Chapter Forty-Two
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
E VELYN RECEIVED NO LETTER REVOKING HER INVITATION TO THE Conthorpe ball. Perhaps the letter was lost, perhaps some calamity had befallen the messenger Andrew dispatched to get it to her, perhaps someone at the boarding house had forgotten to give it to her. The history on this point was unclear.
Some things just don’t make any sense. Sometimes letters don’t arrive. Sometimes people fail you. Sometimes hearts get broken. Sometimes people just can’t love you the way you want them to.
Fact, unlike fiction, gets messy. And this part of the story is just that. Messy.
So it was that Evelyn found herself at the Conthorpe ball that night, dressed to fall in love but finding herself falling in a very different direction indeed.
Fiancée. A simple enough word. Three syllables. Seven letters. One simple definition. But when shaped by Thomas’s perfect lips, it was as if Evelyn had never heard it before in her life.
Her universe hung crooked now, knocked off balance by the sight of Thomas’s hand around another woman’s waist.
This couldn’t be happening. He couldn’t be with another. He’d invited her here to propose to her. He loved her. He’d said it. He’d made her believe it.
No, it had to be a joke.
But then … no. It wouldn’t be a joke, would it? Or rather, it could be a joke, but a cosmic prank played on her, not one pulled by Thomas Gallier.
The universe had handed her the only man she would ever love, convinced her to fall for him against her better judgment, and then ripped him away from her just when it seemed like she might break the terrible cycle of poor women having their hearts broken by wealthy men.
She’d worked so hard to never become her mother. And yet … there she was. Standing in her shoes. Repeating her mistakes. Fitting the role all too well.
Evelyn’s throat went tight as she asked, “Your fiancée?”
“Only for a few minutes yet,” Constance Alban said, her eyes sliding over Evelyn’s shoulder, apparently seeking something, or someone, she didn’t find. “It’s no wonder you’re surprised. I can’t quite believe it either.”
“I offer my most hearty felicitations. Surprise or no.”
It was only her years of training that saved Evelyn’s voice from wavering or her smile from faltering.
Awkward silence reigned. All around them, the partygoers pretended not to watch the confrontation, but there was no ignoring the weight of their sidelong stares. Still, Evelyn would not be the one to buckle first. She stared at Thomas, waiting for him to say something, anything , but he focused his attentions on his new fiancée.
Ultimately, it was Dr. Samson who couldn’t bear the discomfiting quiet any longer. “Miss Cross, would you care for a dance? I haven’t been out on the floor all night.”
“No, thank you,” Evelyn replied, never once taking her eyes from Thomas’s guarded face. “My escort for this party seems to be otherwise engaged. I should take my leave before I look like a third wheel.”
Please, say something. Stop me. Tell me it’s all a ruse. Tell me it’s a joke. Save me from this heartbreak .
But Thomas did nothing of the kind. Once again, it was Dr. Samson who came to her rescue.
“I’ll walk you out, then,” he said, offering her his arm.
When she took it, her hand was shaking. “Thank you.”
And she turned her back on Thomas for what she was sure was the last time.
She and Dr. Samson proceeded through the party without passing a word between them. It wasn’t until she’d collected her cloak and started for the door that he finally said something.
“It’s a rotten play,” he said, his signature smile sad now. “One of the worst I’ve ever seen. The hero didn’t even get the girl.”
Evelyn gripped her cloak. “Hero, Doctor? I don’t see any heroes around here.”
And with that, she left, carrying the last scraps of her pride along with her.
Outside, she passed the cabs lingering on the sidewalk and elected, instead, to walk.
Just in case.
Just in case he might follow and need to catch up with her.
But he didn’t.
She walked the entire way home alone.