Chapter Nine
The clock upon the mantel had struck midnight some time ago.
Evangeline sat near the fire with a book open in her lap, though she had not turned a page in nearly half an hour. Candlelight flickered softly against the cream-coloured walls while shadows shifted across the room, and outside the tall windows darkness stretched over the moors.
Blackwood Hall had grown entirely quiet.
Hours earlier she had heard distant footsteps and doors closing as servants retired for the evening, but even those sounds had long since faded. The house felt vast now in a way it had not before, every corridor and staircase swallowed by stillness.
Anthony had not come.
She looked toward the door again.
Her wedding gown had been replaced by a simple white nightdress and a soft dressing gown gathered around her shoulders, her hair now loose from its pins and falling in pale waves down her back.
As the minutes ticked by, confusion was gradually replacing nervousness.
At first she had thought perhaps he had been delayed. That he had been occupied by some estate matter requiring his attention. But now she no longer knew what to think.
She drew the dressing gown more tightly around herself and stared into the fire.
What occurred between a man and a wife on their wedding night had once been a mystery to Evangeline. Something distant, belonging to stories and whispered conversations and futures too far away to imagine clearly. Yet as she had grown older, vague mysteries had gradually become understanding.
Not complete understanding perhaps, but enough.
She knew that a marriage was not merely vows spoken in a church or rings exchanged before witnesses. It meant building a household together, sharing responsibilities and eventually children.
Mama had spoken gently with her, explaining that affection and trust were important companions in any marriage and that certain duties naturally followed.
Evangeline had listened, and she had understood.
Children did not simply appear by providence and prayer alone.
And in her marriage especially, producing an heir was not some distant possibility to be left to chance or time. It was the entire purpose of the arrangement Anthony had offered her from the beginning.
She had accepted that reality when she accepted his proposal.
She was not frightened by the idea itself so much as by everything surrounding it.
The uncertainty of beginning a life with a man she barely knew, of learning his habits and moods and silences.
Yet Anthony had always been direct with her, always honest.
He had made his intentions clear from the beginning, which was why his absence tonight felt so bewildering.
She had believed this was one thing upon which they understood one another completely.
She had spoken vows, taken his name, and left her family behind. And suddenly she realised she did not want to begin this new life with uncertainty sitting between them.
So, before she could lose her nerve, Evangeline stood.
The corridors beyond her room were lit only by scattered lamps left burning through the night. Their soft glow cast pools of light across polished floors while portraits watched silently from the walls.
Her footsteps sounded very small as she moved quietly, following the only sign of life she could find: light beneath a door farther down the corridor.
She hesitated briefly and then knocked, but there was no answer. After another moment, she pushed the door open.
Evangeline stood in the doorway for several moments before Anthony noticed her.
The study felt entirely different from the grand rooms she had seen since arriving at Blackwood Hall.
Unlike the formal drawing rooms with their polished surfaces and carefully arranged furnishings, this room felt lived in.
Shelves lined the walls from floor to ceiling, crowded with books and leather-bound ledgers.
Maps lay unfurled across one side of the desk, weighed down by papers and a silver letter opener.
A fire burned low in the hearth, throwing warm light across dark wood and casting shifting shadows along the walls.
Anthony sat behind the desk, his attention fixed upon a stack of estate papers.
His coat had been discarded over a nearby chair, and his cravat had been loosened. Several buttons at his throat had been left undone, as though sometime during the evening he had abandoned concern for appearances entirely.
For some reason, the sight startled her more than seeing him at the altar had. Because this was not the Duke of Blackwood standing beneath chandeliers while half of London watched him.
This was simply Anthony.
A man seated alone long after midnight with papers scattered around him and fatigue lingering faintly around his eyes.
He looked up, and his eyes widened. "Evangeline."
Her name sounded rough, as though he had not spoken for some time.
For a moment neither moved as his eyes travelled briefly over her before returning to her face, and the intensity of his attention made warmth rise unexpectedly to her cheeks.
He sat straighter. "What are you doing awake?"
Evangeline suddenly realised she had not considered what she intended to say.
On the walk here, indignation and confusion had carried her forward. Now, standing beneath his steady gaze, every prepared thought had vanished.
"I..." she began.
But nothing followed.
Anthony watched her quietly. "What do you need?"
The question ought to have been simple. Yet something about it unsettled her.
What exactly had she come searching for? An explanation? Reassurance? Proof that she had not made some terrible mistake?
Unable to answer immediately, she crossed the room slowly and stopped near the desk.
Anthony said nothing as the silence stretched between them.
Then she looked at the untouched brandy glass near his hand and moved it gently aside, placing it farther down upon the desk.
Anthony's gaze narrowed slightly. "Evangeline?"
She looked up at him. "I do not understand you," she admitted quietly.
The words escaped before she could stop them, and for the first time all day, uncertainty flickered across his face.
Anthony leaned back in his chair and regarded her for a long moment.
"You should be asleep," he said quietly.
Evangeline stared at him. And then, without thinking, she placed one hand on his chest and leaned forward to kiss him.
But before she could, he turned his head, his one hand closing around her wrist.
"Evangeline."
She froze. "Did I do something wrong?"
"Kissing is not permitted."`
For a moment she simply stared at him as if he were speaking some foreign language she did not understand.
"...What?"
Anthony released her immediately, and she stepped back as he stood up.
"I intend to fulfil every obligation of our arrangement," he said calmly. "But that rule does not change."
Humiliation flooded her so quickly she thought she might die from it, and she took another step back.
"I see."
Anthony looked as though he meant to say something, but now her embarrassment was beginning to harden into anger.
"Evangeline—"
"No," she said quickly, lifting one hand. "No, you do not have to say anything more, Your Grace. I understand perfectly."
Without another word, she turned and walked toward the door. Part of her hoped he would call her back or follow, but he did not.
***
Evangeline slept very little that night.
Sleep came only in brief fragments, interrupted by shifting firelight, unfamiliar sounds from the old house, and thoughts she could not seem to quiet.
Each time she drifted into sleep, she woke again staring at moonlight moving across the curtains or listening to distant floorboards settling somewhere in Blackwood Hall.
And each time she woke, the same words returned.
Kissing is not permitted.
It still felt absurd. Not because of the rule itself exactly, but because of how unexpectedly it had unsettled her. If she had known he had gone to the trouble of making rules and guidelines, maybe she should have asked more questions before marrying him.
But in all honesty, she had not gone searching for romance in Anthony's study. She had not expected poetry or whispered declarations or impossible tenderness. This was a practical marriage, and she had accepted that from the beginning.
So why, precisely, had she spent half the night feeling wounded?
She buried her face briefly against her pillow. Because she had practically thrown herself at her husband and he had humiliated her.
Morning eventually arrived, pale sunlight slowly filtering through the windows and spilling across unfamiliar furniture.
Evangeline had long since surrendered any hope of further sleep. She sat near the windows with tea in her hands when a knock sounded at the door.
"Evangeline?" Rosalind said from the other side of the door.
Her heart skipped a beat. What was her sister doing here?
"Come in," she called, placing her tea cup down as she got up.
Rosalind slipped quietly inside and closed the door behind her, but she had scarcely taken three steps before concern crossed her face.
"What happened?" she asked, quickly crossing the room and taking Evangeline's hands.
Evangeline looked down at their clasped hands for a moment and then at her sister's face, a lump rising in her throat.
"You look dreadful," Rosalind said.
Evangeline huffed a chuckle. "Thank you."
"You know what I mean," she said. "Did you sleep a wink last night?"
"No," she admitted.
Rosalind sighed as she led Evangeline back to the window seat. Sitting down, she patted the place beside her.
Evangeline sat down and stared into her lap for a long moment. She could feel her sister's eyes studying her.
"Tell me what happened," Rosalind said.
"I can't," Evangeline murmured.
"Of course you can," Rosalind pressed. "We are sisters, we tell each other everything."
Her words sat heavily for a moment in the pit of Evangeline's stomach.
"Did he hurt you?" she asked, her voice dropping.
"No," Evangeline said quickly. "Well, at least not in the way you think."
"Then how?"
"He never came to my room last night," Evangeline confessed. "So I went looking for him and…"
Her voice trailed off as she blinked back tears, the rejection from the night before still close enough to the surface to make heat rise in her cheeks.
Rosalind shifted closer to Evangeline, her grip on her hands tightening. Evangeline groaned softly and covered her face. "I am so humiliated."
"What did he do?"
Evangeline lowered her hands reluctantly. "I tried to kiss him," she admitted. "And he said… He said kissing was not permitted."
Rosalind stared at her with a look that suggested she wasn't sure she had heard Evangeline correctly.
"He forbade kissing?"
Evangeline nodded miserably.
Rosalind looked bewildered for a moment and then her face changed, the lines smoothing as she turned her body to face Evangeline.
"I know this feels dreadful. But perhaps..." Rosalind hesitated. "Perhaps it is not entirely terrible."
Evangeline stared at her. "What?"
Rosalind looked almost apologetic now. "You told me from the beginning that this marriage was practical."
Evangeline remained silent.
"And the Duke told you the same thing." Rosalind squeezed her hand gently. "So if there are no kisses and no romantic expectations… then perhaps there is less danger."
"Danger?"
Rosalind looked at her with soft sadness. "The danger of loving someone who cannot love you back."
. Evangeline looked away.
"If he intends this as an arrangement only, perhaps it is safer to believe him."
Her words settled heavily between them, and although Evangeline wanted to argue to insist that she had never expected anything else, that she had never imagined romance or tenderness or anything remotely foolish, she couldn't. Because perhaps Rosalind was right.
After what had happened last night she never wanted to feel that way again, and perhaps this was exactly why hearts became broken. Because people began expecting things. Small things at first, then larger things. And eventually, everything.
Evangeline stared out the window toward the moors beyond. The Duke had been honest from the beginning. He had offered security and nothing more.
Very slowly, she drew a breath and then nodded.
"Perhaps you are right." Evangeline managed a faint smile. "Protecting my heart feels like the sensible thing."
Rosalind smiled sadly.
"It's alright," Evangeline assured her. "I will be fine."
"I know you will," Rosalind said.
Evangeline nodded, straightening her shoulders.
Love had never been part of the agreement. And so there would be no kisses and no emotional attachment. Nothing that could lead to heartbreak.
And in that moment, sitting in her room with her sister at her side, Evangeline made a silent vow to herself. She would not fall in love with the Duke, no matter what.