She broke off, but Evie was in no frame of mind to let her slip the hook. “So, I chose to be a social failure, is that what you’re saying?”
Margery might be thoughtless, but she didn’t mean to be cruel. “Oh, Evie,” she said, looking stricken. “Darling, let’s not quarrel. I didn’t come for that.”
Evie didn’t want to quarrel either. What would be the point of it? Margery was incapable of seeing what she didn’t want to see, and she had been blissfully blind to her cousin’s torment, torment she had not suffered herself because she was pretty and charming and had a natural ability to use both traits to her advantage. And it hadn’t hurt, of course, that her stepfather was a baron while Evie’s father was in trade. In the rarified atmosphere of Chaltonbury and its rich, pampered girls, Margery had flourished and blossomed like a hothouse orchid, while Evie had spent two years feeling like a scrawny, bloomless twig.
Evie relented. “About Rory,” she said, reverting to their former topic, “you needn’t fear that his situation has limited him. He’s very political and ambitious. He intends to stand for parliament.”
“Does he, indeed?” Margery did not seem impressed. “What could possibly make him qualified for such a role?”
“He did attend university.”
“In Munich. And he didn’t finish. You told me he abandoned his studies and went off to see the world, or some such nonsense.”
Evie cursed the day she’d mentioned that little tidbit. It had been ages ago—eight or nine years at least—but, unlike the torment Evie had endured during their school days, that trivial piece of information about Rory was something her cousin had clearly felt it important to remember.
“Dearest Evie, I hope you’re not encouraging him? I realize your matrimonial prospects are limited now, but—”
“Did you have a particular reason for coming down today?” Evie cut in, looking past her cousin, praying for a customer, any customer, to walk in.
“I thought I’d make calls on several acquaintances, so Wilfred brought me to town in the carriage on his way to the bank. But it’s a bit early yet, so I thought I’d drop in for a nice visit with you.”
Perhaps she could explain that she was working, that this was not a good time. “Margery,” she began, but the other woman forestalled her.
“And while we’re on the subject of paying calls, that man should not be calling on you at this time of day. For a gentleman to call on a young lady before three o’clock in the afternoon is unthinkable, even if he is an old acquaintance. And to do it when you are unchaperoned is not just bad form, it’s reprehensible. Oh, Evie, don’t roll your eyes. I have your best interests at heart, you know.”
Margery, Evie reflected, probably believed that. The problem was that Margery’s idea of what was in Evie’s best interests always seemed to coincide with her own convenience. But again, there was no point in saying so. “It’s just that I’m unchaperoned all the time, you know,” she said instead.
“I do know, and it’s tragic. I really don’t understand this insistence upon earning your own living when it really isn’t necessary. If you sold the shop, that would give you a nice, tidy sum to put by for your old age. Five thousand pounds, at least. And Wilfred would be happy to invest it for you.”
“Oh, I’m sure,” Evie agreed, an acerbic note in her voice Margery quite failed to notice.
“Better still, you could pack all this in and come live with us.”
“You’re very kind,” she said, trying not to shudder at the prospect, “but I should go mad without an occupation of some sort.”
“You could look after the children. You’ve always wanted children.”
Silently, Evie began counting to ten. “It’s not quite the same thing, Margery.”
“No, no, of course not, but it would surely be better than this.”
Evie thought of Margery’s children and was doubtful.
“As I said, Randolph’s off to school, but it’s at least three years before the other two boys go, and even after that, little Susan would still be at home. Being a nanny is a most respectable occupation for a spin—for an unmarried woman,” she amended, perceiving the slight narrowing of Evie’s eyes. “And the children do adore you. You’re so, so good with them. Why, I think being a nanny is perfectly suited to your talents and temperament.”
The door opened before Evie could reply to that backhanded compliment, and she looked up, grateful her prayers were at last being answered, but her gratitude to the Almighty dimmed a bit as the Duke of Westbourne entered the shop. Him again?
Still, as distractions went, even he was better than nothing.
“Well, hullo,” she said with forced enthusiasm, bustling around the counter to greet him. “What a great pleasure to see you again so soon.”
The duke’s brows lifted at such effusive sentiments, but thankfully, he didn’t express his doubts aloud. “Indeed?” he murmured, doffing his hat. “I’m delighted to hear you say so. Nonetheless, your words indicate that you were not expecting me.”
“Expecting you?”
“It’s Thursday.”
Evie stared at him, realizing in astonishment that she’d once again forgotten Delia’s request. “Of course,” she answered, improvising quickly, wondering what had happened to her brains. “It’s just that we’re not even open for business yet.”
