Читать книгу Miss Bradshaw's Bought Betrothal - Virginia Heath - Страница 14

Chapter Six

Over the course of the next week, Evie fell into a new routine which she rather enjoyed. Because she was an early riser, most mornings she collided with her surly host over breakfast. Usually he was gruff and forthright, occasionally sarcastic, but he never failed to look at whatever gown she wore with utter disgust. This appraisal was always accompanied with one cutting word, although the choice of word varied. Yesterday it had been dull, the day before it had been foul. Hideous, matronly and only one two-word insult—good grief!—had also featured in his daily criticism.

Yet those cutting words somehow spurred her to be the better, braver Evie Bradshaw. The no-longer-a-doormat Evie Bradshaw that she wanted to be. Yes, he criticised her appearance much like Hyacinth had, but her stepmother had criticised Evie personally: her face, her figure, her hair; his criticism was directed solely at the awful gowns Hyacinth had chosen for her. Gowns that Evie had always hated, but had been conditioned to believe were the best she could expect when she was as unfortunately shaped as she was—Lord Finnegan, in his own curt, unfriendly manner, made her wonder if perhaps Hyacinth might have dressed her like that on purpose, which, strangely, motivated her to undo that damage.

Underneath all of that surliness, he was occasionally uncharacteristically considerate, although he did his best not to show it. If he saw her nibbling on toast he put bacon on her plate; he was kind to Aunt Winnie, even though he pretended to be completely put upon. Aunt Winnie insulted him playfully and he gave as good as he got. But even when he was being sociable he never laughed and even the rare approximations of a smile were few and far between. At all costs he avoided them.

Aside from breakfast, the only time Evie got to see him was in passing because he gave his guests a very wide berth. He never ate dinner with them, preferring to take a tray into his study rather than sit down with them, and he apparently never ventured into the bright and airy drawing room at any time of the day. Whether that was because he really had no desire to have anything more to do with them than was necessary, Evie could not say, but she much preferred those few minutes with him in the breakfast room to the hours she sat in the drawing room with Aunt Winnie.

The housekeeper had explained her master’s reluctance to go into that room was because it reminded him too much of his beloved wife. Hardly a surprise when the room was dominated by a large painting of a lovely blonde-haired young woman with a butterfly perched in her open hands.

His wife.

Olivia Grace Matlock.

Perhaps it was the butterfly, when Evie was merely a moth, or perhaps it was the fact that the ethereal beauty of the woman made Evie feel plainer than usual, or perhaps it was the fact that she suspected that this woman still haunted this house and its surly owner—whatever it was, the drawing room was intimidating. And she quite missed his company there.

When their paths did cross, he would engage in brief, usually curt, conversation and then he would take himself off to his study and she would not see him again until the following morning. Though as silly as it was, Evie really looked forward to those mornings. Later in the day, when he was tired, there was an air of sadness about him, almost as if he was already quite done with the day and the effort of being part of it. But in the mornings, he seemed less burdened, much as Evie was feeling decidedly less burdened with each day that passed that she was not in London. Already she had made inroads into the huge task of restarting her life.

The same day that Finn had agreed to allow her to stay had been the very same day that she had made an appointment to visit a dressmaker.

All on her own.

The dressmaker, a lovely woman with a brash northern accent and enormous, coarse hands, had stared at the frock she was wearing in disbelief and asked if the woman who had made it had had the cheek to want paying for such a disgrace to the profession. Then she had gone about draping all the soft and floaty fabrics that Evie had always been told to avoid over her body and dismissing all of Evie’s panicked comments to the contrary.

Some of her assertions had made Evie blush, especially her recurring compliment of, ‘You have a wonderful pair of bosoms, Miss Bradshaw, you really should show them off.’ But as the dressmaker also made dresses for the vicar’s wife, Evie was trying not to panic about how revealing the finished garments would be.

Later today, the first new gowns would finally be ready and, fear of showing too much of those bosoms aside, already Evie was brimming with excitement and looking forward to wearing one of them to breakfast in the morning to gauge Finn’s opinion. The change of appearance somehow signalled the start of her new life. A life that she was determined to grab with both hands.

Her new attorney was already hunting for suitable properties and as soon as he forwarded his findings to her, then Evie could start to look at them and decide where she was going to live for the rest of her days. But until then, she would enjoy doing what she had been doing since her arrival in this stunning part of the country. After breakfast, she would spend a few hours chatting and reading to Aunt Winnie. When her aunt went for her afternoon nap, Evie would take a walk over the meadow, paddle for a while in the stream and then go to the village. Going out on her own, whenever and wherever she wanted, was a novelty that she doubted she would ever grow tired of.