Chapter 30
Chapter
Thirty
" E vangeline's left?" Ezra slumped back into the chair before Ravensmere's desk, staring at his friend. The words felt like a blow to the ribs. Had he truly just told him such news? He shook his head to clear his mind, unable to comprehend that she was gone and that her threat of last night was wholeheartedly true. "Where?" he asked. "Why didn't you send for me before now? I would have come here, talked to her—this isn't right, Ravensmere, and you know it."
The duke sighed and ran a hand across his jaw. "I did not want Evangeline to go any more than you did, but Rosalind insisted. Do not fear. She's only returned to Hampshire, and I've sent a trusted Bow Street Runner with her to keep her safe. Nothing will happen to her, and I expect in a few days to get word that she's back at Ebonmere Abbey, safe and sound."
A cold chill ran down Ezra's spine and he leaned forward onto his knees. "What runner is this? Are you certain he's legitimate?" The image of Evangeline—alone, upset, and unknowingly watched—gripped him with sudden dread. She was traveling far from him in the company of someone he did not know, and the threat still loomed. Even now, society would not yet know their engagement was at an end, and they had agreed not to say anything. The man who wished him harm was still out there, unaware of the changed circumstances of their courtship.
Not that he would allow the change to remain. He would marry her. He must. He could not think of a life that did not include Evangeline in it.
"My steward found him late last evening and he’s checked out, St. George. Do not worry, I have not placed Evangeline in danger."
"I know you would not purposefully do so. But the unknown threat was at the ball last evening—told Evangeline things of my past which has ensured her fleeing today. A past that holds no sway on my future, for it cannot be changed, as you know. But she is hurt—and if that man knows she’s traveling alone, guards or not…" He shook his head. "I fear what he may try to do."
"I know what occurred at the ball last night. But please know—Evangeline is safe and well and merely needs time. I do believe she’ll come around and see sense. Like you said, the past cannot be undone." Ravensmere paused. "Rosalind mentioned you have a miniature portrait you carry of Miss Luisa Rossi. May I see it?"
He cringed at the fact he still carried it this morning, even after everything that occurred last night. Ezra pulled it out of his pocket and slid it across the table toward the duke. The duke raised his brows but did not pick it up nor look at it.
"What?" Ezra asked, a frown creasing his brow. "Why won’t you look at it?"
"Even after last night and all that was said—all the hurt inflicted in this room—you continue to carry the portrait. Are you certain the past is where it should be, St. George? You certainly seem to be holding on to it close to your heart."
The pit of his stomach dropped at the duke’s words and he understood how it looked—and what Ravensmere was saying. "Old habits die hard, but I will lock it away today and never look at it again. I give you my word. Carrying it on me was unconsciously done, and I apologize."
The duke nodded and finally reached for the miniature. His eyes widened. He cleared his throat. "I can see why Lady Evangeline is so upset. They are so similar they could be the same person. I fear your winning of Lady Evangeline’s heart may be the hardest assignment you've ever been faced."
Ezra stood and walked to the window, looking out over Grosvenor Square. "I fear that it will be also. But I will not fumble this assignment, I can promise you that." He turned and faced the duke. "I'm going after Evangeline. Be prepared to travel to Hampshire for a wedding in a matter of days."
"We shall follow you into the country tomorrow, so there is no time lost between now and your marriage. I have faith you will make amends and soothe her fears. I trust you to make her happy."
"I will not let you down, Ravensmere." And nor would he let down Evangeline. Not ever again.
T he White Hart Inn stood modest at the edge of the main road into town, its weather-worn exterior glowing amber in the twilight. Smoke rose from the crooked chimney, and the scent of roasting meat drifted on the breeze.
Evangeline arrived at the inn for the night, her stomach cramped from lack of food and her bottom sore after several hours in the carriage, feeling almost every divot and stone on the road. She jumped down, her maid already outside stretching and waiting before they started indoors.
"I shall procure you a room, Lady Evangeline," Mr. Smith announced, the man who Ravensmere had hired to keep them safe.
"Thank you," she said, watching him enter the inn while she lingered outside, letting the remaining sunlight warm her face and the fresh, country air clear her thoughts. She could barely wait to arrive home, see her sisters, sleep in her own bed. Only then, once she was home and alone, would she allow herself to grieve. To mourn the loss of the only man she had ever truly loved.
Mr. Smith returned and joined them near the carriage. "There is a room that has an ante-chamber for your maid. Would you like me to escort you upstairs?"
"Yes, I think that is best," she said, starting for the inn.
The interior smelled of pipe smoke, roast mutton, and spiced wine. The floors were well-swept but worn, the low beams darkened by years of smoke. Locals murmured near the hearth while tankards clinked behind the bar. Evangeline climbed the narrow stairs, the wood creaking faintly beneath her slippers.
"It's room two, my lady." His voice was closer than she expected.
She reached the door and stepped inside, moving to the windows to place distance between herself and the guard. "This will do very well. Please secure your own lodgings for the night."
"I shall be staying in the passage, my lady. I'm not to leave you alone."
Evangeline didn’t argue. He was following orders and doing his duty, not unlike any soldier. "Very well, thank you. Please close the door on your way out."
He nodded and complied. Her maid inspected the adjoining chamber, just off the hearth. Evangeline turned to the window. No matter her relief at returning to Hampshire, a part of her heart had been left in London. Did St. George know by now that she had left town? Did he care?
Something deep inside whispered yes. But the louder voice, the wounded one, insisted otherwise.
She slumped into a nearby chair and fought not to let the emotions of the past days catch up to her. Not here. Not now. She wanted to be home when she cried. Not in some random tavern in the middle of the English countryside.
A light knock at the door pulled her from her reverie. "Come in," she said.
Mr. Smith opened it, and a young maid entered behind him, carrying a tray of food. "Your dinner, my lady." The girl placed the tray beside the fire. "I shall bring up your maid’s meal straightaway."
"Thank you, that is very kind."
Her guard stood at the door, watching the interaction with quiet contemplation. A cold shiver ran down her spine at the disinterested look that crossed his face before he blinked—and it was gone.
Evangeline waited for them both to leave before she sat and picked up the napkin, laying it across her lap. Perhaps her guard was simply tired. Or perhaps he did not like being sent out to babysit a duke’s ruined daughter.
One more day, and she would be home. Then everyone could return to their normal lives—even the man at her door.
But she… She would have to start over. Without Ezra. Without her heart.