Chapter Twenty-Seven
MERCURY
“Just a few adjustments to your schedule I wanted to go over,” Evie says, starting our morning meeting while I stare at my half-empty cup of tea in a daze.
“Sure,” I reply absently.
She hesitates before moving right along. “All right. Your dress fitting this afternoon has been canceled since you and Lord Blackstone will no longer be attending the historical preservation society gala this Friday.”
“Why?” Asher and I had been looking forward to that one. We both have an interest in history, and he’s expressed a desire to become more involved in Scottish preservation.
“I wasn’t informed, but I’m assuming it’s a scheduling conflict.” She shrugs, scrolling through her notes and emails on her iPad. “It also looks like the art gallery exhibition and the dinner party with the Earl of Thornhill have been canceled.”
She lists three other cancellations, and I look at her, then down at my calendar. “That’s nearly everything for the next two weeks.”
“Yes,” she confirms with a curt nod, her hot pink dress a stark contrast to the steely look on her face. “It appears so.”
As if staring at the calendar on my screen will make a difference, I lock onto one thing in particular that has not been canceled and let out an involuntary groan. “Girls’ night. That’s today?” My head falls into my palms. “Why did I agree to this?”
Evie blinks twice. “I don’t know. Lack of willpower?”
“You don’t think it’s too late to get out of it, do you?” I’m not sure I’m in the mood to be social tonight.
Evie shrugs, unfazed by my request. “I could cancel and make an excuse that you’ve fallen ill.”
As much as I dislike the idea of socializing, I’m not keen on the idea of lying either. I’ve been living one huge lie for months now. Things are supposed to be simpler now that Asher and I are together, right?
But a familiar unease settles deep in my belly.
Nothing between Asher and me feels settled.
If anything, over the last few days, things have grown restless.
There’s a nervous energy between us that wasn’t there before, and I’m starting to wonder if he’s having second thoughts after our romantic declaration of love in the garden.
“No. I appreciate the offer, but it would be rude of me to cancel now. Besides…” I try to force a smile. “I could use a friend. Or two?” I give her a pleading look.
She levels me with her deadpan stare. “I get off at five. Isobel isn’t due to arrive until seven.”
“What if I paid you overtime?”
Her brow rises. “You don’t have the authority to authorize that.”
I fold my arms across my chest and give her a challenging grin. “I’m sure the countess would grant it if I convinced her it’s in my best interest.”
“She must really like you,” she says, more as an observation than anything else.
But that’s exactly how Evie is. At work, she’s all about facts, not feelings.
I secretly hope that when she’s outside these walls, she binges romance novels and hosts outrageously themed book clubs with all her best friends, the ones she’s made over the years.
Okay, maybe that’s my dream, but I would still love it for her too.
“She does,” I find myself saying. “At first, I thought she just liked the benefits I could provide for Asher and the rest of their family. But now I see she genuinely cares for me.”
Admitting this only makes the nerves in my gut churn even more.
Because now, it wasn’t just Asher I would be leaving behind if things between us went south.
It would be an entire family.
Asher missed lunch, afternoon tea, and family dinner today. He’s been absent quite a lot this past week, but this is a new record.
I’m trying not to take it personally. His father’s health is worsening every day, and I know the stress must be affecting him. But it’s hard not to. He’s never treated me like a stranger.
From the moment I arrived in Scotland, we have been each other’s oasis—a safe haven where we could let down the walls we had carefully built. With him, I could just be myself.
And up until last week, I thought he felt the same.
But then, something shifted. Something changed.
And now I can’t help but wonder what he sees when he looks at me—when he bothers to look at me at all, that is.
Just as I finish touching up my makeup in front of the vanity mirror for girls’ night, Asher walks into our suite looking a little disheveled and slightly agitated.
He’s dressed in his preppy earl attire once again.
Dark slacks and a heather-gray button-down.
No tie or jacket today, though. His hair is unusually messy, as if he’s been running his hands through it, and there are dark circles under his gorgeous blue eyes.
What is wrong? And why won’t you talk to me about it?
“Are you okay?”
He gives me a once-over, his gaze briefly lingering on my lips. He looks at me as if it almost hurts. Then he straightens, and a mask of formality settles over him. “Why is Isobel coming over tonight?”
I’m momentarily taken aback by his abrupt tone. “Because I asked her to. We’re having a girls’ night, remember? You were going to get us takeout.”
His lips part as if he has no recollection of the conversation, but then he nods. “It must have slipped my mind. But I’m afraid tonight will not do. I’ll have one of the staff call to cancel on your behalf.”
“What?” I turn in my seat. “Why?”
He tries to act nonchalant, but I can see his hesitation. “It’s short notice. The chef will be unprepared and—”
“It’s been on the calendar for over a week.”
He turns away from me. His shoulders rise as he inhales a heavy breath, then slowly lets it out.
“What is going on, Ash? We’ve barely spoken this week, and this clearly isn’t about Isobel. Why have all of our calendar events been canceled? Is your father—”
“He’s fine,” he clips out.
“Then what is it?”
He turns to meet my gaze with that same distracted expression he walked in with. “It’s nothing. We can talk later. Go enjoy your evening. I’m just going to go check on a few things.”
Then he walks out, and I’m left wondering where we go from here.
I know I don’t have much experience with girls’ nights, but I can say with absolute certainty that this one is a total shitshow.
After Isobel apologized at the garden party, I hoped we might become friends. But tonight is proving that we are two very different people.
“Hellooo?” Her words slur as she waves her glass at Niall for the fourth time, not because he’s inattentive but because she’s that demanding. “You, sir! Can I have another glass of wine? God knows I deserve it after the hassle your security detail put me through to get into this place.”
I sneak a glance at Evie, whose deadpan expression tells me exactly what she’s thinking—that there isn’t enough overtime in the world to make this worth it.
Isobel has only been here for an hour, and she’s already drunk. Now that I think about it, she might have been a little tipsy when she arrived.
Niall walks over and politely pours her another glass of red wine from an expensive-looking bottle, and she rolls her eyes. I thought the countess was snooty when I first arrived, but at least she treats her staff with care and respect. Isobel is just outright rude.
“You forgot to thank him,” I say. My heart is already racing a mile a minute. I may dislike confrontation, but I hate seeing people treated poorly more.
Her dark-brown eyes abruptly lift to meet mine. “I’m sorry?”
I know she doesn’t mean it as an apology, but I don’t care. “Those words should be directed toward Niall, not me.”
Niall looks taken aback. Evie seems mildly amused, as if that overtime just became a little more worthwhile.
She scoffs. “He’s a butler.”
“And?”
Another eye roll, but she manages to mutter, “Thank you for the wine.” Then she turns her attention to me, slowly swirling that glass of pinot noir in her palm like one of those cheap Magic 8 Balls. “You really are as strange as the papers make you out to be, aren’t you?”
My brow furrows. Strange? “What do you mean?”
“There was that interview from your sister—”
“My sister?” I nearly choke on my sparkling water. “My sister would never talk to the press about me.” And certainly not without telling me.
“Oh.” She absently waves her other hand in the air. “Not your real sister. Your—what’s the word? Sorority sister?”
My mouth falls open. “One of my sorority sisters talked to the press about me?” Why didn’t anyone tell me?
Probably because you didn’t want to know…
I swallow, unsure whether I want to know anything more. I look over at Evie once more. Her unflappable demeanor has morphed into something a bit more empathetic.
Or sympathetic?
Oh god, is it really that bad?
All of my old insecurities are resurfacing this week because of the unspoken tension between Asher and me, which is why I ask, “What did she say?”
“You don’t know?”
I feel myself retreating, the confidence I’ve built up fading. “I don’t go on the internet much anymore.”
Isobel offers me a warm smile and places her wine on the side table for the first time since she arrived. Then she moves a little closer and gently pats my arm. “That’s probably for the best.”
“Then why tell her now?” Evie’s voice interrupts. It’s the first thing she’s said all night. I started to wonder if she was intentionally avoiding talking as a way to punish me for forcing her into this ridiculous girls’ night scenario.
“Because someone should,” Isobel argues. “She deserves to know what’s being said about her out there, and as her friend…” She emphasizes the last word. “I won’t be like the rest of you and hide things from her.”
My gaze shifts from Evie’s tense expression to Isobel’s gentler one. Is she right? What if they’re keeping things from me?
What if the gossip and rumors had gotten so bad that Asher was being pressured to break up with me? What if I misjudged Theodora’s affection for me, and she’s looking for my replacement at this very moment?
“Tell me,” I demand as my thoughts start to spiral out of control.
And she does.
She tells me everything, from the wild interview with LuAnn to the many stories from high school and college classmates who were more than willing to share anything they knew about me—for a price.
Even my very first boyfriend, Mr. Clammy Hands himself, went on record, describing me as “forgettable.”
Others say I am boring and unimpressive. Just a typical nepo baby with no real talent or skills.
“Fans of Manic at Midnight are actually betting on how long it will take for Asher to get bored with you,” Isobel says with a casual shrug.
I’m so far gone in my emotional spiral that I barely notice the cruel smile on her face when I look up and mumble, “What if he already has?”