Chapter Six
For several moments after Rosalind disappeared reluctantly down the corridor, silence settled between Evangeline and the Duke of Blackwood.
Music from the ballroom drifted faintly through the partially open doors. Evangeline hears the distant swell of violins and the rhythmic pulse of dancing feet, but it was muted, as though the rest of the world had retreated into the walls, leaving them completely alone.
Evangeline became acutely conscious of the Duke. The antechamber suddenly felt much smaller than it had only moments before.
He seemed even larger indoors somehow. Taller than most gentlemen by several inches, broad-shouldered and solidly built beneath perfectly cut black evening clothes that only emphasised the strength of his frame.
Candlelight cast shifting shadows across the sharp planes of his face and over the scar running from his temple to his jaw.
The scar ought to have been unsettling; society certainly thought so. Yet now, standing this close, she found herself thinking what she had thought before.
That it was not frightening, but rather unfairly attractive, a realisation that arrived so suddenly she had to bite her tongue.
Good heavens, she thought. What is wrong with me?
She bent her head, trying to hide the warmth creeping up her neck, hoping he would not notice.
When she looked up again, he was watching her.
"I overheard your conversation," he said.
Evangeline blinked. "...Oh."
Heat flooded her face again, and she wished briefly for the floor to open and swallow her whole.
The Duke remained entirely unmoved by her mortification. "You require a wealthy husband." Evangeline stared at him. "And I require a wife."
She blinked again. Surely she had misunderstood.
"I beg your pardon?"
"I require a wife immediately."
No, she had heard correctly. But it was the Duke who seemed entirely unaware that one did not generally announce such things to ladies one had spoken to exactly twice.
"I inherited under certain conditions established in my father's will," he continued. "I am required to produce a legitimate heir within twelve months."
Evangeline stared.
"I have no interest in courtship," he continued. "I require a practical marriage only."
She was no longer certain she remembered how breathing worked. And yet his expression remained perfectly composed.
There was no embarrassment or hesitation.
Unlike Evangeline, there were no obvious signs of discomfort. It was as though they were discussing estate accounts.
"I can offer you a ducal title, complete financial security, and settlements sufficient to provide comfortably for your mother and sisters."
Evangeline's heartbeat began pounding.
The Duke folded his hands behind his back. "Once an heir is conceived, you may reside at whichever of my estates you prefer and conduct your life with complete independence." He paused. "Your only obligation would be to help me produce that heir."
Evangeline stared at him, quite unsure what to say. Yet her mind was anything but quiet. Instead, her thoughts suddenly began racing.
This could solve everything. Her sisters' dowries, the debuts, the house, everything.
Her eyes lifted slowly toward him. The truth was that she knew almost nothing about him other than that society feared him and called him a beast. All she knew came from whispers and drawing-room gossip spoken by people who lowered their voices behind fans and delighted in turning strangers into stories.
Yet if she accepted his offer, her family's debts would disappear. Rosalind and Daphne would have dowries and choices and opportunities. Mama would never again sit alone at the morning room table staring at household accounts with shadows beneath her eyes.
And afterwards... Evangeline's thoughts slowed unexpectedly.
Afterwards, once she had fulfilled her part of the arrangement, he had said she might live wherever she pleased among his estates.
She would have independence and freedom. Not the future she had once imagined perhaps, but a future all the same.
Not moonlit declarations and poetry read aloud beside fireplaces. Not the kind of love she had spent years dreaming about while turning pages of novels and sighing over impossible heroes. But something different. Something better than marrying a man who would bore her to tears.
Evangeline found herself picturing it before she could stop herself.
Vast countryside stretching beneath open skies.
Wind sweeping across hills and moors. Long afternoons spent reading in sunlit gardens with no one demanding anything of her.
Riding wherever she pleased. Walking through wild places with mud on her boots and no concern for society's expectations.
Rosalind and Daphne visiting for weeks at a time, filling long corridors with laughter. Mama sitting peacefully with embroidery near a window, free from worry at last.
A home filled with books and music and people she loved.
Perhaps love would not exist at the centre of her life after all. But perhaps other things could. Happiness did not always arrive in the form one expected. And for the first time that evening, the future before her no longer felt like sacrifice alone.
It felt, unexpectedly, a little like freedom.
Anthony watched her steadily, and Evangeline swallowed.
She should think, ask questions. She should perhaps reconsider every decision that had brought her to this moment.
Instead, she heard herself say: "I accept."
Anthony stared, and for the first time since she'd met him, surprise flickered briefly across his face. As though he had expected negotiation. Perhaps even refusal. But instead, he inclined his head once.
"I shall call tomorrow to speak with your mother and formalise matters."
"Alright," she agreed.
His gaze moved over her, and her breath caught. Heat rose instantly beneath her skin as her pulse stumbled. Suddenly, she was intensely aware of herself. Of the silk against her skin and the pounding of her heart against her ribs like a caged bird.
Anthony's eyes returned to hers, and something unreadable passed through his expression.
He inclined his head again. "Good evening, Lady Evangeline."
And with that he walked away, leaving Evangeline standing motionless in the middle of the room.
For several seconds she simply stared after him. Then the door burst open. Rosalind rushed inside immediately.
"Evangeline!" She stopped, narrowed her eyes. "Evangeline, what happened?"
Evangeline blinked, unable to find the words for a moment.
Rosalind folded her arms. "Your cheeks are pink and you are breathless."
Again, she opened her mouth, but words failed.
Rosalind stared harder. "Evangeline."
Evangeline sighed. "Oh, dear."
"Tell me what happened," she pressed.
Several minutes later Rosalind sat staring at her in absolute horror.
"He did what?"
Evangeline winced. "Rosalind—"
"He proposed marriage?"
"Yes."
Rosalind looked ready to faint. "Evangeline!" Several ladies near the mirrors glanced over, and Rosalind lowered her voice immediately. "You cannot be serious."
Evangeline folded her hands together. "This solves everything."
Rosalind stared. "You barely know him."
"I know enough."
Rosalind looked aghast. "Evangeline, no one calls a man the Beast of Blackwood without reason. I am entirely serious when I say this: marry the bird gentleman."
Evangeline blinked. "The bird gentleman?"
Rosalind nodded firmly. "He may discuss feathers until the end of time, but at least he seems harmless."
Despite herself, Evangeline laughed. "You cannot be serious."
Rosalind waved dramatically. "Not him then."
Evangeline softened. "There will be no pretending with the Duke." She looked down. "It is practical."
Rosalind stared at her sadly. "I do not believe it is what you want."
Evangeline smiled, though her chest ached. "I think practicality may be enough," she said. "And after I produce an heir, I will have my freedom and the chance to carve out a life for myself."
Rosalind pressed her lips together but said nothing for a moment.
'It's getting late," Evangeline said. "We should go and find Mother and Daphne."
Rosalind nodded as Evangeline weaved her arm through her sister’s.
Together, they re-entered the ballroom and soon found Lady Margaret and Daphne near the refreshments. Lady Margaret looked up immediately. "My dear, where have you been?"
Evangeline smiled calmly. "A gentleman intends to call tomorrow and request permission to court me."
Lady Margaret's face lit instantly. "Oh!"
Daphne nearly choked. "What?"
Lady Margaret reached for Evangeline's hands. "My darling, who?"
Evangeline hesitated. "Anthony Hawthorne, the Duke of Blackwood."
Daphne stared at her in disbelief.
"Well," Lady Margaret said. "That is… unexpected."