eve struggled to keep her face impassive, impenetrable, unexcitable, as she had been taught. A flicker of a smile touched her lips for barely an instant. “How did you know?” she said.
“There was a light in your eyes,” Charles said. “It was as though it was trying to break free, but something – Mrs. Somerset and Miss Wilton, I am guessing – was keeping it trapped. Tell me, Eve, about yourself.”
Nobody had ever taken an interest in Eve before; she had never dreamt that anybody would care. She had thought that either she would become another Auntie Alice, or she would marry some cold and disinterested man. But there was fear in this openness, for what if she shared her interests, which were scandalous in the extreme, and Charles fled her? How will you know, if you do not risk it? Quickly, lest she change her mind, she told Charles of her interest in Latin and Greek and the natural arts. She told him of the sketches she had drawn of various plants, with labels and terminology taken from one dusty book on the subject she’d found buried in the library. She told him of the hours of candlelit study.
“I knew there was something different about you,” he said. “I simply knew it. The other girls, all so keen to converse about this or that until I no longer had the constitution to listen, and here is a young lady who wishes to talk about the war! Ha!” His scar wrinkled when he laughed. It didn’t bother Eve at all. “And the scar, Miss Somerset?” he said, tracing his finger along it.
Similar Books
