Lady Evelyn Moore paused to look behind her one last time
before slipping into the little-used music room in the east wing. Closing the
door, she grinned. Thank goodness no one had seen her. Given the number of
rooms in her family’s sprawling country home, she should have plenty of time to
read the newly arrived letter from her brother before anyone found her. Her
governess would not be pleased, but really, Mrs. White
should have known Evie would never be able to delay such a treat until after her
lessons.
Skipping across the room to the sun-drenched settee by the
window, she plopped down in a heap on the warm velvet cushions. She could
hardly wait to read all about Richard’s latest adventures. Even though he had
been gone to Eton only two months, it felt more like two years. Without her
coconspirator, life at Hertford Hall was considerably duller these days. Not
that there was anyplace else on earth she would rather be. It was just that,
with her three sisters being entirely too young to be of any use to her—no
respectable eleven-year-old would play with children of four and three—and the
local villagers always acting so reserved around the daughter of a marquis,
excitement came in short bursts, coinciding with either the arrival of the post
or her daily riding lessons.
Today, the arrival of the post trumped all. Ripping open
the seal, Evie unfolded the letter, the paper still cool from the crisp autumn
wind outside, and smoothed a palm over the creases. She tucked her feet beneath
her and pored over Richard’s words.
Within moments, however, her excitement began to fade,
trickling away like water from a cracked cup, until at last she wrinkled her
nose in disgust and flicked the letter away. Honestly, if she had to read one
more glowing word about that new friend of his, she was going to scream. She
glared at the offending piece of paper beside her, its familiar, messy scrawl
repeatedly spelling out the name she had already come to despise.
Hastings.
The boy had shown up in Richard’s very first letter from
school—something about his supposed riding skills. Since then, her brother
mentioned him more and more, until this new letter was naught but Hastings this and Hastings that.
As if she cared how wonderful
Hastings was.
He surely couldn’t be a better friend to Richard than she.
With only two years between them, Richard had been her best friend since . . .
since—well, until he left for school, Evie couldn’t remember a single day when
they were not at each other’s sides. Surely since the day she was born.
Who did this Hastings think he was, anyway?
Jumping to her feet, she slipped out of the music room,
down the corridor, and up to her own bedchamber. Relieved not to have been
discovered by Mrs. White—or worse, Mama—Evie hurried to her writing desk,
pulled out a fresh piece of paper, and dipped her quill in the heretofore
unused pot of red ink. With slow and deliberate lettering, she labored to spell
out exactly the right words in her best possible handwriting.
Dear Mr. Hastings,
I am sorry to tell you that my
brother already has a best friend. I don’t care that you can shoot and ride
well. Besides, I promise that you cannot ride better than me. Kindly leave
Richard alone.
She reread the missive and, finding it satisfactory,
carefully signed her name. She painstakingly folded the letter onto itself and
sealed it with a gummed wafer. Dipping her quill once more, this time in the
more elegant black ink, she simply wrote Hastings
across the top. Having already written a letter to her brother the previous
evening, she added a postscript requesting Richard give the letter to his
friend.
Well, that ought to take care of that.
Two weeks later, a letter, addressed in an unfamiliar
hand to Lady Evelyn, arrived at the Hall. With her lessons complete and anticipation
coursing through her, Evie thundered up the stairs to her room, slammed the
door, and flopped down on her window seat before opening the letter.
Dear Lady Evelyn,
I would first like say that, as a
dear family friend to your brother, I give you leave to address me simply as
Hastings. I hope you will likewise allow me to address you as Evie, since that
is how I think of you, thanks to your brother’s many stories.
Second, I would like to point out that
Richard is free to befriend whomever he chooses. As it is, we get along rather
well, so I don’t expect I shall abandon our acquaintance, particularly over his
little sister’s complaint. We are, as I have stated, great friends by now.
Third, as Richard is here at Eton, and
you are off in the country, I don’t think it is very well done of you to
begrudge him a friend. As his friend, I, for one, would want him to have as
many acquaintances as would make him happy.
And finally, I am sure you do ride
very well—for a girl.
I am, my lady, your most humble
servant,
The Honorable Benedict Hastings
Evie’s mouth hung wide at the impertinent response. Why,
the little weasel! Insinuating that she, who loved her brother most of all,
would begrudge him a friend. And to further goad her by claiming to be such dear friends already—it just made her sick.
Dear Hastings,
You have it all wrong. Richard may
have as many friends as he likes. You just need to know he already has a best
friend. And just so you know, I am eleven years old, and I can tell when
someone is taunting me.
Regards,
Lady Evelyn Moore. NOT Evie.
Dear Evie,
Yes, I see now how I must have
misinterpreted your meaning when you wrote (and I quote), “Kindly leave Richard
alone.” You see, I seem to have a wild imagination and thought you wished for
me to leave Richard alone. I do apologize.
I would like to propose a compromise. I
shall be his friend (best or otherwise, it is up to him), as long as he is on
Eton’s grounds. At all other times, I leave him to you. Does this sound fair
enough to you?
Awaiting your response with a hopeful
heart, I am, as always, your most humble servant,
Hastings
Dear Hastings,
Fine. Just be sure not to visit Richard
here during breaks. Speaking of Richard, what a pity it was to hear from him
that you almost failed your English literature exam. I suggest you spend less
time playing your silly sports and more time studying.
And stop calling me Evie.
Lady Evelyn
Dear Evie,
Thank you for your concern about my
academics. Have no fear; I have passed my exams and will be back next term to
keep Richard, my best friend, company. How is your pony, Buttercup? Have you
taken her for a nice, slow, ladylike walk recently?
Hastings
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