Chapter 29
Chapter
Twenty-Nine
E vangeline rang for her maid, wanting her to pack her things so she could leave London. Put distance between herself and the pain. Get far, far away from Lord St. George and the wound he’d inflicted on her heart. She walked about the room, stacking her books, moving trinkets—small, pointless movements to mask the storm inside her—but otherwise unsure where to start first.
The door to her room opened and her sister entered, closing it softly behind her before coming over to her. She pulled her into a warm embrace, and Evangeline did not fight the comfort her sister's arms brought.
It was only when someone held her that the tears threatened to fall. Her heart raced, pain crawled up her throat, and her chest ached with each second that passed.
"What happened, dearest? We saw you leave the ball in a hurry and followed, and well, we heard the conversation…"
Evangeline pulled back and walked to her dressing table, picked up her handkerchief and dabbed at her cheeks. “I’m a fool. He doesn't love me. I'm some ghostly reminder of his past love, his late betrothed. That is the only reason why he gravitated toward me, felt inclined to kiss me, and ultimately didn’t fight the duke’s order to marry. It's all wrong, this whole fiasco, and I will not marry him. I will not marry a man who did not want a wife, and then only agreed to take one because I looked like the one he lost. I would rather be cast out of society forever than enter a loveless, hollow union such as that."
Rosalind sat on the settee before the unlit hearth and clasped her hands in her lap. "He said his initial attraction was based on his late betrothed, but that it has changed these past weeks, to be genuine affection. Do you not believe that to be true?"
"I do not." Evangeline joined Rosalind and sat, staring at the Aubusson rug as if it might somehow give her magical insight into how men’s minds worked. But right now, she didn’t think they worked at all.
"He may say all he likes that he sees me now as Evangeline Ravensmere, but how will I ever know for certain? I will not. There is no way he can prove his change of thought." She shrugged, the weight of the evening pressing heavily on her shoulders. "I'm sorry to have disappointed you and the duke. I did not mean for any of this to happen and well… I think it would be best if I returned to Hampshire."
Rosalind gasped and reached for her hands, clasping them tight. "No, dearest, you will marry—and you will marry for love. You cannot return home just yet. You must try to find some solution for you and the earl. I know you love him, and I do believe he loves you in return, even if he has not said it. He looked devastated when you left him in the library just before. I have never seen a man so broken."
"He's only broken because I look like Luisa Rossi, and he does not wish to lose her a second time."
Rosalind frowned. "Surely you do not look so alike for him to think that."
“I saw a portrait, Rosalind. We could be twins—and I do not say that with any jest." The image was seared into her mind. And every time she looked in a mirror now, she feared she would see the reflection of another woman’s ghost.
"Evangeline, do think clearly. You may be carrying his child."
"I am not. I spotted today, and that always signals the start of my courses." She paused. "And only you and the duke know what has happened between me and St. George. No one else. The servants are not whispering, or my maid would have informed me should they suspect anything untoward. I therefore believe I should be able to remove myself from this betrothal and return home. Please, Rosalind, do not make me stay and marry him. I cannot bear loving a man who does not love me back. Or, at least, only cares for me because I am his second chance at the past."
"I do not think St. George sees you like that, Evangeline. You are your own person—and he has seen that. Yes, you may look similar, but you are here. You are alive. Do not let the ghost of the past steal your future. As sad as what happened to St. George is, the young woman is not coming back. She is no threat to you, dearest, and you ought not to start fighting ghosts."
But wasn’t that the worst kind of rival? One who never aged, never disappointed, never left his heart? "It is better this way in any case," Evangeline said, standing and moving to her dressing table where she began pulling out the pins in her hair. "The man who seeks revenge on the earl will now not be interested in harming any of my family. With the betrothal at an end, Lord St. George can concentrate on finding out who that man is—and not worry about any of us being hurt." A long curl landed on her shoulder and she stared at it. A soft, girlish ringlet. The kind Luisa might have had. "It's better for everyone this way. I shall be able to find a love match." Even though she had long known she loved Ezra. But if the feelings were not mutual, what joy could there be in that? "And Lord St. George will be able to finish grieving his late betrothed, remove the threat that has followed him to England, before he seeks out a new wife and future. One, preferably, who does not remind him of his lost love."
Even to Evangeline, her tone sounded jaded and cold, but she could not help it. Could not stop the pain that ripped through her chest, leaving it open and weeping.
While she would return home, heal, and maybe one day fall in love with a man who loved her as she deserved, a little part of her would always break at the memory of Ezra. Of what could have been—had she simply been someone else.
"If that is what you truly wish to do, dearest, I shall not stop you, and nor will the duke. But I think we should hold off announcing the end to your betrothal. Return to Hampshire, and we shall come up with some excuse for your absence. And with any luck, some other scandal will rock the ton and your betrothal will be long forgotten. St. George can deal with his past here, and then choose what he wishes to do."
"Choose what?" Evangeline asked, turning to look at her sister. "I will not take him back, Rosalind. You would not have married a man who loved another and then used you as a substitute for what he had lost. To think, that each time he kissed me, every caress, every word… Well, I cannot help but think none of it was for me. He's a liar and I'll never forgive him."
"I think that you should take some time to process everything you've learned today. And when you're not so hurt and shocked, then that is the time you ought to make a decision about your future. Until then, we'll not say a word to society. They do not need to know everything all the time."
"Thank you, Rosalind. I do not know what I would do without you." Her sister stood and came over to her, and leaning down, pulled her into a quick embrace.
"I shall always be there for you, Evangeline. And all our sisters. And while I do see your point of view and sympathize with you regarding all that we’ve learned, I can also see Lord St. George’s as well."
Evangeline took in her sister’s words but did not respond. She would take the time. But her heart had already made its decision. He did not love her. And nor could she make him fall in love with her without always wondering if he thought of another whenever he looked at her.
No. There was no future between them.
"So I may go home to Hampshire as I wish? May I leave tomorrow? I would like to return home now if I could. I no longer wish to be in London."
"Of course, dearest. I shall order the preparations this evening and you shall leave first thing." Her sister paused. "Would you like to inform St. George of your leaving, or would you like the duke to break the news to him?"
"The duke, if you will." Cowardice, perhaps—but her dignity had already taken enough of a beating. She could not face him. Not yet. Not again. She needed time. And the journey home would grant her that.
Morning could not come soon enough.