Chapter 26
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
“Where are you going?” Octavia halted Hugo on the threshold of the manor, and he cursed under his breath.
In all of the chaos of the morning and the fog of his thoughts, he had forgotten about his sister. For the first time in his entire life, she had not been at the forefront of his mind, and the guilt of that was quick to ambush him.
“I… have to return to London in haste,” he replied, turning with one of his usual, cavalier smiles. “I was going to leave word with the housekeeper for you to return in the carriage, while I would take my horse.”
Octavia narrowed her eyes. He should have known that he would not be able to get away with lying to her, even by omission. She knew him better than anyone in the world, and he was definitely not acting like himself today.
“You are not going back without me,” Octavia said decisively. “You can wait half an hour until everything is packed. I do not like to travel alone; you know this.”
He grimaced, for it was true. In her childhood, she had suffered from a terrible fear of journeying anywhere in the carriage, for it was the one place where their father was guaranteed to lose his temper with her.
Even when she had done nothing wrong, just her breathing or her movements upon the squabs could send him into a fury.
What is the matter with me? He swept a hand through his hair, feeling entirely unmoored.
Indeed, why was he in such a rush to speak to Evelyn?
The wedding would not take place for a month; he had plenty of time to ask her if this was truly her decision for the future.
Besides, he would undoubtedly cross paths with her at some ball or other, or even during his last outing with Selina.
Evelyn had accompanied her friend to the rest of them, so why not the final one?
“What is wrong, brother?” Octavia came closer, squinting at him. “You look pale. Sweaty. Are you unwell?”
If madness is a sickness, then yes…
“Not at all. I just remembered that I have a meeting I am supposed to attend, and I hate to rush to such things, for I am certain these men of business judge me when I am ill-prepared,” he explained with a tight laugh.
She remained obviously unconvinced, searching his face. “This would not have anything to do with my good friend Evelyn’s early departure, would it?”
“What? No, of course not. Why should that be any concern of mine?” he hurried to reply, a little too effusive. “Everyone is leaving today. Her departure, early or late, has not even crossed my mind.”
Octavia nodded slowly, making a faint ‘humph’ of suspicion.
“Well, that is a pity. For a moment, I hoped you might be about to chase after her and make a heroic confession of affection. I really must refrain from reading so many of those novels that Joan let me borrow.” There was mischief in her eyes that caused a faint burning in his cheeks.
“Come, you can help me pack the rest of my things so we can depart.”
“Of course,” he said stiffly, his gaze flitting toward the driveway and the vision in his mind of catching up to Evelyn’s carriage.
Do not be ridiculous. What would you do if you caught up to her? He waited for an answer to come, but it did not. Exactly.
Expelling a strained breath that did nothing to ease the tight feeling in his chest, he turned away from the door and followed his sister up the stairs. It seemed his talk with Evelyn would have to wait for a more natural opportunity.
“What are you doing?” Evelyn’s father stood in the doorway of the drawing room with a face like thunder. More thunderous than usual, anyway.
Evelyn glanced up from the novel she had been trying to escape into, though she must have read the same page at least ten times, the dashing romantic hero somehow blurring into the shape of Hugo, forcing her to begin again.
Sometimes, the heroine transformed into Selina in her mind.
Sometimes, her brain permitted her to picture herself, though it was not as vivid.
“Reading,” she replied, holding up the book.
“You should not be doing that,” he snapped. “You should be preparing for dinner.”
It had been four days since the family’s grim return from Ashcroft, and life had picked up where it had left off.
Luke had not attempted to speak to her again, though he avoided her eye at meals.
Matthew had been his usual, snide self. And her father had done his best to ignore her, aside from a few huffs and puffs of irritation.
The matter of the baron, Miles, had not been mentioned at all, lulling her into a false sense of security.
“Dinner?” Evelyn quirked an eyebrow.
Her father’s face darkened. “Do not look at me with such an obnoxious expression, girl.” Clearly, something had riled him. “I told you about dinner with Lord Hemstich this evening. I told you that you must make an effort to look your best. Do not pretend that I did not.”
She did not have to pretend, for her father certainly had not informed her of such a dinner.
If he had, she would not have been reading in relative peace; rather, she would have been upstairs in her bedchamber in a state of abject dread, her face so drained of color that no amount of rouge or cheek-pinching would have remedied it.
“He is coming here?” Evelyn croaked.
Tension twitched every muscle in her father’s face. “We are going to his apartments, as I have already told you countless times! We shall meet with his mother, and I believe he has invited a few other acquaintances.”
His mother? Evelyn’s stomach lurched. After four days of tricking herself into believing that this was not happening, the engagement and the marriage had just become sickeningly real.
“Get up, girl!” her father barked, and she did, jumping to her feet.
At least the reason for her father’s ire was now obvious. He had clearly forgotten about the dinner completely, but could not blame her for his forgetfulness without admitting that he had never told her about any such dinner.
“Mrs. Wenham!” he shouted, the housekeeper skidding into view behind him.
“Yes, My Lord?” Margery said, eyes wide with alarm.
“We are attending a dinner party tonight. See to it that my daughter is suitably presentable, for if she is not, the blame shall fall upon you,” he retorted, before whirling around and stomping off in the direction of his study.
Across the distance, Evelyn and Margery exchanged a look, the kind that might have made Evelyn stifle a laugh once upon a time. But they both knew that Josiah was not bluffing, just as they both knew that they would receive equal punishment if they did not obey.
“Shall we try something different with your hair?” Margery asked with a sad smile.
Evelyn smiled back, drawing in a shaky breath. “It cannot hurt.”
A short while later, behind the closed door of Evelyn’s bedchamber, where all was temporarily peaceful, Margery caught the younger woman’s eye in the reflection of the mirror.
Teasing a brush through Evelyn’s long, brown hair, the housekeeper looked like she might cry.
“Your mother would be heartbroken. I know I should not say so, but I can’t help it.
” She shook her head. “I’ve been silent for long enough.
If she were here, Lady Evelyn, she would… oh, she’d be beside herself.”
“She would?” Evelyn’s eyebrows rose in surprise.
Her mother was a banned subject of conversation in this house, but Margery had been her lady’s maid once, many years before she was promoted to the position of housekeeper.
“She adored you,” Margery said, her voice thick.
“You were the apple of her eye, Lady Evelyn. There were so many days, even when she was at her weakest, where I’d find the two of you together, as thick as thieves.
You’d be crawling all over her, and she’d be laughing at one of your mischiefs or lavishing kisses on your face. ”
A lump formed in Evelyn’s throat, for she could not remember anything about her mother. She had been just three years old when her mother had passed from an affliction of the heart, too young to hang onto any clear memories.
“She had such hopes for you, Lady Evelyn,” Margery continued, brushing something from her cheek. “She used to tell you stories and, in them, you always married the handsome prince. You definitely didn’t marry the first gentleman your father could think of.”
As she had done so many times before, Evelyn closed her eyes and tried to imagine her mother.
She had never seen a portrait of the woman who had given her life, for her father had removed them all from the walls and put them away, somewhere that Evelyn could not find them.
But she had always hoped that a vision of her mother might come to her from some buried place in her mind.
“She’d be furious with him,” Margery added, tutting.
Evelyn opened her eyes. “Did they love each other?”
“Pardon?”
“My mother and father. Did they love each other?”
The housekeeper hesitated and glanced at the door, as if wary of eavesdroppers.
“Your father loved your mother,” she replied, after a moment.
“He was obsessed with her. Always lavishing her with gifts and compliments, forever declaring that he was the luckiest man in the world, showing her off to his friends, behaving as if he had won the most precious prize.”
“My mother did not love him?” Evelyn asked, puzzled.
“She was… somewhat in your situation,” Margery replied carefully. “Your father approached her father, and that was it. She didn’t know your father well at all, for he had admired her from a distance until then. I think she grew to like him, but love? I believe she only had that for her children.”
Evelyn winced as the brush caught in a tangle. “Is that why he hates me?” She paused. “No, I suppose that would not make sense, for he would have to hate us all for having her love.”
“He doesn’t hate you, Lady Evelyn,” Margery said with a sad sigh. “It’s that you look so much like her. You always have. Your brothers, not so much; they resemble your father and his family. You are entirely her.”
Astonished, Evelyn looked at her reflection: the plump cheeks, the rather strong jaw, the dusting of freckles, the blue eyes, the high arch of her eyebrows, the slight asymmetry of her lips, the crescents of her eyelids; all the parts of herself that she had thought to be so very plain were actually beyond precious.
“But… everyone used to say that Mother was a rare beauty,” Evelyn croaked, recalling snippets from guests who had visited the house, wanting to reminisce before her father changed the subject.
“Then what should that tell you?” Margery said, nudging Evelyn gently in the shoulder.
As was her habit, Evelyn was about to argue against the compliment, when the jingle of the bell for the main door made her jump instead. Cold fear frosted her veins as she sat rigid on the vanity stool, her heart pounding.
“It must be the baron,” she whispered, as if he might hear her from all the way upstairs. “He must want to escort me to dinner. Oh, but he is so early!”
Her hair was not even close to being finished, though she was at least dressed for the occasion in the beautiful gown of midnight blue that she had borrowed from Selina, that Selina had insisted on her keeping. The same gown Evelyn had worn to the opera, that Hugo had once remarked upon.
And at her throat… his necklace. She still had not been able to bring herself to take it off, for it really was exquisite, and it really did suit her very well.
“Never you mind who it is,” Margery said firmly. “He shall have to wait until you’re ready.”
It did little to relax Evelyn, her eyes wide as she stared at her reflection, watching as the housekeeper fashioned her hair into neat curls, pinned tightly into place.
Fifteen minutes later, however, footsteps thudded on the stairs, echoing across the landing in the direction of Evelyn’s bedchamber. She held her breath as the footsteps drew closer, until her eyes bulged with the effort, though she still jolted when the knock came at the door.
“Evelyn?” It was Luke, sounding rather strange.
“I am still getting ready,” Evelyn called back.
“You should probably hurry, or at least pause if you are decent,” he said. “There is a… visitor for you.”
Evelyn frowned at Margery, who shrugged. “Who is it?”
“A gentleman,” Luke replied.
“The baron?”
“No, not him,” Luke said, hesitating a moment before adding, “It is the Duke of Ravenvale.”