Chapter Sixteen
Evelyn gazed out of the window. It was late afternoon—four o’clock—and still Sebastian had not returned to the manor.
He had vanished that morning, long before she was awake, and though she had expected, even hoped, to see him at breakfast, he had not appeared.
She had spent the morning sitting miserably in the drawing-room with his sister, Gemma, and later she had sat in her chamber, memories of him swirling around her head and mixing with a longing to talk to him, to tell him how she felt and to explore the new feelings growing between them.
He did not return for luncheon, though all had presumed he would. By teatime, Evelyn was wretched. The Dowager Duchess continued to cast her glances—glances Evelyn could interpret only as smug. It seemed perfectly—painfully—clear that Sebastian was avoiding the manor in order to avoid her.
It made no sense. Had she somehow repelled him? Yet his touch had been so gentle, his gaze so full of admiration. She could not believe she had imagined the warmth in his eyes. But if not—where was he?
A knock at the door made her start.
“Who is it?” she called, rising at once.
“Your Grace? You have a visitor. Miss Harwick. Shall I show her in?”
“Please do!” Evelyn replied, her spirits lifting. Of all the people she might have expected, Lucy’s arrival seemed a small miracle. Joy filled her heart, and she hastily pushed a stray lock of hair behind her ear, keenly aware of how tired and dishevelled she must look. Lucy swept into the room.
“Evelyn!” she cried, her voice pitched high with relief and excitement. She hurried forward and embraced her so enthusiastically that Evelyn nearly lost her balance.
“Lucy,” Evelyn answered more softly, returning the embrace. Even the familiar scent of her floral perfume steadied her—a reminder of a simpler world, before she had known anything of love’s confusion.
“It is so very good to see you. I hope you will forgive my calling without notice,” Lucy said in a rush.
“Papa wished to visit a friend at a nearby hunting lodge, and I simply could not resist begging him to bring me along! He will return for me within the hour. I hope that does not inconvenience you?” she added, seeming at last to notice Evelyn’s distraction.
“No. No, not in the least. I am delighted to see you. I just…” Evelyn broke off, a sob escaping as she covered her face. In the warmth of Lucy’s concern, she could hide her misery no longer. She had been holding herself together all day, and now exhaustion overwhelmed her.
“Evelyn, dearest!” Lucy drew her close again, her tone full of worry. “What has happened?” She guided Evelyn to a chair, closed the door, and seated herself opposite. “Tell me—what is the matter?”
“Oh, Lucy,” Evelyn whispered, wiping her cheeks. “I do not understand any of this. I wish I did. I am so terribly confused. I scarcely know how to describe what I feel.”
Lucy waited, her expression gentle and patient. At length, Evelyn continued.
“Sebastian seems so affectionate and loving sometimes. So...” she blushed, wanting to say “passionate”, but she felt too shy.
It was the right word—he had seemed passionate to her ever since they met.
Even then, he had looked at her for a moment in a way that had seemed full of desire.
But she could not quite bring herself to be that explicit with Lucy.
“So admiring,” she finished instead. “But then today...well, he disappeared. I have not seen him since early this morning.” Heat crept back into her face.
Early that morning he had still been beside her in the bedchamber.
Ruthlessly, she pushed the memory aside. “He told no one where he meant to go.”
Lucy frowned thoughtfully. “Perhaps it was urgent business? If he did not inform anyone, perhaps he had no time.”
“Perhaps,” Evelyn echoed, though the uncertainty gnawed at her. She could not bear the thought that he had fled from her.
“There are so many harmless explanations,” Lucy said kindly, her pale eyes wide with optimism. “We must not assume the worst. You know how absurd assumptions can be—consider the nonsense that appeared in that dreadful scandal sheet.” She laughed lightly.
Evelyn inclined her head. “True.” Those events felt like a different lifetime now.
“So we shall not leap to conclusions,” Lucy said. “He will surely return before dinner, and then you may learn precisely where he has been. I am convinced it is something absolutely innocuous and silly.”
“I hope so,” Evelyn murmured.
Lucy fell silent. Another knock interrupted them.
“Come in,” Evelyn called, expecting the butler with the tea tray. Instead, Lord Nicholas stepped inside. His gaze landed on Lucy and widened.
“Miss Harwick!” he exclaimed. Colour rose in his cheeks as he bowed. “What a pleasure to find you here.”
“My lord. I suppose it should not surprise me to find you here,” Lucy replied with a teasing grin. “It is your home, after all.”
“So it is,” Lord Nicholas agreed, a smile tugging at his lips.
“Did you wish to speak with Evelyn?” Lucy asked, her expression unreadable.
He shook his head. “I merely wondered who was inside,” he explained, then added quickly, “my apologies for the intrusion.”
“It is no intrusion,” Lucy said quickly, her cheeks pinking.
“I am glad to hear it,” he said warmly, his gaze lingering a moment longer than propriety allowed. Evelyn nearly smiled; the awkward delight in Lucy’s face was unmistakable. She herself had felt that same fluttering self-consciousness in Sebastian’s presence, and the thought pierced her heart.
The conversation had moved on by the time Evelyn gathered her senses again.
“Are you fond of riding?” Lucy was asking.
“Excessively,” Lord Nicholas replied, grinning.
“We are fortunate to have an excellent stable here at Brentfield. Should you ever wish to ride, you are welcome to visit. I am certain my brother would be delighted. Anything that pleases Evelyn, after all, contributes to his own happiness.” He smiled fondly at Evelyn.
“Thank you,” Evelyn murmured. Her heart twisted. She wished she could believe him, but Sebastian’s absence stood in stark contradiction. A man who cared for her would not vanish without a word.
Nicholas seated himself as the butler returned with tea, then hurried away to fetch an additional cup and saucer. Evelyn let Nicholas and Lucy speak, content to lose herself in their lively banter—London, the countryside, their favourite pastimes. She longed to feel such ease with Sebastian.
But it is different, she told herself. He is different. She could not imagine him chatting of weather or pastimes or any such trivialities. He scarcely spoke so even among his own family.
Her mind filled with images of his face. His wide, blue eyes, in sharp contrast with his dark hair, and that expressive mouth, capable of curving into a wry, one-sided smile or settling into the hard, unyielding line that appeared when he was angry.
With effort, she brought her attention back to Lucy and Nicholas, now debating the delights of Bond Street. Evelyn listened with half her mind, grateful for the distraction from her misery.
“Frightfully expensive,” Nicholas was saying with a grin. “But then, I suppose that is precisely why people flock there.”
“For the most part, I believe you correct,” Lucy replied with a bright smile.
They chatted on for what felt like hours until, at last, Nicholas rose.
“I regret that I must excuse myself, ladies. I promised to exercise my horse before teatime, and I must be prompt.”
“Is it five o’clock already?” Lucy exclaimed, lifting her hand to her lips. “I must go down at once—Papa will be here any moment.”
“I shall walk with you,” Evelyn offered. She planned to take a turn in the garden afterwards, anything to avoid the house—and the Dowager Duchess.
“Thank you, Evelyn,” Lucy murmured warmly.
Nicholas exited first, and then she and Lucy walked down to the entranceway. Evelyn stood with Lucy on the front steps, conscious that at any moment the Dowager Duchess might come out. She scarcely felt comfortable anywhere in Brentfield except her chamber or the solitude of the gardens.
“There’s the coach! We were just on time. Good for Lord Nicholas,” Lucy said, her eyes sparkling.
“Indeed,” Evelyn teased warmly.
Lucy gave her a playful shove, and Evelyn returned it. They were laughing still when Baron Ormesby, Lucy’s father, drew up in his light carriage.
“Thank you for the visit,” Evelyn said softly, taking Lucy’s hands.
“And thank you. I am certain we shall call on one another again very soon,” Lucy replied.
Evelyn thanked her once more and stood waving until the coach reached the end of the drive. Only then did she hurry toward the gardens.
Her steps carried her into the rose garden, where she sank onto a bench and breathed in the rich, sweet scent, willing her worries to fade.
But every moment brought memories of Sebastian—his voice, his touch, the confusion of that morning.
She could not dismiss him from her thoughts, no matter how she tried to explain his absence.
Lucy’s lively company had kept her mind at bay for a while, but now the uncertainty returned with full force. Why had he gone without telling anyone?
She remained in the garden until a chill breeze finally drove her indoors. She drifted into the drawing room, hoping it might be empty. Solitude in her chamber would only magnify her thoughts. She needed people close by to keep her mind off her worries.
“Good afternoon,” a voice said from the doorway.
Evelyn tensed at the sound of a woman, but when she looked up from her sewing, relief washed through her. It was not the Dowager Duchess—thank goodness. She rose and offered a graceful curtsey.
Lady Chelmsworth—Gemma—stood there. Evelyn swallowed hard. Lady Chelmsworth had been friendly and welcoming since she had met her, but Evelyn barely knew her and, of Sebastian’s siblings, she was the hardest one to read.
“Good afternoon, Lady Chelmsworth,” she greeted her softly.
“Oh, call me Gemma, pray. Everyone does,” she said with an easy grin. Her dark eyes sparkled. Her features, so like Sebastian’s, drew Evelyn in despite her anxiety.
“Thank you,” Evelyn murmured. “May I ring for tea?” She glanced anxiously at the mantel clock.
It was late for such a request, and she remained uncertain of the household’s customs. As the daughter of the house, Gemma must once have overseen such matters; yet Evelyn was now the duchess, and the thought always unsettled her.
One more reminder that she did not truly belong.
The Dowager Duchess ensured she heard such reminders daily—and Sebastian’s distance made them feel sharper still.
“I took tea earlier in the Green Parlour,” Gemma said quickly. She studied Evelyn with a concerned expression. “I wished to speak with you… to make amends, perhaps, for certain awkwardnesses within the household.” Her gaze dropped, as though the words cost her something.
Evelyn frowned gently. “There are no awkwardnesses that could be yours to amend, Gemma.”
Gemma’s expression eased, though she still looked troubled. “You are kind. But I feel responsible nonetheless. I wish I could curb Mama’s harshness. I dislike how impolite she is to you.”
Evelyn looked away, touched. “That is kind of you to say. Yet some of her words hold truth.” She bit her lip, unable to keep her pain from slipping into her voice.
“I do not belong here. My family hovered only at the edges of society. I was not raised to be a duchess. My knowledge of etiquette is lacking—or feels so. I…” Her throat tightened.
“I cannot deny that your mother speaks some truth. I am not suited to this world, to the position in which I find myself.”
Gemma was silent, and Evelyn braced herself, fearing she might agree. But when she met her eyes, what she saw there was not judgment but compassion.
“You should never have been subjected to her cruelty,” Gemma said softly.
“I am so very sorry. But you are wrong on one point: a lack of training in etiquette does not render you unfit to be a duchess. You are wise and brave and kind. You risked your life for my brother, and society repaid you with scandal. Yet you bore it with courage—attending the ball in spite of the slur upon your name. I admire you, Evelyn. If dignity and strength of character are the measure of a duchess, then you were born to the title.”
Evelyn stared at her, astonished. Tears welled and blurred her vision.
“Thank you,” she whispered. “Thank you.” She reached for Gemma’s hands. “You cannot know what those words mean to me.” Her heart ached with relief and gratitude. Acknowledgement, that was what she had needed—more than anything. “Thank you, Gemma. You are very kind.”
Gemma smiled. “Well, that is the first time I have heard that as a compliment and not as an implied weakness.” She grinned. “William, of course, would never say that. But my mother...” she sighed. “I truly think she believes that kindness is a weakness. She is... her life has hardened her.”
“Well, I am more than grateful for the kindness that you have shown me,” Evelyn said with full sincerity.
Gemma smiled, and Evelyn found herself smiling back, her spirits unexpectedly lifted.
They spoke for a few minutes of lighter matters before Gemma excused herself, remarking that William would soon return from London. When she had gone, Evelyn sat alone in the drawing room, her thoughts racing.
She felt steadier—more herself. Whatever the Dowager Duchess chose to say, Evelyn would remain who she was. Whatever came, she would not abandon her own nature. That, she realised, was what mattered most.
She leaned back, feeling stronger than she had all day, grateful for the comfort Lucy and Sebastian’s sister had offered her.