Chapter One #2
How strange it was that people spoke such words about someone they did not truly know.
And then, before either sister could stop her, Evangeline stepped forward.
"Evangeline—" Rosalind hissed.
She ignored her sister as she approached the horse and peered upward.
The Duke's grey eyes met hers, and to Evangeline’s immense surprise, her breath caught in her chest.
His eyes were not merely grey, but storm-grey—the colour of dark skies before rain.
Cold eyes, society would probably say, but she thought they looked tired.
"Your Grace," she said carefully, "I owe you an apology. The handkerchief is mine."
His expression did not alter, and for a moment she wondered whether he intended simply to ride away.
"You need not apologise," he said, in a low voice roughened by disuse.
He leaned forward and extended the handkerchief toward her. Evangeline reached for the linen, and as her fingers brushed the fabric, his hand tightened fractionally.
Only for a moment, but she felt the warmth of his gloved hand beneath hers. A strange sensation passed through her—a feeling that caught low in her chest and spread outward before she could name it.
For one suspended moment, the noise of the promenade seemed to fade entirely.
Then he released the handkerchief and inclined his head once. Without another word, Anthony Hawthorne, Duke of Blackwood, turned his horse and rode away.
For several moments Evangeline stood staring after him, the handkerchief still clasped loosely in her gloved fingers.
The dark figure on horseback moved steadily through the promenade, seeming somehow untouched by the cheerful noise around him.
People shifted to make room as he passed.
Some bowed politely; others avoided looking at him altogether.
Just then, a cool breeze swept suddenly across the park, stirring skirts and ribbons and carrying with it the sharp scent of damp earth.
Evangeline looked up to see that the sky had changed while they had been standing there.
Heavy grey clouds were gathering overhead, rolling slowly across the pale blue of the afternoon sky.
Rosalind followed her gaze and frowned. "Oh, dear."
Daphne sighed dramatically. "I knew it. Storms always arrive after mysterious encounters with dark gentlemen."
Evangeline blinked at her. "What an alarming thing to say."
"It is true," Daphne insisted as they began walking toward where their carriage waited along the drive. "I have read enough novels to know these things."
"You have read far too many novels," Rosalind said.
"I should think that impossible."
The wind lifted Rosalind's bonnet ribbons and sent several dark curls escaping from Daphne's carefully arranged hair.
Around them, the promenade had begun to shift as others noticed the threatening weather. Carriages rolled forward, footmen hurried toward their waiting families, and ladies gathered their skirts as they moved more quickly across the gravel paths.
Evangeline kept pace beside her sisters, though her thoughts had not entirely returned with her.
She could not stop thinking of those storm-grey eyes.
Their carriage came into view just as the first light drops of rain began to fall.
"Oh!" Rosalind hurried forward.
Within moments, they had settled inside, and the carriage lurched into motion, carrying them away from Hyde Park.
Rain began tapping gently against the windows as London passed outside in shifting shades of grey and gold.
"I must confess," Rosalind said carefully, "I found the Duke rather frightening."
Daphne looked across at her sister. “How so?”
“He looked as though he had stepped from one of Aunt Eleanor's Gothic stories,” Roslind explained. “All dark clothes, severe expressions, and tragic secrets."
Daphne leaned back against the squabs thoughtfully. "I thought he looked rather mysterious."
Rosalind narrowed her eyes. "Daphne."
"What?"
"You have that expression."
"What expression?"
"The one that means you are about to say something inappropriate or dreadful."
Daphne looked entirely innocent. "I was only going to say that mysterious gentlemen are often attractive."
Rosalind stared at her. "Daphne."
"What?" she asked again. "I did not say handsome."
"You implied it."
Daphne smiled.
Evangeline shook her head. "You should both stop." Her sisters looked toward her. "It is unfair to discuss someone as though he were not a real person."
Rosalind's expression softened immediately. "You are right."
Daphne sighed. "You always make me feel guilty."
"You generally make that very easy."
Daphne crossed her arms. "I was not being cruel,” she argued. “I was merely expressing my opinion on the matter.”
Evangeline looked out the carriage window again as London unfolded beyond the rain-streaked glass.
They left the open greenery surrounding Hyde Park behind and entered the elegant order of the West End.
Shops stood shoulder-to-shoulder beneath painted signs, displaying silks and gloves and delicate china in polished windows.
Gentlemen hurried beneath umbrellas while ladies stepped carefully from carriages beneath the protection of attentive footmen.
As they approached Mayfair, the streets widened again.
Tall cream-coloured townhouses lined the fashionable squares, their black iron railings gleaming with rain. It was one of the most desirable neighbourhoods in London, home to old families and great fortunes.
Or at least the appearance of great fortunes.
Evangeline's gaze followed droplets sliding down the window.
She ought not think about him, and certainly ought not wonder whether he always looked so solemn. Or whether the loneliness she thought she had glimpsed had only existed in her imagination.
She frowned.
Good heavens, Evangeline, she chided silently. You exchanged perhaps ten words with the man.