He offered his arm and she placed her hand in the crook of his elbow. The front door groaned open, and she turned her head at the familiar sound, smiling widely as Nicholas tore free from Amy and barreled down the snow-dusted steps. His small arms locked around her legs and nearly knocked her down.
Laughing frothy clouds of white, she disentangled his arms from around her and knelt down, nearly toppling over when he flung his sturdy little arms around her neck.
“See, Momma,” he cried, as if needing to assert something to her, “I knew you would return! I knew it!”
“Of course I would. Did you think I would not?”
“Grandmama told me you probably wouldn’t never come back now that you’re married.”
Her blood chilled in her veins. Grandmama.
Her stepmother was here?
Holding Nicholas firmly by the arms, Evie pulled him back to stare starkly into his face. “I will never leave you, Nicholas. Never. Wherever I go, you shall, too.”
A beatific smile broke out over his face. Her heart swelled at how easy he was to please . . . how easy to love.
“Are we going somewhere?” the boy asked.
She glanced at Spencer. He arched a brow. “Perhaps.” That was a topic better reserved for later. Right now, she needed to pursue this matter of Georgianna lurking about The Harbour.
“Evie! You’ve returned.” Apparently, she didn’t have long to wait.
Her stepmother crossed the threshold, nudging Amy aside. Papa stood just beyond her, looking a bit apologetic, but helpless. As customary. Other than supporting Evie’s decision to keep Nicholas, he rarely ever stepped out from his wife’s shadow.
Georgianna’s deeply set eyes rested on Spencer, narrowing until they disappeared to mere slits. Clearly, she wondered whether Evie had told him that she wasn’t Linnie.
“Mr. Lockhart, so nice to see you again. Imagine our surprise when we called upon our Evie here and learned you two had eloped to Scotland. How very . . . audacious.”
A trickle of unease ran down Evie’s neck. Georgianna and Papa had not visited The Harbour in all her time here. Whatever motivated this visit could not bode well.
“Yes,” Spencer murmured. “It must have come as a surprise.”
Georgianna rattled on, “I certainly did not expect for you to return to this little . . . cottage, Evie. Not after you’ve wed.”
She might as well have uttered the word hovel.
Evie flexed her hand around Nicholas’s chubby one. “Of course I would return. Would you expect me to leave my son?”
Georgianna angled her head to the side. “Your son?” Her gaze dropped to Nicholas. She stared at him flatly, nothing in her eyes. Nothing to show she even saw her grandchild when she looked at him.
“Did you think I would forget him now that I’ve wed? I am his mother.”
Georgianna fluttered a hand in the air and laughed gaily. “Who’s to say?” She looked back and forth between Evie and Spencer with great interest.
Evie narrowed her gaze, attempting to convey a warning for Georgianna to hold her tongue.
Georgianna continued blithely, “Then you still intend to live here? I was certain you would move into your husband’s residence . . . wherever that may be.”
Her tone indicated that she suspected Spencer to be a man of little to no means, without home or property. And she would just love that—would relish watching Evie’s husband squeeze into their already cramped dwelling. She would enjoy even more watching him join their struggle to subsist.
“It’s been a long day,” Evie said tightly. “Let us come out of this cold and warm ourselves by the fire.”
“Oh, of course, of course, silly me.” Georgianna stepped aside, following them into the tiny foyer. Evie pressed her chilled cheek to Papa’s in empty greeting.
“Evie.” He smiled wobbily.
“Hello, Papa,” she returned.
They once had a strong relationship. Before he married Georgianna. He’d at least been fond of her. But that had been a long time ago. She could scarcely remember those days.
“Come, Nicholas.” Amy took his hand and guided him from Evie. “You’ll visit with your mother and Mr. Lockhart more later. Let them settle in.”
“Thank you, Amy.”
“Yes,” Georgianna waved them away. “Off with you.” Turning, she motioned Evie and Spencer toward the parlor. “I’m sure you would like some refreshments. Tea. Biscuits. I’ll just send Mrs. Murdoch—”
“Actually, I would prefer a rest.” Spencer’s hand fell on the small of Evie’s back, gently pushing her toward the stairs.
“Yes,” she hastily agreed, eager to escape her parents. “I agree.”
Georgianna’s eyebrows winged high. “Indeed.” Her tone dripped disapproval.
At the top of the stairs, Evie glanced over her shoulder. A shiver skated down her spine at the undisguised animosity in her stepmother’s stare.
At every point in her life, Evie had suffered either her stepmother’s cold indifference or endured the sting of her viciousness. If not for her, Evie never would have been sent to Penwich. The idea would never have entered Papa’s head without his wife putting it there.
Upstairs, Spencer squared off in front of her. “What was that about?”
Rather than answer questions she wasn’t clear on how to answer, at least until she spoke to Georgianna and figured out her game, she circled her hand around his neck and pulled him in for a kiss. He hesitated only a heartbeat before kissing her back, lifting her so that the toes of her shoes skimmed the floor as he carried her toward the bed.
He broke their feverish kiss, pulling away only long enough to undress her. Then his mouth was back on hers, frenzied as his hands roamed her body.
Soon she forgot that she had begun this as a ploy, a distraction to keep him from asking difficult questions.
She forgot the sense of impending doom that had washed over her the moment she’d seen her stepmother standing in her house.
Lying back on the bed, she watched, her breath trapped in her chest as Spencer hurriedly cast off his clothes, revealing his beautifully sculpted body to her hungry gaze.
After all, what could Georgianna possibly do? Exposing Evie exposed herself as a wretched mother and grandmother. She was the one who’d effectively buried her daughter’s pregnancy and then married her off to a rich, unsuspecting old man. She wouldn’t want her role in that sordid business revealed. Image and position were everything to Georgianna. She wouldn’t risk what little she possessed to cause problems for Evie and her new husband.
Nor would Evie let her.
She had Spencer now. She wouldn’t let anything ruin that.
Evie dressed herself quietly as Spencer slept soundly on her bed, the fading rays of sunlight limning the beautiful expanse of his back. Stepping softly, she crept from the room, determined to find Georgianna and Papa and learn the true purpose behind this visit.
Walking the upstairs corridor, she was struck again with the humbleness of her home. The passageway was dim and narrow.
Her lips curved in a smile at the thought of Nicholas tromping through Ashton Grange’s vast halls, exploring the large rooms full of light and interesting things. And perhaps, someday soon he would have playmates to run the halls with him.
Her hand curved against her stomach. Certainly it was a likelihood, given recent activities. Her smile slipped. All the more reason for her to confess the truth to Spencer. She closed her eyes in a pained blink. Now. Today. After she spoke with her parents.
She could put it off no longer.
Descending the worn steps, she spotted a harried-looking Mrs. Murdoch leaving the parlor pushing a service of cluttered, dirty dishes. Georgianna’s voice carried from within, calling out orders for the housekeeper to return posthaste with a stack of only the most current fashion plates.
Evie squeezed the housekeeper’s arm in gratitude. “You’re a saint, Mrs. Murdoch.”
She shook her graying head. “Aye, that’s for certain. Anyone else would have strangled her long ago.”
“Where’s Aunt Gertie?”
“Where she’s been the whole time since they arrived. Hiding in her room.”
Evie nodded. “Wise woman.”
Mrs. Murdoch snorted. “Coward, if you ask me.”
Evie’s lips twitched, but her smile quickly faded as she entered the parlor to find her stepmother pacing a hard line before the window and dressing down Papa with a waspish tone.
“Hello,” Evie flexed her hands at her sides and braced herself.
Georgianna swung around.
Papa looked relieved to have the attention shift from him.
“Oh, you’ve deigned to grace us with your presence, have you? Where is your husband?”
“Resting. I thought it better if we speak privately.”
“Indeed. Perhaps you would now care to explain how you possessed the temerity to marry this—this—” Her lip curled. “I don’t know what he is. But it’s clear he comes from poor stock if he’s any relation to the blackguard who misused Linnie so—”
“If you will allow me to explain, it’s simple, really—”
“Does he know? Have you dared to tell him that you’re not Linnie?”
“Not yet—”
Georgianna’s eyes flashed. “You vowed never to tell!”
“I’m certain when he learns the truth, he won’t denounce me. He wouldn’t do that to Nicholas, no matter how angered he is over being tricked.”
Georgianna sniffed, seemingly gratified. “Perhaps. But why did you marry him in the first place?”
“The opportunity presented itself to give Nicholas a father. To save us from penury, hunger.” She shrugged with a lightness she did not feel in the face of her stepmother’s ugly glower. “I could not ignore the opportunity to give Nicholas a future. A future he could never have otherwise.”
“And you found that justification to bind yourself in marriage to this Mr. Lockhart, kin to the very scoundrel who ravished my daughter.”
“First of all, Linnie was not ravished. You know that. And secondly, Spencer is not a mister,” she bit out, unable to stand her scathing references to Spencer another moment.
Georgianna froze. “Not a mister?” she echoed, her face paling. The alternatives clearly raced across her mind.
Evie sighed and lowered herself onto the worn chintz sofa. “He failed to mention it on introducing himself.” Or even later. “Both his brothers died while he was away in the Crimea.”
“What is he? Knighted? Titled?” Georgianna sank down across from her, her hands white-knuckled fists in her lap.
“A viscount.”
Georgianna’s deep-set blue eyes, usually so small, bulged almost to a normal size. “You married a bloody viscount?”
Papa made a hissing sound between his teeth. “By God, Evie. You’re a viscountess. You did it, girl. What we always hoped for in the family—”
“For Evangeline,” Georgianna bit out, glaring at Papa. “Not Evie! Our plans were always for Linnie. It was supposed to be my daughter.”
Papa turned his head, looking out the window as if he suddenly found something of vast interest on the lawn.
“A viscountess?” Georgianna continued, shaking her head. “You?” Her gaze skimmed Evie, none of her aversion hidden in her small blue eyes. “Oh, that’s brilliant . . . and vastly fair. Linnie’s dead, but you marry a viscount. Life is full of surprising delights, is it not?”
Evie’s hands tightened in her lap. Foolish tears burned the backs of her eyes. “I’ve sacrificed my good name, my freedom, my life, for this family. I protected all of us from the scandal that would have fallen had Linnie’s indiscretion been exposed.” Heat filled her cheeks. “Can I do nothing right?” She’d long given up on the notion of Papa or Georgianna loving her, but she had hoped for basic consideration. She would have even been glad for their gratitude.