Chapter Five
Sebastian descended the stairs toward the entrance hall, his footsteps echoing sharply in the silence.
He tried not to stride with such evident agitation, but restless energy coursed through him, and he moved like a caged animal.
The ridiculous scandal stirred over the young woman who had merely tried to save him from a falling sign weighed heavily on his nerves.
London’s gossips were vexing enough without his mother’s ceaseless response to them.
He had managed to avoid her for two days. On the night of Lady Evandale’s ball, he could avoid her no longer.
She waited in the foyer, her long black gown stark against her elegantly dressed grey hair.
The family was still in mourning, and ordinarily a full year would pass before they accepted invitations—but Lady Evandale’s ball was considered a social obligation, and besides—as his mother repeatedly said—they could not fulfil the clause in the will by hiding away at Brentfield.
“There you are. Where is Nicholas? He ought to be here,” she demanded, her tone sharp with displeasure.
Sebastian, already tense, clenched his jaw. “He will be along shortly, Mama,” he replied as evenly as he could.
“Punctuality is essential. Especially tonight—we do not want to invite undue stares. Goodness knows there will be enough of those already. I cannot believe it, Sebastian!” she began, winding herself up. He winced.
“Mama. Please. We are about to depart—” he tried, but once she began, there was no stopping her.
“The entire town is talking! Whispering about you and this mysterious woman, with whom you are apparently conducting all manner of—of perversions. It will not do!”
“Mama!” Sebastian protested, scandalised. “She saved me. From a falling sign.”
“Mayhap,” his mother said coolly, as though the truth were irrelevant. “But people talk all the same, and we cannot have it. And you certainly cannot make her the duchess. She has neither name nor fortune.”
“Mama!” He stared at her in astonishment.
“It is the truth,” she said primly. “Now—come. It is time to reach the coach. If Nicholas does not arrive within the next minute—”
“Here I am!” Nicholas’s voice rang out as he hurried down the stairs, adjusting his hastily knotted cravat.
“Now we may depart,” their mother said, immediately composed.
Sebastian blinked as she swept ahead with Nicholas, barely glancing to check whether he followed.
I had not even thought about making her the duchess, he thought, biting his lip as a stab of pleasure washed through him. He had imagined bedding her—he could not deny it—but marriage? That had not occurred to him until his mother declared it impossible. Irritatingly, that made the notion linger.
Nicholas handed their mother into the coach. Sebastian flushed, ashamed that he had not been quicker to perform his duty. As Duke of Brentfield, the responsibility fell to him.
“We must take great care to observe every propriety tonight,” his mother instructed as the coach rattled into motion. Lamps flanking the coach door cast pale light over her features. Sebastian gazed out into the darkness, wishing himself anywhere else.
“Lord and Lady Carlington will be present,” she continued.
Sebastian stiffened. “Mama…”
“That is a very suitable family—and a most eligible young lady. She was the debutante of her Season. You would do well to align yourself with them. They possess true standing.”
“Mama, I have no—” He wished to tell her he had no intention of honouring the clause in the will—not if he could help it. He was convinced there must be a legal means around it, and he intended to find a solicitor who would confirm it. But she plunged on.
“You must make an appropriate match. This family must continue. Your great-great-grandfather was the first duke—that is not a long lineage. Five generations only. We must do our best to continue it.”
Sebastian bit his lip. Nothing he said could counter her firm belief that securing the family legacy was paramount.
After all, it was a belief that had shaped her destiny since she was eighteen years old and had made her own come-out into society, so it was no wonder that she viewed it as the most important task for everyone else as well.
“Did you hear aught of the cricket match?” Nicholas asked brightly, desperate to change the subject.
“It is important, Sebastian,” Mama cut in sharply. “Our future depends on it. And the Carlingtons are most respectable. Exceptionally so.”
Sebastian turned away, looking out of the window with some irritation.
The coach barrelled through woodland, the lamps casting eerie shadows across the trees.
His thoughts returned—as they invariably did—to the incident outside the milliner’s.
He had not read the scandal sheet himself; Nicholas had summarised it, and Mama had added more than he wished to know.
Neither had thought to tell him the young woman’s name.
Since he refused to read the offensive article, he still did not know it.
“Halfway there,” Nicholas murmured, attempting cheer. Sebastian gave him a faint nod, guilt tugging at him. Nicholas did not deserve to be dragged into such unpleasantness.
They entered the outskirts of the city. Shutters were drawn against the winter night, only faint candlelight showing in the poorest homes.
Nearing Kensington, the streets grew brighter, and traffic thickened.
Their coach halted repeatedly to let others pass, each pause eliciting a fresh sigh of annoyance from their mother.
At last, they arrived at Lady Evandale’s townhouse. Sebastian stepped out, mind drifting to a puzzling question Nicholas had mentioned from a Royal Society article. The mental distraction was welcome; it nearly made him forget where he was.
He turned back and reached up to hand his mother down from the coach.
“A fine evening,” she murmured as he took her hand, covered with a white opera glove, and escorted her up the stairs towards the building. Nicholas followed them, and Sebastian bowed low as he greeted his host.
“Good evening, your Grace,” Lady Evandale murmured.
Lady Evandale and his mother talked politely for a moment, and then he and his mother moved down the stairs towards the ballroom, Nicholas following them.
“That was not too awful,” Nicholas murmured as they walked across the stone floor of the ballroom. Sebastian tilted his head back, staring up at the high ceiling, lit with many crystal-decorated chandeliers.
“No, it was not,” he agreed.
Strangely, no one seemed too aware of the scandal—at least, Lady Evandale did not. He would have expected her to be looking oddly at him, at the very least. But she had acted as though nothing was untoward.
Sebastian shrugged, attempting to put the matter from his mind.
He walked the room slowly, his disinterested gaze taking in the guests, the trestle tables of refreshments, the dark-clad musicians still setting out their musical score on the stands in the corner.
It was an ordinary ball, although the setting was rather magnificent, he had to admit.
Evandale House was over a hundred years old and was built in the grand style of a bygone age.
The ceiling was high, the floor marble-tiled.
Stone pillars held up the back wall, where the ballroom, with its vastly high ceiling, had been built onto the rest of the house.
As Sebastian stood there, his gaze indifferent as he took in the guests standing near the musicians’ music-stands—someone caught his eye.
A young woman stood partially concealed in the shadow of a pillar, as though hoping to go unnoticed. Her brown hair gleamed with hints of auburn in the candlelight, and her white gown lent her an air of quiet radiance. Something about her posture—shy, self-effacing, sweetly modest—held him fast.
And then recognition struck him like a blow.
It was her—the young woman from outside the milliner’s shop.
The one who had saved his life.
His breath shortened; his pulse throbbed. She was alone, simply observing the ballroom with the same wary attention he had been giving it. Heat surged through him, impossible to master, and he could not look away.
She lifted a hand to toy with a stray curl, twisting it absently around her gloved finger.
Her white elbow-length gloves made her hands appear all the more delicate—hands he longed to take into his own, to feel the faint pressure of her fingers against his palm.
There was something defenceless in her gentle carriage, something that stirred every protective instinct he possessed.
He watched her a moment longer—long enough for resolve to gather.
Then, with a sudden surge of boldness, he crossed the room toward her.