The attempt to marry her off, sending her into the woods with a man who was not her husband, the encounter with the blacksmith’s apprentice, not to mention the adder—it was all exceedingly alarming.
And then there was McAlistair. Evie rather thought her feelings toward him qualified as alarming as well.
“I am relieved to hear it,” Mrs. Summers replied.
It took Evie a moment to realize Mrs. Summers was referring to being alarmed, and not to Evie’s growing attachment to the Hermit of Haldon Hall. The momentary confusion left her flustered, and she strove to change the subject.
She waved her hand about. “This is a lovely cottage…er…house.”
The interior removed any doubt that it was, in fact, a house and not a cottage. Where she had expected comfortably worn and rustic furnishings, she found instead furniture and décor that still had all the hallmarks of being new and expensive. Peeking into the parlor, Evie noticed there wasn’t so much as a snag in the gold upholstery, a stain on the dark green carpet, or a wrinkle in the lush red drapes.
The room was a testament to wealth, she mused, eyeing the ornate marble mantel and the elaborate crystal chandelier she thought was somewhat out of place in a coastal parlor.
“Are all the rooms like this?”
“Most,” Mrs. Summers replied. “Though some of the bedrooms are slightly less ostentatious.”
Evie looked down and slid a toe across the wood floor of the front hall. The thin layer of dust she found there was absent from the furniture. She suspected the latter had been covered with dust cloths before their arrival.
“Is there staffhere?” she inquired.
Mrs. Summers followed her gaze to the gleaming wood of a side table. “No. We uncovered the furniture ourselves when we arrived.”
Evie envisioned the sophisticated Mr. Hunter engaging in mundane domestic chores. She was rather sorry she had missed it.
On the way to Evie’s bedroom, Mrs. Summers offered something of an abbreviated tour of their temporary residence. Though it was no great estate, it was fitted out to resemble one, and before they were even halfway to her room, Evie found herself appreciating, even approving of Mr. Hunter’s house. It was so delightfully unapologetic in its splendor. And it fit its master perfectly. He too had come from humble beginnings and could now lay claim to the very finest life had to offer.
They stopped to peek into a small library where luxury had taken the form of comfort rather than opulence. There were plush rugs, plusher chairs, and a window seat so thickly cushioned, Evie imagined that climbing in and out of it would be something of a challenge.
“This is a lovely room,” she sighed.
“Isn’t it?” Mrs. Summers agreed before leaning down to whisper softly, “Have a care with the window seat. It’s rather complicated to maneuver.”
Evie laughed softly. “Did you become stuck?” What a delightful picture.
“Very nearly called out for help,” Mrs. Summers admitted. “The seat, like everything else in the house, was clearly designed to be used by a man.”
Though her damp gown weighed nearly as heavily on her as exhaustion, Evie was too charmed by the room to resist wandering to the window. She drew her hand across the dark green cushions. “I suppose you’re right. Was it difficult for you, traveling with just the gentlemen for company?”
“Not in the least. They were most attentive.”
Evie glanced out the window toward the sea beyond. She could hear the rhythmic wash of waves hitting the beach, but the water was barely visible in the rapidly dimming light.
“What happened after McAlistair and I left?”
“We untangled the horses and then imposed on a very nice man passing in his cart. He took us into the nearest village. From there, we sent a letter to Haldon and proceeded on horseback in a very roundabout way to the cottage.”
Evie turned from the window. “How do you know you weren’t followed?”
“How do you?”
“McAlistair and I traveled almost exclusively off the road.”
“As did we.”
“Oh.” Evie tried to picture Mrs. Summers traversing the countryside on horseback and sleeping under the stars, and just couldn’t do it. “What of our things on the carriage?”
Mrs. Summers gave a pained expression. “I’m afraid the majority of it was returned to Haldon. We brought only what we could carry.”
“Returned?” Oh, bloody hell. There were things in her trunks she needed, absolutely needed. “But I carried nothing of my own. I haven’t so much as a clean change of clothes. I can’t possibly—”
“You needn’t worry, dear. Our departure was not so rushed as yours. I was able to pack a number of your things.”
“Which things?”
“Three gowns, a night rail—”
“Oh, bless you.” She was more than eager for a change of clothes.
“Also several undergarments,” Mrs. Summers continued, “a brush and pins, and your ledger.”
Evie exhaled an audible side of relief. “My ledger. Thank heavens.”