The Midwife and the Marquess

Chapter 4: Practice

That evening, Evan stared gloomily down at his plate as he pushed pieces of mushroom around with his fork. Cook had served an extravagant three course meal; first a fresh watercress and potato soup, then a salad containing young dandelion leaves of all things, and the main course of poultry with a cream and mushroom sauce.

It was absolutely delicious.

Evan's scowl intensified.

What had he been thinking, addressing her by her given name? He had overstepped, he knew that, but still a silly, childish part of him felt hurt at how Maria- Mrs. Ross- had fled from him for the second time within less than twenty four hours. Did she truly despise him so much? They had not spoken or seen each other in over eight years, and neither of them had expected to meet the other ever again. There was nothing between them anymore, and there had been little there in the first place. He had put the incident far behind him and surely she had as well, hadn't she? Evan sighed, letting his fork drop beside his plate on the table. His eyes closed, he put his head in his hand and rubbed his temples.

He knew what he'd done had been highly inappropriate; the young master of the house should never even think about having relations with a member of the staff. Truth be told, he'd never thought of it before that point, but when she'd approached him, all rational thought had fled. He had been overcome by the soft silken feeling of her arms around his neck, the way her lips had caressed his head like a saint offering salvation. She had been the only person in all of Granfell manor who'd been bold enough to approach him during the worst days of his life. At the time he'd been certain her enthusiasm was mutual. Dear God, what if-

His disgruntled musings were cut off by the sound of a throat being cleared. He looked up to see Laura frowning at him, her rosebud mouth turned down in a small pout.

"Is the meal not to your liking, brother? You sit there glowering as if it is a stack of decade old ledgers. Whatever is the matter?" Laura finished the sentence with a gentle tone, her blue eyes bright with earnest concern.

She was lovely tonight, Evan noticed for the first time with a little surprise. Laura was dressed in a muted yellow satin silk gown, the neckline curved low around her shoulders and met in the middle, drooping slightly into her decolletage. It seemed as if her bodice was made entirely of a thousand little pleats that ended in an intricately woven golden waistband. The ruffles around her upper arms emphasized her slender, delicate frame. Her accessories tonight were pearls set in gold, some of the finest in their late mother's collection. Soft black ringlets framed her face, contrasting sharply with her fair skin and light blue eyes.

Since it had become just the two of them residing in Granfell, often he and Laura dined in their daywear, if they dined together at all. However, as he'd arrived home this evening, Laura had approached him asking if he would supper with her in the main dining room tonight and had specifically instructed him to change into his finest suit. He'd been too distracted at the time to question her motives, and had absentmindedly agreed to her proposition. Now however, he was beginning to wonder if she had an ulterior motive.

Evan observed her extravagant evening garb, the finely decorated table and the last course of what had been an unnecessarily excessive three course meal, and decided promptly that she was up to something.

As a family they had never been inclined to stick to strict standards of etiquette, especially the women of his family, who tended to be outspoken and composed of self assuredness that most found unattractive in a lady. They're mother had made it a point to raise Winifred to have more than an ounce of self respect. After their mother's death, Winifred had taken it upon herself to pass her wryly ways onto Laura.

Usually Evan did not mind his sisters' antics, in fact he often indulged them and on occasion joined in. Though, he did not like being at the receiving end of one of their schemes.