Chapter Four #2
Crystal chandeliers hung overhead like suspended constellations, their hundreds of candles scattering golden light across polished floors and gilt walls.
Mirrors reflected movement and colour endlessly, making the room appear larger still.
Music drifted through the air from musicians stationed upon a raised gallery above the dancers.
Silks brushed against silk and jewels flashed beneath candlelight. Voices and laughter rose together into one continuous hum.
Footmen circulated with trays of champagne and refreshments while fashionable society moved around them in elegant currents.
Rosalind sighed dreamily. "It is beautiful."
Daphne surveyed the crowd. "It is terrifying."
Within minutes, introductions had begun.
The first gentleman she spoke with, Mr Oliver Whitby, proved respectable and comfortably wealthy, possessing pleasant features and an earnest expression.
Unfortunately, he also possessed an overwhelming passion for birds.
Evangeline suspected this enthusiasm might have appeared less remarkable had Mr Whitby not looked faintly avian himself.
He was a slender gentleman with a rather prominent hooked nose and pale blond hair so soft and wispy that it put her in mind of feathers ruffled by a breeze.
Combined with his habit of tilting his head while speaking and blinking rapidly during moments of excitement, the resemblance became increasingly difficult to ignore.
She immediately felt guilty for the thought.
"I recently observed a pair of marsh harriers near our estate," he informed her enthusiastically as they stood beside a column overlooking the dancers.
Evangeline smiled politely. "How lovely."
"Extraordinary creatures. Extraordinary." He leaned closer. "I have begun compiling sketches and observations with hopes of cataloguing every rare species found upon my lands."
"Oh?"
"Eventually I expect it may become several volumes."
For nearly ten minutes he continued discussing migratory patterns and feather colouration.
Evangeline learned more about nesting habits than she had ever imagined possible.
When at last he bowed and departed, she accepted a glass of champagne from a passing footman with silent gratitude.
The second gentleman to approach her that evening seemed far more promising.
Captain Julian Fenwick possessed the sort of appearance that encouraged entirely unreasonable optimism.
He was tall and broad-shouldered, with dark blond hair and an easy smile that revealed an attractive dimple in one cheek.
His evening coat fit him admirably, and he carried himself with the relaxed confidence of a man entirely comfortable in society.
When he bowed over her hand, Evangeline felt a small flicker of encouragement.
Oh, well. Perhaps this will be better.
He was handsome, had kind eyes, and from what she could tell possessed all his own teeth, which Daphne had once solemnly declared an essential quality in a husband.
Perhaps the evening was improving.
"Do you ride, Lady Evangeline?" he asked as they strolled together along the edge of the ballroom.
"Some," she admitted.
His expression brightened immediately.
"Excellent."
The single word carried enough enthusiasm to make her wary.
"I've always believed one can tell a great deal about character through horses," he continued.
Evangeline smiled politely. "Can one?"
"Without question." He nodded with absolute certainty. "Breeding matters, naturally, but temperament matters more. Spirit is all well and good, but too much spirit creates difficulties.
His tone made Evangeline glance sideways at him.
"One wants reliability," he continued. "Good form. Steady habits."
He leaned closer as though sharing something profound. "Really, selecting a horse is not entirely unlike selecting a wife."
Evangeline stared as he smiled as if he had offered exceptional wisdom.
"You understand," he continued cheerfully, oblivious to her expression. "A man wants good breeding, agreeable manners, and a temperament that does not become troublesome."
Good heavens.
The flicker of hope quietly folded itself up and departed.
"And of course," he added, "one dislikes excessive stubbornness."
Evangeline smiled pleasantly. "How unfortunate for stubborn people."
He laughed, apparently missing the remark entirely, and launched into a lengthy discussion regarding bloodlines, racing victories, and betting successes.
By the end of it, Evangeline found herself wondering whether she ought to feel insulted on behalf of women or horses.
By the time gentleman number three appeared, she had begun to suspect fate was amusing itself.
Lord Bennett possessed a distinguished silver waistcoat and tremendous enthusiasm for French brandy.
"The complexity of flavour, Lady Evangeline."
"Remarkable."
"One cannot rush proper ageing."
"Indeed."
"I have nearly eighty bottles in my cellar."
Eighty.
He described them individually, and by the end of the conversation, Evangeline felt strangely certain she would recognise French brandy in the afterlife.
As Lord Bennett finally bowed and disappeared into the crowd, she stood very still.
Music swelled around her while laughter echoed nearby.
The ballroom sparkled with so much promise, and yet, disappointment settled quietly inside her. Because all three gentlemen had been perfectly respectable.
They were kind enough and comfortable in fortune, entirely suitable. Everything she ought to want.
Yet every conversation had been like slowly watching sand fall through an hourglass.
A painful thought crept quietly into her mind.
If I truly intend to marry for practical reasons… perhaps this is what my future looks like.
A life spent smiling at subjects she did not care about beside a man she could never love.
Her gaze moved across the ballroom. It was all so beautiful. And yet, at that moment, the room seemed to tilt, as the walls pressed in. Suddenly, it felt impossible to breathe.
"Evangeline?"
She turned at the sound of her mother's voice somewhere nearby, managing a smile before she could approach.
"If you'll excuse me for a moment."
Lady Margaret looked concerned. "My dear, are you unwell?"
"No, only warm."
She moved away before further questions could follow.
The retiring room sat along a quieter corridor away from the ballroom itself, where ladies often escaped to repair a loosened curl, adjust a gown, or simply recover from the exertions of dancing and conversation.
The sounds of the ballroom faded as she walked farther down the hall. By the time she slipped through the door and into the room, silence greeted her like a blessing.
A few ladies occupied chairs near the mirrors while a maid assisted another with a troublesome hem. Soft candlelight glowed against pale walls, and the room smelled faintly of roses and powder.
Evangeline moved toward one of the windows at the far end. Outside, darkness stretched over the gardens while moonlight silvered the hedges below.
She exhaled slowly.
"Escaping?"
Rosalind's voice made her turn.
Her sister closed the door quietly behind her and crossed the room.
"You disappeared."
Evangeline managed a small smile. "I only required a moment."
Rosalind studied her face "You are unhappy."
Not a question, but she was not surprised; Rosalind had always known her too well.
Evangeline looked back toward the window, and for a few moments, she said nothing. Then she laughed softly, although nothing felt amusing.
"I think I may lose my mind if another gentleman explains his horses to me."
"Evangeline..."
The concern in her voice undid something inside her as she lowered herself into a nearby chair.
"I am trying," she admitted quietly.
Rosalind sat beside her. "I know."
"I truly am." Her fingers twisted together in her lap. "I told Mama I would do this. I promised her." Her voice dropped further. "I promised all of you."
Rosalind reached for her hand, and Evangeline stared down at it.
"I keep smiling and nodding and pretending interest, and all I can think is..." She swallowed.
Rosalind waited.
"...I may have to spend the rest of my life with one of them."
The words felt terrible once spoken aloud. Because they sounded selfish, terribly selfish.
Rosalind stared at her. "Evangeline..."
"I know how dreadful that sounds."
"No." Rosalind squeezed her hand. "No, it does not." Tears had gathered in Rosalind's eyes now. "Oh heavens. I never wanted you to sacrifice yourself for us."
"Oh Rosie—"
"You always do this," her voice trembled. "You take care of everyone. You gave up things after Papa died."
"Rosalind—"
"You did," she pressed. "You always made certain Daphne and I had what we needed. You never complained."
Evangeline looked away. Because what could she say? That she had not minded? That loving them had made every sacrifice easy? Both things were true.
She took Rosalind's hand. "I would do anything for you and Daphne."
Evangeline smiled faintly, though it felt fragile. "I only..." She hesitated. "I suppose I imagined it differently."
Rosalind's expression softened.
"I thought..." Evangeline laughed quietly at herself. "No matter."
"What?"
Evangeline stared out the window into the moonlit darkness. "I thought I would feel something. I know how foolish that sounds."
"It does not."
Evangeline shook her head as she drew a slow breath. "But I am desperate now, and I cannot afford to be selective—"
She stopped, startled by a creak of a floorboard.
Rosalind looked up immediately as Evangeline turned slowly toward the doorway at the far side of the room.
For one terrible moment, neither spoke.
Then another sound followed: footsteps.
"Who's there?" Evangeline called.