Chapter Eight
Evangeline woke before sunrise and lay still beneath the coverlet, staring upward at the pale canopy above her bed.
Soft grey light had begun filtering through the curtains, turning the room hazy with early morning shadows.
The house remained silent around her. No footsteps sounded in the corridor beyond her door, no voices drifted upward from belowstairs.
For a few brief moments, there was only quiet.
Then reality settled upon her all at once.
Today I will marry Anthony Hawthorne.
Before the day ended, she would become the Duchess of Blackwood. She would belong to another household, another life. She would become someone's wife.
Her stomach tightened immediately.
She sat upright and drew a slow breath, pressing one hand lightly against her chest as though that might somehow calm the rapid beat of her heart. It seemed impossible that so much could have changed in so little time.
Over the previous week she had scarcely allowed herself time to think.
There had been fittings and invitations and endless practical matters requiring attention.
Solicitors had come and gone. Dressmakers had appeared carrying fabric and ribbons.
Mama had spoken endlessly of arrangements and details while servants hurried through the house with an energy usually reserved for Christmas.
Everything had moved so quickly that she had simply kept moving with it.
Until now.
But despite the knots in her stomach, she knew that this marriage would secure everything.
A soft knock sounded at her door.
"Evangeline?" Rosalind said.
"Come in."
The door opened immediately, and Rosalind entered carrying a tray with chocolate and tea while Daphne followed close behind, still fastening one of her earrings with visible impatience.
"Good morning," Rosalind chimed.
"Good morning," Evangeline echoed.
Rosalind walked over, placing the tray down on the bedside table. As she did, Evangeline noticed that her eyes were red-rimmed.
"Rose," she said carefully, "have you been crying?"
"Of course not," Rosalind replied, too quickly. "
"You have," Daphne interjected as she climbed onto the bed without invitation. "You have been crying since breakfast."
Rosalind turned toward her youngest sister in outrage. "Daphne."
"What?" Daphne asked innocently.
Rosalind ignored her as she too sat down beside Evangeline on the bed.
"You slept badly," she said quietly, looking at Evangeline.
Evangeline smiled weakly. "A little."
Rosalind's expression softened. "Are you nervous?"
Evangeline considered it honestly. "I believe I have moved beyond nervousness and entered some entirely separate condition."
Daphne tilted her head thoughtfully. "Terror perhaps?"
Evangeline looked at her. "Thank you," she replied dryly.
"You are welcome."
Despite herself, Evangeline laughed. Then her gaze moved between both sisters, and suddenly emotion rose unexpectedly inside her.
Because this was the last morning the three of them would wake beneath the same roof. The last morning of whispered conversations beneath blankets and shared dressing rooms and Daphne forever borrowing ribbons because she had somehow misplaced her own.
"Come here," Evangeline said, opening her arms.
Rosalind and Daphne clambered into them, and for a moment they simply sat together on the bed beneath the soft morning light spilling through the windows.
The house had begun slowly waking around them now.
Footsteps sounded somewhere belowstairs while distant voices drifted upward from servants moving through corridors preparing for the day ahead.
Then Daphne released a long sigh and slid reluctantly from the bed.
"Well," she announced, smoothing her skirts with exaggerated resignation, "whether any of us are ready or not, I believe it is time."
Evangeline looked at her, and Daphne looked back, her expression softening.
"It is time to make you a bride."
Evangeline's chest tightened.
The words felt different once spoken aloud. So very, very real.
***
Half an hour later, Evangeline stepped carefully from the copper tub while one of the maids wrapped her immediately in soft linen warmed near the fire. Lavender oil had been added to the bathwater, and the scent clung faintly to her skin as another maid dried her hair with gentle hands.
For a strange moment, everything felt suspended.
She stood barefoot upon the carpet while morning sunlight spilled through the windows, warming the floorboards and illuminating drifting particles of dust in the air. Somewhere belowstairs she heard distant voices and the muted sounds of servants moving through the house.
The world continued exactly as it always had, and yet, by evening, everything would be different.
She looked toward her bed.
Her wedding gown had been laid out carefully across the coverlet.
Cream silk flowed in soft folds over the coverlet, its delicate embroidery winding along the sleeves and bodice in tiny floral patterns worked almost invisibly into the fabric. Small seed pearls had been sewn along the neckline where they caught the sunlight and glimmered softly.
Emotion rose suddenly in Evangeline's throat.
Rosalind touched the gown gently. "Oh, Evie." Her voice softened. "It is lovely."
Daphne nodded solemnly. "Anthony is going to forget how the English language works when he sees you in this dress."
Heat crept immediately into Evangeline's cheeks, and Daphne smiled.
Soon afterward the maids began helping her dress.
Silk whispered softly as they lifted the gown over her head and settled it carefully into place around her. The fabric felt cool against her skin at first before slowly warming beneath her touch.
Rosalind moved behind her, fastening tiny pearl buttons one by one with delicate fingers while Daphne adjusted folds in the skirts with surprising concentration.
Neither sister seemed inclined toward teasing now, which worried Evangeline.
The room had grown quieter, more thoughtful. As though all of them had suddenly realised that this was no longer preparation.
This was happening.
Rosalind stepped back first, and then Daphne slowly circled around her.
Finally she nodded. "There."
Evangeline looked uncertainly toward the mirror.
Rosalind crossed to the dressing table and picked up a small velvet box resting beside her brushes.
Their grandmother's pearls.
For a moment she simply held them in her hands. Then she moved quietly behind Evangeline.
The necklace settled cool against her throat as Rosalind fastened it carefully.
Her fingers lingered there for a moment afterwards. Evangeline looked up, and their eyes met in the mirror. Rosalind smiled, though tears threatened once again.
"Oh no," Daphne muttered immediately. "Not again."
Rosalind laughed through the beginnings of tears. "I cannot help it."
Evangeline reached for both their hands, and for a moment none of them spoke. She looked at their reflections together in the mirror. Rosalind with her gentle heart and Daphne with her brave smile that looked just a little unsteady today.
Her sisters.
For so many years it had been the three of them against the world, and suddenly Evangeline wished with all her heart that time would stop for just a little longer.
***
When the carriage slowed, the church came into view through the windows.
St. George's in Hanover Square was one of the most fashionable churches in London, its pale stone facade rising elegantly above broad steps crowded with arriving guests and waiting carriages.
For years the church had hosted society weddings, and today it stood exactly as she remembered it from previous occasions, beautiful and imposing beneath the morning sunlight.
Only now it looked enormous.
Footmen moved quickly between carriages while guests gathered outside in elegant clusters of silk and dark coats. Hats and feathers bobbed through the crowd as voices drifted upward in excited murmurs.
Her heart began beating rather alarmingly as Rosalind reached for her hand.
"You may still change your mind."
Evangeline looked at her, and Rosalind nodded solemnly.
"I thought I should mention the possibility."
Daphne considered this. "If you were to run we would need a very fast carriage."
Lady Margaret looked heavenward. "My girls."
Despite herself, Evangeline laughed softly, and the sound steadied something inside her. She was not alone. Nor would she ever truly be alone.
A footman opened the carriage door and warm summer air rushed in, carrying the scents of flowers and sunlight and London streets.
Then suddenly there was movement everywhere, and Evangeline scarcely remembered climbing from the carriage.
She found herself standing at the entrance of the church beside her mother as the doors opened and cool air drifted over her.
Inside, sunlight spilled through tall windows and stretched across polished stone floors in ribbons of pale gold. White flowers decorated the pews while candles flickered softly beneath the high vaulted ceiling.
Guests filled nearly every seat, and she felt their attention shift at once.
Heat climbed into her cheeks as she bowed her head, but her mother gently squeezed her arm, and she exhaled shakily before looking up at the altar where Anthony was already waiting.
Her heart leapt as he met her eye.
He wore formal black. The dark coat fit him perfectly across broad shoulders that emphasised his height in a way that felt almost unfair. Candlelight and sunlight moved across the sharp planes of his face and caught against the pale line of the scar along one side.
He looked exactly as society claimed he did.
Forbidding, powerful…severe.
Yet standing there beneath sunlight and stone arches, Evangeline found herself thinking something entirely different.