“I thought you said there was too much bother being made of all this.”
“I’m not sure I’d consider being served dinner in bed such a bother.”
Evie stopped with the roll halfway to her mouth. “You have a point.”
An excellent one, Evie admitted silently. And now that she thought on it, she didn’t particularly care for the idea of going downstairs for dinner. She never did when there were guests in the house. Guests at the table meant stares and a pressure to speak. With McAlistair as one of those guests, the staring and the pressure would be infinitely worse. Well, the staring would be.
She wondered if being relieved by the knowledge she wouldn’t have to face him across the dinner table made her a coward. She bit into her roll, thought about it, and decided she didn’t much care. She was who she was. Perhaps she was less than courageous in some areas, but she made up for it with bravery in others.
“All done here, I think.”
Evie swallowed, mentally shook herself from her woolgathering, and looked up to find Lizzy standing over a pair of closed trunks. “Beg your pardon?”
“You’re all packed,” Lizzy repeated. “Unless we forgot something.”
Evie took mental inventory of everything they’d fit into the trunks. “I’ve enough, I think. I’ll not be gone for more than a fortnight.”
Lizzy nodded in approval. “That’s the spirit. Lord Thurston will take care of this business before you’re halfway to Norfolk.”
Evie muttered a noncommittal, nonsensical reply. Whether the ridiculous business was done or not, she was returning to Haldon at the end of the fortnight.
Her agenda was clear for now, but in two weeks’ time, Mrs. Nancy Yard from London would be expecting someone to meet her behind Maver’s tavern in the nearby village of Benton. It was Evie’s job to be that someone—to see that the woman received instructions and funds for the next leg of her trip. If all went well, Mrs. Yard would have a new life in Ireland, free from the violent whims of her husband.
William Fletcher had a fortnight to set his conscience at ease, and not a day more.
Lizzy glanced about the tidied room. “Well, if there’s nothing else, miss, I’m going for my own dinner and an early bed.”
Evie nodded and tried to generate some interest in her meal as Lizzy closed the connecting doors between their rooms. She wasn’t particularly hungry, but the food was there and she had little else to occupy her time. She managed another bite of her roll, picked at the chicken, poked at the carrots, and otherwise turned her plate of food into a wholly unappetizing mess. Giving up, she set the tray on the vanity and, deciding not to bother Lizzy again, managed to change into her night rail on her own.
If she couldn’t eat, she’d sleep. Granted, it was barely after nine, but after a long day, and with a painfully early morning looming before her, going to bed early seemed wise. Anything and everything that would turn her mind from a particular houseguest seemed wise.
She crawled under the covers and willed her mind to clear. She wouldn’t think of him. She wouldn’t. Not a single thought would be given to the handsome and mysterious Mr. McAlistair. She wouldn’t think of the kiss, of the way he’d held himself perfectly still as his mouth gently took hers. She wouldn’t think of how her heart raced and her breath caught when he looked at her with those dark, intense eyes. She wouldn’t think on where he might be sleeping tonight, or what he might be doing now, or…
“Oh, bloody, bloody hell.”
She rolled over, sat up, pounded her fist into the pillow a few times, and then finally flopped back down with a frustrated groan.
It was going to be a painfully long night.
Evie managed, somehow, to fall asleep—for all of two hours. She might have made it through the whole night, but for the second time that day, Lizzy stumbled in through the connecting door. She looked just as wide-eyed as she had the first time, but now she wore a night rail and clasped a pile of bedding to her chest.
Evie shot up in bed, instantly awake, if not entirely coherent. “What is it? What’s the matter?”
“He’s in my room. He booted me from my own room.”
Evie bounded out of bed. “He? He who?”
“The hermit,” Lizzy breathed. “McAlistair.”
“In your room?” Evie grabbed a wrap to throw over her night rail.
Lizzy nodded and swallowed. “Came right in, pretty as you please—well, he did knock first,” she allowed. “But then he came right in and told me to take my things and sleep in here.”
“I can’t believe it. I cannot believe he’d barge into your room.” Did the man really think he could treat Lizzy however he pleased merely because she was employed as a servant?
“I still can’t believe he’s real,” Lizzy breathed. “All that time I spent looking for him and suddenly he—”
“Barges into your room,” Evie finished for her. She cinched her wrap shut with a decisive yank. “We’ll see about this.”