Page 6 of Hot Duke Summer
Devonshire—1806
L ady Evangeline Eastfield rose and dressed, not bothering to call her maid. She was usually up early most mornings, even before many of the servants began to stir. Evie enjoyed walking Valwood Park, seeing the sun come up. She would dress in breeches to do so, along with one of her brother David’s old topcoats, since it was easier to don the garb of a man without assistance. Only after her return home and her bath would she allow her maid to place her in demure gowns, her hair dressed properly and not tumbling to her waist.
As she slipped from the house, she had a destination in mind this morning and headed to the bridge which spanned the stream separating her family’s land from that of the Duke of Wentworth’s. The duke and Evie’s father, the Earl of Valwood, had been close friends since the cradle. Her own brother and Hatch, the duke’s elder son, were the best of friends, as well. Today, Hatch would leave them, reporting for duty in His Majesty’s Army in the fight against Bonaparte.
And Evie wanted to see her friend once last time before he departed.
The two families had dined together at Davenport Hall last night, a merry group telling stories that spanned decades. But Evie wanted to say her own, private goodbye to Hatch.
Within minutes, she had reached the bridge, spotting Hatch standing in its center, gazing out. He didn’t bother to glance at her as she joined him, keeping his eyes to where the sun would soon make its appearance.
“You knew I would be here,” he finally said.
She turned to face him, seeing how dashing he looked in his regimental colors. “Yes, Lieutenant. Will it be Lieutenant Davenport—or Lieutenant Hatchley?”
His gaze met hers, his eyes glinting with a bit of mischief. “Since the Earl of Hatchley is my courtesy title, I believe I will stick with Lieutenant Davenport. Most of my fellow officers, though from the aristocracy, do not hold titles themselves. No need to stick out like a sore thumb.”
Evie playfully punched him in the arm. “You will always stand above others, Hatch, and not because of your height. You are a true leader. Brave, honorable, and wise beyond your years.”
He smiled. “I am glad you have such a high opinion of me, Evie.” Sighing, he added, “I shall miss you.”
Though Hatch was one and twenty, the same as her brother, and six years her senior, they had always been close.
“Thank you for letting me always tag along with you and David. You’ve taught me so much. How to swim. Shoot. Ride. I know you are David’s best friend, Hatch, but you are mine, too.”
He smoothed her hair. “You are forever a breath of fresh air, Evie. I never minded your company.” He laughed. “And sometimes preferred it over David’s.”
She knew he was teasing her now. “Have you and Your Grace made your peace?”
The duke had been furious when his heir decided to enter the army upon graduating from Cambridge, but he had seemed to accept things last night.
“Papa is only mildly annoyed with me now, a nice change from when he roared that he wished he could disown me.” Hatch’s tone grew serious. “I feel I must fight for my country, Evie. Good leaders are needed. This war with Bonaparte has already gone on far too long. He threatens not only our way of life—but the balance of Europe hangs with the outcome of this conflict.”
Hatch chuckled. “Besides, could you imagine Elias going off to war?”
Evie laughed. “Elias cannot stand a wrinkle in his trousers, much less for his hair to be mussed. Your younger brother is a charming man, but he is not one for war.”
They both turned back to gaze across to where the sun now broke the horizon. Hatch slipped an arm about her shoulder, and Evie leaned into him. She would miss this man dreadfully.
“I’ll write,” she promised.
“No, you won’t.”
“I will,” she insisted.
“You will soon make your come-out and forget all about writing. You will wed and have a bevy of brats by the time I return to England.”
Evie snorted. “First of all, I am only ten and five and will not make my come-out for a good three years, Lieutenant. As for a husband, don’t tell Papa, but I plan to have at least three Seasons before I consider taking one.”
“Three?” he asked, laughing.
“Yes. I have spent my entire life in Devonshire, being told what to do. By my parents. My governess. I want to live a little, Hatch. The Season is all about having fun and making new friends. Experiencing life. I shall go to balls and routs. Venetian breakfasts and the theater. Garden parties and musicales. And card parties.”
Hatch smiled fondly at her. “I believe you will enjoy your come-out immensely, Evie. You are full of life. You will attract all kinds of gentlemen. They will fall madly in love with you.”
She sniffed. “Love is not for me,” she declared.
“You are not interested in a love match?” he asked.
“I don’t believe in them, Hatch. My parents—and yours—are not in love. They have amiable relationships, however. I think the notion of love is foolish. When I do finally decide to settle down and become a boring matron with a house full of children, I want a man who will like me. Respect me. And let me go my own way. Pursue my own interests. Love, if it exists, would simply muddy those waters. No, I will find an interesting man who doesn’t gamble. One who will enjoy my company and that of our children. But love is not something I foresee in my future.”
“Then I cannot wait to meet this future husband of yours,” Hatch said lightly. “I hope he will treasure you as much as I do.”
Evie gazed up at her friend, a constant in her life. “I will miss you, Hatch. And I won’t think of wedding any gentleman who would take exception to our friendship.”
He smiled at her, the sun now striking his face, lighting up his golden mane of hair and causing his startling blue eyes to gleam.
“I will miss you as well, Evie. I cannot promise I will write you. I know not what war truly is like, and I will have many responsibilities as an officer. But I will read your every letter. They will bring me comfort.”
Hatch paused. “It’s time I returned home and told my parents and Elias goodbye. Take care, little one.”
He clasped her shoulders, his large hands warm, and pressed a long kiss to her brow. Evie closed her eyes, taking in the moment.
Then his lips moved and touched her own briefly.
“I won’t say goodbye,” he told her. “I will simply say farewell.”
Evie gazed up at him, her lips tingling, an odd feeling running through her. “Until we meet again.”
She turned, determined to be the one to walk away before she cried, knowing her tears would upset him.
And with every step Evie Eastfield took away from him, she knew she would always remember the sweetness of his kiss.