Chapter 18
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
“Have I spoken out of turn?” Octavia asked, a few moments later, prompting Evelyn to realize that she had not said anything in response.
“I truly did not mean to offend. Selina is exceptionally beautiful, she seems to be well-liked, she is the diamond of the Season, and she is your friend, so she must be a truly wonderful woman.”
Evelyn patted the other woman’s hand. “No, not at all. I was just… distracted.”
“Your ankle?”
Evelyn nodded. “Indeed.”
Or, rather, the gentleman who had made sure that she was well tended to and had held her close to his chest as if she were something precious, carrying her and caring for her as if she was of importance.
And yes, the gentleman who had distracted her enough to make her hit the branch in the first place.
“I doubt my brothers would have done such a kindness,” she said, gesturing to her leg. “Then again, they might if it did not mean they had to be kind to their sister. For someone else, they might have been very chivalrous indeed.”
Octavia furrowed her brow as though Evelyn was speaking a foreign language. “They would not have helped you if they were the ones who had found you in the woods?”
“They probably would have told me to stop making such a fuss,” Evelyn replied wryly.
“Matthew, certainly. Luke, perhaps not. Sometimes, I can see Luke fighting with himself to not be like our father, but he does not always win. He is just… marginally nicer to me than the others. Almost kind, now and then.”
Octavia’s jaw dropped. “But they are your brothers! They should treat you as if you were a princess and they your loyal guards.”
“I do not doubt that that has been your experience,” Evelyn said with a laugh, “but it is not mine. I envy you for the relationship you have with your brother. Then again, I suppose he was… making up for the wretched behavior of your father.”
The other woman’s eyes widened in surprise, a misty sheen glazing those pools of blue. “He told you of that?”
“Briefly.” Evelyn nodded, squeezing Octavia’s hand. “I am sorry you both endured such things. My father is dismissive and would likely prefer it if I were a son, or did not exist, but he has never been cruel.”
A strange sort of smile crept onto Octavia’s lips. “I cannot believe he told you about our father. He never speaks to anyone about that. No one but me, anyway, and that is a rarity.”
“I hope you do not mind that he told me of it?” Evelyn suddenly wished she had not mentioned it, but Octavia shook her head effusively.
“Goodness, no. I am… oddly glad of it, to know that Hugo has spoken to someone else about it all. I have often told him that it would be of benefit to him to unburden himself, but he is very much a donkey in that regard, preferring to shoulder all of the weight, in perpetuity.”
Evelyn lowered her gaze. “Then, I hope that I was able to take some of the weight, even if it was just for a few moments.” She paused.
“If I had brothers who were more like yours, and you had a father who was more like mine, I wonder where we would be. Is it not peculiar to think of how shaped we are by the people who raise us, and who surround us?”
“It is something I have often thought about,” Octavia agreed, her own shoulders seeming to relax, as if a weight had been removed. “But I do not mind who I am, now that it is just Hugo and me. I have made mistakes, I shall never deny that, but… I am starting to like myself again.”
Evelyn was not certain what mistakes Octavia was referring to, and did not feel it was right to pry, instead leaving the subject open for Octavia to fill in, if she felt she wished to.
“You see, I almost found myself in a scandal a while ago,” Octavia whispered, allowing Evelyn into that confidentiality, trusting her without needing to say it.
“I was… cornered by a very unpleasant fellow, and Laurence came to my aid. There was a duel. It could all have ended very badly, but I survived it mostly unscathed. Nevertheless, I have not quite been myself ever since… but I am beginning to feel like myself again.”
Evelyn shuffled closer, gripping tight to the woman’s hand.
“I am sorry to hear that. I am sorry that actions that were not your own led you to feel as if you were not yourself. I am sorry that someone so… dishonorable has caused you harm.” She smiled.
“But I am glad that I have met you, just as you are becoming yourself again.”
“As I am glad to have met you, while you too are seeming to flourish,” Octavia said, a genuine warmth radiating between the two women, a feeling like this was the moment that would begin a lasting friendship.
But what would become of that friendship when Hugo settled upon a bride?
Evelyn’s ankle twinged as if in response, while her gaze drifted across the room to where Selina now stood as part of a small group of young ladies, laughing and smiling.
Ladies who were no doubt encouraging Selina in her pursuit of Hugo, in a way that Evelyn was no longer certain that she could.
Hugo sipped his port and stared intently at the man who was supposedly betrothed to Evelyn. A baron, whose name Hugo could not quite remember. A rather dull sort of gentleman, if Hugo was being honest, who did not appear to be at ease in such esteemed company.
The gentleman had mostly kept to himself.
Even at dinner, the baron had concentrated on his food instead of conversation, and though he now stood with a couple of men by the garden doors, he did not seem to be involving himself in the discussion.
He was just standing there, nursing his drink, like a statue.
He is not unfortunate looking, I suppose. Hugo frowned. But surely, he is too old for her.
And if he was this boring among gentlemen, what sort of enrichment could the man possibly provide to someone as bright and lively as Evelyn? Would she just have to smother that part of herself again, making herself small to fit the marriage and the man?
Just then, the baron caught Hugo’s eye.
Visibly steeling himself, the older gentleman excused himself from the companions who had not seemed to notice his presence, and walked toward Hugo.
“I hear that I am to offer you a debt of gratitude,” the baron said with a tight smile. “You are the Duke of Ravenvale, are you not?”
“I am,” Hugo replied.
The baron dipped his head. “Then, I… uh… thank you for what you did for my betrothed in the woods. If I had known of her plight, of course I would have come to her rescue myself, but… Yes, thank you.”
“You did not notice that she was not with the rest of the hunting party?” Hugo asked, unable to temper the note of anger in his voice.
The baron flinched, his eyes narrowing. Evidently, he did not like the accusation that he was not particularly observant, least of all with the woman he was supposed to be marrying.
“I cannot say that I did, but there were others who were absent,” the baron replied coolly. “Was I supposed to halt and return to find them, too? Or was it easier to assume that they were all together, behind the lead group?”
“Easier, certainly,” Hugo retorted, holding his glass of port a little tighter.
Did he have to remind this man too of the difference in their station? It was not something he cared to do, ordinarily, but if necessity called for it, then he would see to it that the baron felt as small as Evelyn might, if the marriage went ahead.
“That is ridiculous,” the baron muttered, flustered beneath Hugo’s harsh glare. “How was I to know that some mischief had befallen her? I am not clairvoyant.”
“Nor are you observant,” Hugo said with calm fury. “You might not have had a betrothed at all if something worse had happened to her. It is your responsibility to watch over her, to be aware of where she is and where she is not.”
He thought of Dominic and Frances, and of Laurence and Joan.
His friends were always stealing glances at their wives, almost a subconscious habit.
If he had asked one of them where their wives were, they would have known without question.
Indeed, they would not have been riding with the lead group at all if their wives had somehow fallen behind.
“With respect, Your Grace, what business is it of yours how I conduct myself?” the baron asked, visibly struggling to restrain himself.
“Because I was the one who had to take care of her,” Hugo replied. “Because I was the one who had to make up for your lack of attention.”
Because I was the only one worried when she was not among the hunting party.
The thought slithered into his head, knocking some of the bluster out of him.
Why was he making it his business? Why was he quarreling with the baron at all?
It was not as if he and Evelyn had anything close to an understanding or even an affection for one another.
His hand tingled, remembering where she had grabbed it in the drawing room, and the warmth in her eyes as she had thanked him for his help. His heart beat strangely out of rhythm, recalling how… normal it had felt to hold her in his arms, as if he had done it a hundred times before.
The baron shrank back from the hard tone of Hugo’s reprimand, dropping his gaze, looking suitably ashamed of himself.
It was at that moment that Hugo realized that they had drawn the attention of the rest of the gentlemen in the Sun Room.
Dominic seemed surprised, Laurence seemed baffled, while the other gentlemen were a mixture of discomfort and intrigue.
They were used to the cavalier, playful iteration of Hugo, not this harsh, sharp-tongued duke.
“Let it not happen again,” Hugo said, needing to put an end to this before he began to arouse suspicions in his friends, more than anyone else.
The baron bowed his head lower. “It shall not, Your Grace. And… thank you again for taking care of her. It will not fall to you again; I swear it.”
“I hope it does not,” Hugo remarked, as he downed what was left of his port and, with a sniff of derision, marched right out onto the terrace…
and kept going, hoping to reach a distance capable of clearing his head of Evelyn Bartlett and that awful, insidious repetition: Betrothed… Betrothed… Betrothed.