On the few evenings when she had no other engagement, she was forced to endure them, along with critiques of her deportment. As usual, they were a trial both to her and the poor aunt charged with teaching her.
She set the shirt aside and lifted the kitten into her lap, offering it the end of the string to chase. ‘It is hardly fair to blame Diana for my indifferent needlework. I was equally bad at it before she arrived.’
‘Your manners have improved much in the last years,’ her aunt reminded her. ‘And you are on the cusp of success with St Aldric. Snaring a peer is much more challenging than plain sewing. Your stitching would improve as well, if you would but make an effort at it.’
If it was put to some other purpose than making shirts, then perhaps she would try harder. She remembered the pages in Sam’s text books that explained suturing and wondered if large wounds were more difficult than the cuts she had closed. The stitches would need to be bigger, of course, and more numerous. As she poked at the linen, she imagined the resistance of skin, and the difficulties created when the subject flinched …
‘Evelyn!’
The needle slipped and she pricked her finger instead of the cloth. She waved her hand in the air for a moment, trying to shake the pain away, then held it high to keep the drop of blood that formed from falling on the work. This sent her mind to the various methods to staunch bleeding, and the efficacy of causing it when one had an excess of certain humours.
Not that she would need any of this information as the wife to a duke. But that had never been her plan, not even from the first. She had studied and prepared so that, on the day that Sam finally realised his mistake and came home to her, she might prove herself a useful helpmeet to him. If she understood his work, then they would always have something to talk about.
But he had barely given her time to display any of her hardwon knowledge to him. While in his rooms, she had allowed the physical side of the conversation to come to the fore, proving to him in a most unladylike way that she understood biology.
Perhaps she would have fared better if she had put the stethoscope back into the chest and turned the conversation to the use of leeches and cupping as the old Evie would have. Or behaved as the charming and witty young lady Aunt Jordan had taught her to be. Instead, she had tried to combine the two and it had been a disaster.
She had offered herself to the man she loved—and he had rejected her. Though she might deny it to herself, it was what she had feared might happen. Sometimes, six years of silence meant exactly what they appeared to. Girlish sureties might owe more to fairy tales and fantasy than they did to truth. There had always been a chance that the kiss she remembered as loving and passionate was nothing more than a peck on the cheek. She had been prepared for that.
But not for what had occurred. If anything, she had remembered the past too innocently. Or had his passion grown to conflagration during their separation?
And yet he denied it. He did not seem to know love from lust. She was sure, after all they had been through together, that she did. Why else had she waited so many years for him to come back to her? She was still a maid, in heart and mind. While she was sure that physical attraction played a part in her feelings for Sam, it was not the only reason she wanted him.
She thought of the kiss.
She must admit that, after the recent interlude in his arms, lust played a stronger role than it had a few days ago. So that was what poets wrote about, and why men had fought for Helen at Troy. It was a quite different feeling than she’d had last week. Much more urgent. The feelings were as clear in her mind now as when he had been kissing her. She had but to think for a moment about them to feel the desire renew itself.
It made her feelings for St Aldric all the more unworthy. She had hoped that it would be easier to make the decision between them, once she had talked to Sam. And it certainly was. There would never be anyone in her heart of hearts but Sam Hastings. What she felt for Michael was but a pale imitation.
Why could Sam not understand that?
Aunt Jordan gave up a small yawn and Eve encouraged it with a yawn of her own and a stretch of her arms. She held out the poorly finished shirt for approval. The older woman inspected it and sighed, still disappointed in the work. ‘We will try again, next week,’ she said. ‘And I will be attending the ball at the Merridews tomorrow, as your chaperon.’
‘Yes, Aunt Jordan.’
‘The duke will be there as well.’ Her aunt gave her a significant look. ‘It will give you another chance to demonstrate graces that do not come so difficult to you.’
It meant that the time for indecision was nearing an end. He might offer again. If he did, what reason did she have to refuse him? After this afternoon, it was likely that Sam would leave her again before he could learn the truth of his birth. She owed him that, at least.
When her aunt was safely stowed in a carriage and on her way back to her own town house, Eve turned from the door to search out her father. He might have claimed to be intractable this afternoon. But in her experience, even those edicts set in stone could be worn down by begging, pleading and promises to be the best possible daughter, and to never bother him again.
She found him in the study and, as he always did, he looked up from the book he had been reading and smiled as though her interruption was welcome.
‘Father?’ She smiled to show that the conversation would be a pleasant one and no real disruption. She bent to kiss him on the cheek.
‘My dear.’ He gave a curious cock of his head, as though already suspecting her intentions. ‘Did you have a pleasant evening with your aunt?’
‘Of course, Father. She is just gone home,’ she said.
‘But no visit from the duke this evening,’ her father said with a slight frown.
‘He was here earlier,’ she said, with a little sigh of impatience. She did not wish to discuss Michael. Those conversations always ended with her father hopeful and her searching for a way to postpone capitulation. ‘I will see him tomorrow at the Merridews. He cannot spend all his time with me, you know.’
‘As long as he was not put off by the presence of another man in the garden with you this morning,’ her father said.
‘You are speaking of Sam?’ She managed an incredulous smile. But she could not very well argue that he was not ‘a man’. He had removed any doubts on the subject as he kissed her. ‘He is family, Father. And surely it was good to see him after all this time.’
To this, her father responded with a blank look, as though the matter was practically forgotten. ‘He has not performed as well as I had hoped. Despite what he says, he hardly needed a university education in the navy.’
‘Perhaps he felt the navy needed him,’ she suggested. ‘He was always an altruist at heart. And I am sure it is better, in the aftermath of a battle, to have a skilled man dealing with the injuries.’
‘If that is what makes him happy, then I wish him well.’ Her father gave a tired sigh, as though he hoped this concession was sufficient to end the discussion.
‘Happy?’ she responded with a worried frown. ‘Content, perhaps. But to me, he seemed rather unsettled.’
‘Because he is no longer comfortable in this house,’ her father said. ‘He had planned to leave immediately after speaking to me.’ He frowned back at her. ‘I was surprised to find him still with us when the duke arrived.’
‘Because I would not let him go,’ Eve said. ‘It is ridiculous for him to stay at an inn when his old room is here and prepared for his return.’ She was very close to pouting, which always felt silly, but it had been effective in the past.
‘If he showed discontent, perhaps it was your fault for keeping him here.’ Her father gave her a candid look. ‘There comes a time when one must recognise one’s place in society and know when one is intruding.’
‘But he was not an intrusion. He belongs