Evan determined to show Bose that his fears were ungrounded. By dint of speaking only when he was spoken to, Evan made it through the evening meal without a single hitch, though he was called to attention half a dozen times for not answering. He could not help noticing that Judith wore the same gown she had the previous evening, and that when the candles were set out in the library, she picked up a basket of mending. He occupied himself with ruses for providing his future wife with a more extensive wardrobe immediately. She could sew; that was something. So all he had to do was put the materials into her hands. That was surely not the same as buying her clothes. It came to him that he was taking a lot for granted in expecting her to accept his proposal. She was too good for him. But he had better ask her. Then, of course, he could say she was working on her trousseau. Yes, that was the best plan of action. He nodded to himself as though he had just finished the work plan for the next day and was surprised that the table did not contain innumerable maps and drawings to roll up and put away.
His father was staring at him, and Evan smiled blankly. Lord Mountjoy scowled. “I asked if you were going to ride about the place tomorrow with me. But I suppose you are too deaf to hear me.”
“Sorry, I was not attending. May Judith come as well?”
“If she wishes.”
“I want to go, too,” Angel said.
“Not on one of my horses,” his father declared.
Angel looked appealingly at Evan.
“Afraid I can’t afford to have one of mine lamed, either,” he said warily, assuming the worst.
“It’s not fair.”
“Best stay home, child,” Lord Mountjoy said more kindly. “You would only hold us up. You are forever dropping things.”
“Terry, may I ride one of your horses?” Angel asked sweetly.
“No, absolutely not. You don’t even like to ride.”
“How shall I ever grow to like it if I am not given the chance?”
“Liking it isn’t enough. You have to be good at it,” Evan said, but he was looking at Judith, who blushed becomingly.
“Is Judith good at it?”
“Very.”
“I believe the ladies will go up now,” Helen interrupted ruthlessly. Evan soon followed them, since he had no desire either to drink or argue, and Terry’s less-than-coherent grumbling would lead him to one or the other. He was interrupted in the process of undressing himself by a knock and threw his shirt back on before opening the door to Lady Mountjoy.
“I mean to talk to you.”
“Sit down, please.”
“I shall require only a moment. I may have to put up with you, but I will not have my sister preyed upon by you. If you lay one finger on her I will—I will shoot you.”
Evan blinked at her and then smiled. “I admire your fortitude, and I should have spoken to you before, so as not to worry you. My intentions—”
“I know what a soldier’s intentions may be. I cannot live in a house without being aware of what is going forward below stairs.”
“Oh, Bose. But he and Joan have known each other for decades. It’s only to be expected that his affair progresses more rapidly than—”
“His affair, as you name it, disgusts me.”
“But his goal is marriage, as is mine, I assure you.”
“A man may promise anything…”
“If you have been disappointed by some man at some time, that does not mean we are all cut from the same cloth.”
“I flatter myself I know what cloth you are cut from. I’ll send her away if I have to. You will not have Judith.”
“But I want to marry her. She will be Lady Mountjoy someday…or is that it? A sister you have taken for granted for years, almost turned into a drudge, might someday have precedence over you?”
“I’ll see you in your grave before I’ll see her married to you.”
She turned on her heel and exited, with Evan thoughtfully closing the door behind her. He realized he might have to revise his plans. But what could not be taken by direct assault could be had by patient siege, and he knew how to be patient.
The ride about the estate was not the casual affair that Evan had anticipated, but a tour of the lands acquired in anticipation of his father’s canal project. They were all under cultivation, as it happened, but the acquiring of them might well have beggared him. Evan could see some point to it, if they had a manufacture to ship goods from or even a woolery, but with the current price of corn and cloth, it would never pay for itself. He did not, however, ruin the ride by saying so. Judith was in her glory, garnering compliments on her new skill from both Lord Mountjoy and Terry. Evan liked to see her smiling shyly at them, since most of the things he said to her drew a suspicious look.
They returned to the house with hours to spare before dinner, so Evan invited Judith for a walk. He led her toward the dower house and found them a seat in its neglected garden. Even in its overgrown state it seemed very familiar to him. It should. He had spent many days here recovering from the accident that had claimed his brother.
“I miss her,” Judith said, picking a flower and twirling it sadly between her fingers as she sat sideways on the stone bench.
“So do I. I would have come if I could.”
“She did not expect you to. She would not even let me write that she was ill until she knew she could not—”
“It was your hand that wrote those last letters for her then?” He took her hand and turned it over, to regard the ink stains lovingly.
Judith swallowed but did not pull back. She liked the touch of him too well. What harm would it do, after all? “I suppose you did not get them all, if you didn’t know she was dead.”
“I must have been on my way home by the time those would have reached me.”
“It was little enough to do for her. We used to sit out here and she would talk.”
“Of what?”
“The war.”
“She did not know about our victories then.”
“She had every confidence you would triumph in the end. She—she let me read your letters.” Judith stared down at the flower and their joined hands, and wondered if she had said too much.
“Then I fancy you know me a great deal better than I know you.”
“I know that there was a great deal you left out so as to spare her. She used to rant at your lack of detail.”
“That sounds like her.” Evan smiled. “If I could not be here with her, I’m so glad you were. There isn’t anyone else I would rather have had with her.”
“Lord Mountjoy was not inattentive. He—he read your letters, too. Or rather, I read them to the both of them. He has them now. It was the only thing he wanted.”
“Father? I’m surprised.”
“I do not know what is between you two,” she said finally, drawing her hand back, “except that it is