Chapter 12 #2
"I would have you ask her what she wants," Miss Fairweather said simply. "Not tell her what you think is best, not decide for her what must be done, but actually ask her. And then, and this is the crucial part, Your Grace, I would have you listen to her answer."
She stepped aside then, gesturing toward the narrow staircase visible beyond the entrance hall. "Third floor, first door on the right. She's taken to her bed with what she calls distress but what looks very much like fever to me. Try not to upset her further because she's fragile enough as it is."
Adrian hesitated. "You're letting me see her?"
"I'm letting you try," Miss Fairweather corrected. "Whether she'll see you is another matter entirely. But I think... I think you need to hear what she has to say. And perhaps she needs to say it."
As Adrian moved toward the stairs, she called after him softly. "Your Grace? A word of advice, if I may be so bold?"
He turned back, waiting.
"Do not offer her your protection," she said. "Do not offer her your name or your honour or your duty. If you must offer her something, offer her the truth. It's the only currency she values."
Adrian nodded slowly, though he wasn't certain he understood what truth he had to offer. That he had compromised her through his own weakness? That he felt responsible for her predicament? That the thought of her suffering made something in his chest constrict painfully?
Or was there some other truth, one he had been avoiding examining too closely? One that had nothing to do with duty or honour and everything to do with the way his world had shifted on its axis from the moment she had walked into his library?
He climbed the stairs slowly, each step feeling like a journey toward an inevitable reckoning.
The building smelled of beeswax and lavender, with an underlying note of coal smoke from the fires that heated each small room.
It was clean and respectable, but Adrian couldn't help noticing the worn patches on the stair runner and the way the banister wobbled slightly under his hand.
This was genteel poverty indeed; the kind that maintained appearances while counting every penny.
The third floor hallway was narrow and dim, lit only by a small window at the far end. Adrian found the first door on the right and stood before it, suddenly uncertain. What right did he have to intrude upon her refuge? What could he possibly say that would not make things worse?
But the memory of her fleeing the library, of the devastation in her eyes when she'd whispered "It is finished," gave him the courage to knock.
"Go away, Harriet," came a voice from within, hoarse and thick with what sounded suspiciously like tears. "I told you I don't want any more tea."
Adrian cleared his throat. "It's not Harriet."
The silence that followed was profound. Then, after what felt like an eternity, he heard footsteps approaching the door. It opened a crack, revealing one eye, red-rimmed and suspicious.
"What are you doing here?" Eveline's voice was barely above a whisper.
"May I come in?"
"Absolutely not. Do you have any idea how improper..." She stopped, laughing bitterly. "Though I suppose propriety is rather a moot point now, isn't it?"
She opened the door wider, and Adrian's heart clenched at the sight of her.
She was still in the same dress from that morning, now even more wrinkled.
Her hair hung loose around her shoulders in tangled waves.
Her face was pale except for the fever spots on her cheeks, and her eyes held a wildness that spoke of barely controlled panic.
"You look terrible," he said without thinking.
"How gallant of you to notice." She turned away, moving to sit on the edge of her narrow bed.
The room was small but neat, with books stacked on every available surface and a writing desk covered in papers.
"Have you come to witness the full extent of my destruction?
To see what becomes of women who forget their place? "
"I've come to offer you marriage."
The words hung in the air between them. Eveline stared at him for a long moment, then began to laugh; a harsh, broken sound that was worse than tears.
"Of course you have," she said when she could speak again. "The honorable Duke of Everleigh, has come to do his duty. Tell me, Your Grace, did you practice that proposal on the way here? Did you convince yourself it was the noble thing to do?"
"Eveline..."
"No." She stood abruptly, swaying slightly but waving off his instinctive move to steady her.
"I don't want to hear it. I don't want to hear about duty or honour or society's expectations.
I don't want your pity proposal, your charitable offer to save me from the consequences of our mutual stupidity. "
"It's not pity."
"Isn't it?" Her eyes blazed with fever and fury. "Then tell me, Adrian! If Lord Hatherleigh hadn't discovered us this morning, if there was no scandal, no threat to my reputation, would you be here now offering marriage?"
The question hung between them like a blade. Adrian wanted to say yes, wanted to claim that he would have found his way to her regardless. But would he? Or would he have continued as before, stealing moments in his library, maintaining the careful boundaries that kept his world intact?
His hesitation was answer enough. Eveline's face crumbled for a moment before hardening into a mask of bitter acceptance.
"I thought not," she said quietly. "At least you have the grace not to lie."
"Eveline, please. Whatever my motivations, the fact remains that marriage would solve..."
"Solve?" The word came out as almost a hiss. "What exactly would it solve, Your Grace? Would it erase what Lord Hatherleigh saw? Would it make society forget that I spent the night unchaperoned in your house? Would it transform me overnight into someone worthy of being a duchess?"
"You are worthy," Adrian said fiercely. "More than worthy. Any man would be fortunate..."
"Any man except you," Eveline cut in. "Oh, you'd marry me, I don't doubt that.
You're nothing if not honorable. You'd stand beside me at the altar and speak the vows and install me at Everleigh House.
And then what? Would you parade me at society events, watching as they whispered behind their fans about the little nobody who trapped a duke?
Would you wince every time I used the wrong fork or failed to recognise some obscure relation?
Would you come to resent me for the burden I placed on your perfect, ordered life? "
"I would never..."
"You would," she said with terrible certainty.
"Perhaps not at first. At first, you'd be all kindness and patience.
But eventually, the reality of being married to someone so far beneath your station would sink in.
And I... I would have to watch it happen.
Watch as duty turned to resignation, resignation to resentment, resentment to that particular kind of contempt reserved for those who have presumed above their place. "
Adrian felt each word like a physical blow. "You don't know me as well as you think," he said quietly.
"Don't I?" Eveline's smile was sad and knowing.
"Tell me I'm wrong, then. Tell me you haven't spent years cultivating distance from everyone around you.
Tell me you don't pride yourself on needing no one, on being above the messy emotions that govern lesser mortals.
Tell me you haven't built your entire life around control and order and the careful maintenance of your ducal dignity. "
Adrian wanted to protest, but the words died in his throat. Because she was right. Everything she said was true. He had built walls around himself so high and so strong that he'd forgotten what lay beyond them.
"I could change," he said, and heard the desperation in his own voice.
"Could you?" Eveline asked gently. "Could you really?
Because change requires recognition that something needs changing.
And you, Your Grace, see nothing wrong with your life as it is.
You're not offering me marriage because you want me as your wife.
You're offering it because honour demands it, because scandal threatens your peaceful existence, because it's the proper thing to do. "
"That's not..." Adrian stopped, frustrated by his inability to articulate what he felt.
How could he explain that she had already changed him?
That his peaceful existence had become a prison from the moment she'd entered it?
That honor and duty were just words he was using to mask a deeper, more terrifying truth?
"I need you," he said suddenly, the words torn from somewhere deep inside.
"Is that what you want to hear? That my life makes less sense without you in it?
That I find myself looking for you in every room, listening for your voice, thinking of things to tell you?
That the thought of you facing censure alone makes me want to challenge every gossip in London to a duel? "
Eveline's eyes widened slightly, but she said nothing.
Adrian continued, unable to stop now that he'd started.
"I don't know how to do this. I don't know how to.
.. feel things properly. I've spent so long avoiding entanglements that I don't know how to be entangled.
But I know that when you smile at something you're reading, I want to know what it is.
I know that when you quote Ovid, I want to quote him back.
I know that when you're hurt, I want to fix it, even when I'm the cause. "
"Adrian," she said softly, and there was something in her voice that might have been pain.
"Marry me," he said again, but this time it came out as a plea rather than a declaration. "Not because society demands it, not because of duty or honour or any of those cold reasons. Marry me because... because I don't know how to be without you anymore."