Chapter Two
Everly House — Mayfair, London
The rain had strengthened by the time their carriage turned onto their street in Mayfair. Water glistened upon the cobblestones and ran in narrow streams along the gutters while footmen hurried beneath umbrellas and carriage wheels hissed through the wet streets.
Everly House stood among a neat row of elegant townhouses with cream-coloured stone facades and black iron railings.
It was respectable rather than grand, comfortable rather than impressive.
As a child, Evangeline had once asked her father why their house was smaller than Lord Weatherby's several doors down.
"Because I prefer homes with an equal ratio of person to room," he had replied cheerfully.
Light glowed warmly through the windows despite the gloomy afternoon, and relief stirred faintly within her at the familiar sight. Home always felt different after London society, the noise and expectations and endless effort of being observed left one strangely tired.
The footman hurried forward with an umbrella while the sisters gathered their skirts and stepped carefully onto the pavement.
Daphne glanced upward at the dark sky and sighed. "If the weather intends to continue in this manner, society ought to suspend all obligations until further notice."
Rosalind laughed softly as they climbed the front steps. "I do not think London would survive such a scandal."
Inside, warmth greeted them immediately. The scent of beeswax polish and lavender hung in the air, accompanied by the faint aroma of tea somewhere deeper within the house. A maid hurried to take their damp cloaks while another relieved them of gloves and bonnets.
Evangeline loosened her shoulders. No matter what troubles existed within these walls, there was comfort in familiarity.
The sisters made their way toward the morning room, but before they reached the doorway, Evangeline slowed.
Their mother sat near the window with several ledgers spread open before her. Sheets of paper covered the small table beside her chair in untidy stacks.
She looked up at their entrance and smiled, but something about it felt strained.
Lady Margaret Everly had once been considered one of the loveliest women of her generation.
Even now, at forty-eight, traces of that beauty remained easy to see.
Her chestnut hair, touched now with silver, had been arranged neatly beneath a lace cap, and her features retained an elegant softness that grief had never entirely diminished.
Yet lately, worry had settled itself upon her face in quiet ways, a faint line between her brows, shadows beneath kind eyes that sleep no longer seemed capable of erasing.
Evangeline had begun noticing those things more and more.
"My dears," Lady Margaret said warmly. "Did you enjoy your walk?"
Rosalind moved immediately toward her and bent to kiss her cheek. "We did, Mama."
Daphne wandered toward the tea tray and frowned. "There are papers everywhere."
Lady Margaret's hand moved almost instinctively over the nearest ledger. "Oh, merely household matters."
Evangeline's eyes lingered upon her. Not merely household matters.
For a brief moment nobody spoke, and then Lady Margaret began gathering several loose papers together rather hurriedly.
Far too hurriedly.
A quiet unease settled in Evangeline's stomach.
"Mama?" Lady Margaret looked up as Evangeline moved farther into the room. "What is it?"
For a moment her mother said nothing, and then she slowly removed her spectacles and set them upon the table.
"Oh, dear…"
Rosalind straightened immediately. "Mama?"
Lady Margaret looked down at the papers in front of her and folded her hands. "I had hoped… I had hoped to spare you girls from this a little longer."
Evangeline's heartbeat quickened. Rosalind had gone still beside their mother, and even Daphne had lost her usual easy expression.
Lady Margaret took a breath. "When your father died, I believed I understood our circumstances. I knew there had been debts, naturally. Most families have obligations of some sort." She looked up. "But I did not realise how extensive they truly were."
Evangeline sat slowly as a cold feeling began spreading through her chest.
"We have managed these past few years," Lady Margaret continued, "but only by reducing expenses and drawing upon funds that had been set aside."
Rosalind frowned. "What funds?"
Lady Margaret looked up. Her eyes had filled with tears.
And Evangeline suddenly knew the answer, even before she spoke.
"The dowries."
Rosalind and Daphne stared at her.
"The money intended for you and Daphne is gone."
Outside, rain tapped softly against the windows.
Evangeline turned her head to see the colour draining from Rosalind’s face.
"Gone?" she whispered.
Lady Margaret closed her eyes briefly. "I am so sorry."
Rosalind lowered herself slowly into a chair as though her legs no longer wished to hold her. "But..." Her voice trembled. "Without dowries..."
Her sister did not finish her sentence. She did not need to.
In London society, there were things one did not say aloud, because everyone understood them already.
Dowries were among those things. Not every gentleman sought wealth, and love matches certainly existed, but a respectable dowry could improve a young lady's prospects considerably. Without one, opportunities narrowed.
Evangeline looked down at the ledgers on the table. How strange that something as small as ink upon paper could alter lives so completely.
Beside Rosalind, Daphne reached for her hand.
"We shall think of something," she said lightly.
"But the money is gone," Rosalind said, her voice shaking. "And now I may never marry."
She blinked rapidly and looked down at her hands.
"I do not mean that I care about grand houses or titles." She gave a small, uncertain laugh. "I know that must sound horribly selfish."
"It does not," Lady Margaret said at once.
Rosalind swallowed. "I only..." Her eyes lifted. "I always thought someday there would be someone."
The knots in Evangeline’s stomach twisted painfully.
Sweet Rosalind.
Rosalind, who still cried at sad endings in novels and believed every lonely gentleman secretly possessed a tender heart beneath a stern expression. Rosalind, who saw romance everywhere.
To hear such despair and uncertainty in her voice felt wrong somehow.
Beside her, Daphne squeezed her hand firmly. "Well," she announced with forced brightness, "if society proves idiotic enough not to appreciate us, then we shall all go and live in the country and become eccentrics."
Rosalind gave a watery smile. "Eccentrics?"
"Certainly. We shall fill a house with exotic animals and argue with our neighbours and frighten visitors."
"Daphne," Lady Margaret said softly.
Daphne's smile faltered.
They all knew that Daphne always joked when frightened.
Lady Margaret lowered her gaze toward the papers before her. "There is more."
A dreadful stillness settled over the room.
"The creditors have become less patient." Lady Margaret folded her hands together tightly. "If our circumstances do not improve..." She hesitated. "We may lose the house."
The rain continued tapping against the windows, gentle and steady and unbearably ordinary.
Lose the house.
Evangeline looked around the room at the faded blue wallpaper, the shelves of books Papa had loved. The chair near the fireplace where he used to sit and read aloud in ridiculous voices until all three girls dissolved into laughter.
Her throat tightened.
"And if that happens..." Her voice shook. "Rosalind and Daphne will have very little in the way of prospects."
Evangeline looked at her sisters, and her chest ached. At twenty-three, she was what society called too old for the marriage game. And yet, she had spent years imagining what her own future might look like.
A man who made her heart race when he entered a room. Holidays by the sea and long walks on the beach. Tender glances across crowded ballrooms.
Evangeline had always wanted love, and for a long time, she had hoped it would find her. There had been suitors over the years, even some proposals, but she had not loved any of them, and so she had not married.
As the years passed, she knew her chances of marrying grew slimmer. And yet, secretly, she still hoped that one day she might meet a man who made her feel like one of the heroines in Jane Austen’s novels.
Yes, Evangeline still hoped, but she also knew that some dreams belonged to stories and some belonged to life. Sometimes life asked for something different.
Evangeline drew a quiet breath. "I shall marry this Season."
Lady Margaret looked up immediately. "Evangeline—"
"I mean it."
Daphne frowned. "You cannot simply decide such a thing."
Evangeline hesitated a moment, then exhaled slowly. "I can."
She looked toward her sisters and her mother. Since their father passed, it had been she who had looked after this family. And she had no intention of stopping now.
"If I make a good marriage, Rosalind and Daphne will have dowries." Her eyes moved back to their mother. "And we can keep the house."
"No." Lady Margaret's voice broke. "No, I will not ask this of you."
"You are not asking," she replied. "I am offering."
Evangeline rose and crossed the room, kneeling beside her mother's chair. Lady Margaret reached over and touched her face.
"My darling..."
Evangeline smiled, though her chest ached.
"We do what families do."
A tear slipped down Rosalind's cheeks. "Evangeline..."
"You would do the same for me."
Lady Margaret brushed trembling fingers through Evangeline's hair.
"The Duchess of Ashbourne's Midsummer Ball is next week."
Evangeline looked up.
An invitation to the Duchess of Ashbourne's ball was coveted by every ambitious family in London.
"The guest list is always excellent," Lady Margaret continued carefully. "There will be many unmarried gentlemen present."
Evangeline held her mother's gaze, then nodded once. "If I am to secure a husband," she said quietly, "that will be my opportunity."
***
Later that evening, Evangeline sat before her dressing table while moonlight spilled softly through the windows of her bedchamber.
The house had gone quiet around her.
Somewhere belowstairs she heard the faint sounds of servants finishing their work for the night. Otherwise, there was only silence.
She removed her earrings and set them beside her hairbrush. As she reached to remove her necklace, her gaze fell upon the handkerchief resting near the mirror.
For a moment, she simply stared at it, then slowly she ran her thumb over the embroidered blue flowers in one corner.
Her thoughts betrayed her immediately, and she frowned faintly.
Very carefully, she folded the handkerchief and placed it upon the dressing table.
Tomorrow she would begin considering gentlemen differently.
Not as heroes from stories or as future grand romances, but as security and duty.
Her sisters deserved futures of their own.
Rosalind deserved love, and Daphne her equal. And Evangeline was determined to give them both those things.
Whatever it cost her.