Sneak Peek: Necessary Deception
Here’s a sneak peek of Necessary Deception, Book 8 in the Branwell Chronicles:
Evangeline Harbrow knew her game must be up, but refused to be daunted. On the contrary, she continued to eat her salad as though nothing in the world was the matter and calmly prepared for battle. Her aunt, Mrs. Mickleton, picked at her food while alternately taking surreptitious glances at Evangeline and sending pleading looks toward her husband. At the other end of the table, Mr. Mickleton only glowered at his trout amandine.
Being too well-acquainted with her aunt’s nervousness, Evangeline did not partake in it herself. Her uncle’s mood was always more to the purpose, and she had observed him closely—though unobtrusively—during the first course. If he had been harmlessly annoyed, he should have made terse comments here and there. But his silence, coupled with the glower upon his countenance, signaled a degree of dissatisfaction bordering on real anger.
She finished her trout and tranquilly requested more potatoes of the footman, anticipating without fear the moment of reckoning. She was in the right, after all, and she was justly irritated when her aunt stood promptly after the second course had been cleared away.
“Evangeline and I shall withdraw now, my dear,” Mrs. Mickleton chirped, almost too quickly for comprehension. “There is that new piece of music she has, you know, which is sorely in need of attention.”
Mr. Mickleton silenced her with a gruff, “Sit down, Amabel.”
His wife sank back into her chair, uttering, “Oh dear,” as she reached with trembling fingers for her wine glass. Evangeline, delicately wiping her lips with a napkin, placed it down beside her plate and waited.
Her uncle regarded her with a deepening scowl. “I have something to say to you, Evangeline.”
Her aunt whimpered, but Evangeline merely returned her uncle’s hard gaze with a look of polite interest.
Something like a growl erupted from his throat and he seemed to strive with himself a moment before saying, “It has come to my attention that you have been meeting—clandestinely—with a gentleman.”
If he anticipated that his niece would shrink or show herself in any way ashamed, he was disappointed. Evangeline merely gazed blandly at him and replied, “Indeed?”
His fist slammed onto the table, causing his wife to jump in her seat with a squeak. “Do you not know what folly you have committed, child? Do you not recognize what danger you have placed yourself in, by meeting with this—this worthless fribble?”
Evangeline maintained her placid look during this speech while inwardly she seethed in righteous indignation. “Mr. Otley’s worth is not tied to worldly riches, sir,” she replied virtuously. “His pecuniary expectations may be meager, but to one unconcerned with mere temporal considerations, he is a gem of rare value.”
“Paste and glass is what he is!” retorted Mr. Mickleton. “No gentleman of honor would meet secretly with a young lady whose guardian has already refused his suit!”
“A gentleman desperately in love would do so, sir.”
“He is desperately in love with your fortune, my deluded girl, and if you cannot see it, I certainly can!”
“Only a person without sensibility could accuse a gentleman of Mr. Otley’s caliber of being a fortune hunter,” replied Evangeline, her placidity becoming ruffled.
Mr. Mickleton hit the table again. “As a man of sense, I’d be mad *not to accuse him! Man sweeps into Bridgewater on the flimsiest of introductions and sets his cap at the wealthiest heiress in the vicinity, yet no one has ever heard of him or his precious baronet great-uncle! Your father would turn in his grave were I to countenance such a slapdash match for you!”
“Oh, yes, Evangeline, dearest,” put in Mrs. Mickleton desperately. “My brother Harbrow was most clear in his will regarding—”
“Do not interfere, Amabel!” snapped her husband, rapidly working himself into a fury.
She clamped her mouth shut, casting him a look of injured reproach that had its usual chastening effect. Mr. Mickleton strove with himself for some minutes, jaw working and veins standing out on his round head, while a heavy silence reigned in the dining room.
At last, he turned again to Evangeline and said in a more even tone, “I have done everything in my power to comply with the terms of your late father’s will. I have left my own estate to watch over you, seen you educated, managed your fortune and your land, and protected you from harm—”
“For which I have often expressed my gratitude, Uncle,” interrupted Evangeline, her patience wearing thin. “And if I had any idea of danger regarding Mr. Otley, I should again express gratitude, but it is plain you have taken a dislike to him, for no other reason than that he is not Mr. Broadheath.”
Mr. Mickleton eyed her narrowly. “Certainly he is not, for Mr. Broadheath’s character is widely known and respected, and he is a man of the cloth, besides.”
“And a man whom I cannot admire,” sniffed Evangeline, “a fact that I have long endeavored to impress upon you, but which you will ignore, while persisting in foisting him at me!”
“I have not foisted Mr. Broadheath at you!”
Evangeline jumped to her feet, her chair grating backward and causing her aunt to wince. “You *have foisted Mr. Prosy Bore Broadheath at me, while seeking to thwart and drive away Mr. Otley, actions which beg the question why! Why does one’s uncle, who claims to have only one’s interests at heart, dismiss the addresses of a perfectly eligible suitor, whom one adores and wishes to marry, in favor of a dull, doddering clergyman, who happens to be his very great friend?”
“What do you think you are driving at, my girl?” demanded her uncle, his countenance flushing. “Mr. Broadheath is an excellent man—far better than that devil in sheep’s clothing Otley!”
Evangeline threw her hands up. “Why must you paint Mr. Otley the villain when every other young lady in Bridgewater—and, indeed, every person here in Durleigh, besides you—think him the veriest paragon? It would be unaccountable, but I fear I have stumbled upon the truth.” She drew herself up, the picture of outraged dignity. “It pains me to own that I must conclude you do not wish me to marry for love but that, far from protecting me, you are protecting my fortune, and my estate, for your own ends!”
Mrs. Mickleton gasped. “Evangeline! How could you?”
Mr. Mickleton stared, his mouth opening and shutting like a fish while his countenance fluctuated between red and purple. His wife, perhaps perceiving that her imprudent niece had come closer than ever to endangering her own existence, hastened to Evangeline’s side, taking her arm and tugging her from the room.
In the corridor, Evangeline protested, but her aunt, though a nervous woman, could show an iron will when the situation required.
“You have pushed your uncle too far this time, my dear,” she said, towing her niece up the stairs and into the family wing, “and it is best for all concerned that he be left alone. No, no, you will go to your room and consider what you have said, and it is to be hoped you will reach the conclusion that your words were uttered out of an excess of emotion and not, as you claim, from true conviction.”
She stopped before Evangeline’s room, squaring her shoulders. “I will intervene for you with your uncle, and beg he will allow you a night’s repose before receiving your apology. But no matter the outcome of my efforts on your behalf, I trust you will use whatever time you are allowed to meditate upon the evils that may befall a young lady who harbors not only disrespect, but gross ingratitude toward her dearest relations.” With that, she left her.
Evangeline did as her aunt suggested, retiring to her bedchamber in meditative silence not even broken while her maid prepared her for bed. But her reflections, had her aunt been privileged to know them, were not such as would have given that good lady satisfaction. On the contrary, as Evangeline slipped under her coverlet and blew out her candle, her final thoughts before succumbing to the sleep of the righteously indignant were of Mr. Otley, and his joy upon receiving at last her consent to an elopement.
***
Mrs. Mickleton, true to her word, returned to the dining room and exerted her energies in coaxing her husband down out of the boughs and away from the brink of apoplexy. The same steel determination which had risen at her niece’s outburst carried her safely through this delicate operation, and she was able—after only two hours of soothing exhortation, half a bottle of Mr. Mickleton’s favorite port, and a few well-placed references to her utter dependence on his rational view of the situation—to extract his promise not to murder their niece in her bed. She then left him to the capable care of his valet and retired to her own room.
The result of this superhuman effort was, as usual in such situations, to shatter her nerves, and Mrs. Mickleton kept to her bed the entirety of the following morning. Thus she was not present to witness the conciliatory meeting between her husband and her niece—which was just as well, for it was not quite so felicitous as she could have hoped.
Evangeline, tripping with carefree steps into the breakfast parlor, greeted her uncle coolly and accepted from the footman a plate of toast and ham. She blithely buttered her toast, then, sipping her tea, subjected the wallpaper about the room to intent scrutiny, acting for all the world as though she had forgotten her uncle’s existence.
He was not unused to such treatment—their disagreements had begun as soon as she had come under his guardianship some seven years previous, and almost always involved some sort of explosion of wrath followed by prickly silences. But as time was of the essence in discussing the matter at hand, he signaled the footman to retire.
“Do you have something you wish to say to me, Evangeline?” he inquired, addressing his eggs and kidneys.
She considered her toast, taking a delicate bite and chewing thoughtfully. “No, Uncle, I do not believe I do.”
He harrumphed. “Very well, my girl. It is just as well, for I wish to say something to you. I have thought long and hard over our dialog last night, and have come to the conclusion that I was mistaken—”
Here, Evangeline’s eyes flicked up, her breath still as she awaited his next words.
“—in your ability to be rational. I have therefore decided to send you to my sister Sophronia, until such time as you have sufficiently proved to her satisfaction that you have regained your senses.”
“Aunt Sophronia?” cried Evangeline, dropping her toast onto her plate. “In Wales? But that’s a million miles away, and I’ve never even met her!”
“Desperate times, my dear, call for desperate measures,” replied her uncle. “Your Aunt Mickleton requires a repairing lease, and I shall be taking her to Southampton for an early visit to our estate. We can’t well take you with us and expect any benefit to your aunt, and I wouldn’t trust you within twenty miles of that scoundrel Mr. Otley while we are away.”
“This is infamous!” exclaimed Evangeline, slamming her hand onto the table in a fair imitation of her uncle the previous night. “You cannot do it!”
“I can and I will. Ginny is packing your trunk as we speak. The coach is to be ready at ten o’clock.”
Evangeline’s stormy gaze flicked to the clock, which was ticking steadily away. “It’s too soon! Uncle—” Her voice caught on a sob, which was half angry, half despairing. “Please, Uncle Richard, do not send me away. I’ll—I’ll promise to—”
But here she was forced to halt, for she could not think of a promise she could give that would mollify him in this circumstance. She could not promise never to admit Mr. Otley’s attentions again, for that would be a lie. And she would not promise to even consider Mr. Broadheath’s addresses. She was at a stand.
Her uncle, it seemed, knew it. He smiled grimly. “It’s as I thought, Evangeline. You are out of your senses for that Otley fellow, and must be removed from his vicinity before you make the wretchedest mistake of your life.”
Evangeline lifted her chin. “The only mistake I ever made was trusting that you care for me. Go on, send me to your horrid sister! It does not signify. I shall never forget Mr. Otley as long as I live, and neither will he forget me! He shall come to find me, and shall carry me off to Gretna Green, and then you will be sorry, for there will be a scandal and everyone will blame you for being odiously prejudiced!”
With this, she flounced out of the room, leaving her uncle to shake his head in disgust. He reached for the bell pull, desiring the answering footman to bring more coffee, and opened his newspaper with a snap of finality.
***
Upon entering her bedchamber, Evangeline’s gaze was met with the unmistakable signs of packing. “So it is true!” she cried.
Her maid, Ginny, hesitated only a moment before continuing to fold a muslin gown to lay into the trunk at the foot of the bed. “Yes, miss. The green gauze will wrinkle terribly no matter how I fold it, but I knew you’d not like to leave it behind.”
“How can you be so insensible, Ginny?” Evangeline flung herself into a chair, her body limp with the shock of betrayal. “I am to be exiled—*we are to be exiled!”
With a sigh, Ginny turned to take up another gown. “It’s no use making a fuss against the master, miss. Not if I’m to be paid.”
“Is money your only consideration? I’m surprised at you!”
“I don’t see why, if you’ll pardon my saying so, miss, as I’ve sent my earnings to my mum these two years,” said Ginny, layering gloves and a cashmere shawl into the trunk. “Besides, I’ve never been to Wales. I hear it’s lovely, romantic country, and there’s nothing like a Welshman to get a heart beating.”
Evangeline cast her a look of disgust. “How can you speak of Welshmen when I am in love with Mr. Otley? Oh, Ginny! I’ll never see him again! I know my horrid Aunt Sophronia will never allow me to come home, and he will forget all about me. What will I do? My heart is already broken!”
“As you’ll be of age in a year and a half, miss, I can’t see what the worry is about, for it’s no time at all. And if you’re sure Mr. Otley will forget you as soon as that, I wonder you could care so much for him.”
Evangeline dragged herself up from the chair only to collapse onto the bed. “If my Stephen forgets me, it will not be from inconstancy, Ginny, but from resignation. There is only so much a gentleman can endure for his love’s sake, when all her relations are ranged against him. He will be faithful as long as he can, but eventually he must bow to the inevitable, and he is so handsome and charming that he will not long pine alone.”
Ginny simply murmured agreement and continued her efficient packing while her mistress carried on repining her circumstances. Ginny listened only absently, thinking more on which belongings to take now and which to send for later, and looked blankly at her mistress when asked a question.
“Beg pardon, miss?”
“You will take him a note, will you not? We have just enough time to warn him.”
“Warn who, miss?”
“Mr. Otley!” Evangeline rolled onto her side to gaze imploringly at her. “Ginny, if you take him a note, he might send his reply back with you, and I shall know whether to hope.”
“Just what would you hope for?” inquired Ginny with an expression of bewilderment.
Evangeline huffed. “You are not very bright today, Ginny. I may hope for him to rescue me, and to carry me to Scotland and make me his wife, as he has begged to do a thousand times! Oh, that would be far more romantic than the wilds of Wales, and ten thousand Welshmen!”
Ginny blinked at her. “I fancy ten thousand Welshmen might be cause for concern, miss, if they was all congregated at once, no matter how romantic. And anyway, didn’t you say Mr. Otley would be resigned to your leaving?”
“Only if he could not stop them from sending me away! If we are able to thwart them—oh, never mind! Will you take the note? We’d have just enough time if you took the gig. Timothy might drive you.”
Shaking her head, Ginny frowned. “Oh, no, miss. I’m not even half finished packing.” She turned away to open another drawer and peruse its contents.
Evangeline heaved an exasperated sigh. “It is my belief you do not possess a single romantic bone in your body.”
“You’re likely right, miss.”
“Oh, all right! Finish your odious packing, see if I care!”
For the second time that morning, Evangeline flounced away, but this time she marched down the stairs to the ground floor. Taking her cloak from the peg by the back door she went out in quest of the very Timothy who was to have driven Ginny to Mr. Otley’s lodgings in Bridgewater.
Dodging behind the traveling coach being prepared for her impending departure, she spied Timothy, the youngest and most recently engaged groom at Harbrow End, polishing harness. She called to him in an urgent whisper and he glanced up, starting to his feet at the sight of his pretty mistress just outside the stable door.
“Timothy, step this way with me for just a moment, for I am in need of your services,” she adjured him in tragic accents, floating away toward a quieter corner of the stable yard.
Instantly abandoning his brush and harness, he followed her, out of earshot of the other busy grooms and coachman.
Evangeline favored him with a pathetic smile and said, “You may have heard that I am to go away today. Yes, it is most sudden, and I shall miss you all so desperately! Indeed, I shall miss all my acquaintance, and am desolated not to have had the opportunity to apprise anyone of my going.”
Timothy murmured an inarticulate agreement with the unhappy state of these events, and Evangeline wiped an imaginary tear from her eye. “There is one friend I particularly wish to bid farewell, but though I have written a note, it is impossible for me to convey it to him.” She cast a shy glance up at him. “I don’t suppose—could you take it for me?”
Nodding amiably, Timothy took the note, but the direction writ upon it seemed to fill him with grave misgiving, for he stammered that the master wouldn’t like it.
“Oh, don’t say so!” Evangeline crushed his fingers around the note, holding his hand between her own. “Please, Timothy, for me? It is but a letter of farewell, and can do no harm at all. Only think of my gratitude to you if you should do this one tiny thing for me, when I am to be sent so far away from my only home.”
Gazing fixedly at the hand gripped so tightly around his own, he swallowed and gave a bemused nod. Evangeline released him and turned to glide back toward the house, glancing over her shoulder to bestow upon him a blinding smile. Upon perceiving that he stood gazing slack-jawed after her, she bid him make haste and was rewarded by his instant obedience.
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