Chapter Thirteen
Evangeline woke the following morning and immediately wished she could go back to sleep. Because the moment she opened her eyes, the memory of the previous evening returned with alarming clarity.
She buried her face in the pillow and groaned softly.
How was she ever supposed to look Anthony in the eye again?
The problem was not merely embarrassment, though there was certainly plenty of that. Rather, it was the unsettling realisation that what they had done could not be undone. And what they had done, in so public a setting, well… no respectable lady would ever have engaged in such behaviours.
And yet, even now, if she closed her eyes, she could feel Anthony's lips on her throat and the thrust of his fingers inside of her. The memory of it still made her tremble with desire.
No, stop it.
She opened her eyes, sitting up.
No matter what had transpired in the shadows of the brothel, she must maintain her resolve. She had entered the arrangement determined to remain practical and detached.
She could not just abandon these resolutions. She could not allow herself to be alone with Anthony if that was what happened. She could not. Not after her body betrayed her so badly.
Yes, avoidance was an excellent strategy.
For the next several days, she would arrange her schedule with military precision.
If Anthony intended to have breakfast in the dining room, she would take hers in her room.
If he spent the afternoon reviewing estate accounts, she would find reasons to visit the school or inspect the gardens.
If he dined at home, she would somehow discover urgent correspondence requiring attention elsewhere.
A soft knock sounded at the door.
"Enter."
Her maid, Sarah, stepped inside carrying a pitcher of hot water. "Good morning, Your Grace."
"Good morning."
Sarah paused. "Mrs Dearwell asked whether you would be taking breakfast with His Grace this morning."
Evangeline's heart gave an immediate and entirely ridiculous leap.
"No." The answer came rather too quickly. Sarah blinked. "No, thank you. I believe I shall take breakfast here."
"As you wish, Your Grace."
As a married woman and mistress of the household, there was nothing unusual in the request. No one questioned it further.
Still, when the tray arrived half an hour later laden with tea, toast, eggs, and fresh preserves, Evangeline felt absurdly relieved.
One successful avoidance, and now only an entire day remained.
She attempted to occupy herself after breakfast. First she selected a volume of poetry from the shelves and settled into her favourite chair.
Unfortunately, she read the same page four times without absorbing a single word. The verses blurred together while her thoughts wandered elsewhere.
Eventually, she abandoned the effort altogether.
The music room proved a little better. She spent nearly an hour at the pianoforte, moving through pieces she had played since childhood. But while ordinarily, the familiar music calmed her, today, her fingers stumbled repeatedly over passages she knew perfectly well.
The mistakes became so frequent that she finally closed the instrument with more force than was strictly necessary.
"Hopeless," she muttered.
She left the music room and headed down the passage. As she did, she heard Anthony talking to a footman and immediately changed direction.
Back in her room, she sat at her writing desk.
She knew she should write to her sister, since they hadn’t spoken since Sebastian escorted her home.
But how could she put what had transpired into words? And God forbid the letter got into the wrong hands. It would be the scandal to end all scandals.
No, she couldn't write it down.
Instead, she retreated to the window seat and picked up her book, doing her best to pass the time by losing herself in its pages.
***
It was mid-afternoon when a knock sounded at the door of the sitting room, where Evangeline was arranging a vase of flowers she had picked from around the gardens.
"Come in," she called.
The door opened.
"Lady Rosalind Everly," the footman announced.
Evangeline turned to see her sister entering through the door. One look at her expression told Evangeline that her sister had come determined to extract every detail she had failed to put into writing.
"Rosalind," she said. "I wasn't expecting you."
Her sister swept into the room with unmistakable determination as the footman closed the door behind her.
"What happened last night?" she demanded.
Evangeline turned back to the bouquet of flowers. "We really should not have gone," she said. "Anthony was furious."
Rosalind crossed the room. "Evie," she said. "Tell me what happened."
Evangeline attempted innocence. "I told you," she said. "Anthony was angry. He insisted we come home at once."
"And did you find out if there is someone else?" she asked. "Another woman?"
"There isn't," Evangeline said. "We were wrong; he was just conducting business."
Both sisters fell silent for a moment.
"Why won't you look at me?" Rosalind finally asked.
"I am just trying to get these flowers finished," Evangeline said, trying to keep her voice light.
"Evie," Rosalind said. "You are hiding something. And you've never been good at lying, not even as a girl."
Evangeline sighed as she turned to her sister. Rosalind was right, of course; she had never been good at deceiving her sisters.
"Are you alright?" Rosalind asked. "He didn't hurt you, did he?"
"No, nothing like that."
"Then what?"
Evangeline’s cheeks burned. "I can't tell you."
"Of course you can, I am your sister."
Evangeline exhaled shakily and then, with a great deal of embarrassment, she explained what had happened at the brothel.
And when she was done, Rosalind stood frozen to the spot. For perhaps the first time in her life, she appeared entirely speechless.
Finally, Rosalind blinked. "You are serious."
"Very."
Rosalind stared another moment and then, to Evangeline's horror, began laughing.
"Rosalind!"
"I am sorry." She was clearly not sorry.
"This is not amusing!"
"It absolutely is."
Evangeline dropped her face into her hands.
"You spent weeks convinced your husband found you undesirable," her sister chuckled.
"Rosalind."
"And now look at you."
"Don't," she pleaded.
Her sister wiped tears from her eyes. "I am simply saying that this marriage appears considerably less practical than either of you imagined."
Evangeline glared at her.
"Oh, Evie," she said, smiling. "Whatever Anthony claims, I do not think indifference is the problem."
That observation lingered uncomfortably in Evangeline's thoughts. Fortunately, before she could respond, voices sounded from the hall.
A moment later, the drawing room door opened.
Anthony entered, Sebastian following close behind.
Sebastian stopped when he saw Rosalind, and his expression brightened.
"Lady Rosalind."
Rosalind's cheeks flushed ever so slightly. "Lord Wrexham."
Sebastian glanced between the sisters. "I hope I am not interrupting anything important."
"You are," Rosalind informed him.
He placed a hand over his heart. "I am dreadfully sorry."
"Well, I should return home before Mama sends a search party."
"Allow me to escort you." Sebastian's offer came rather quickly.
"That is hardly necessary," Rosalind replied.
"Excellent," Sebastian said. "Then we agree."
Rosalind rolled her eyes. Yet moments later the two departed together, still arguing amiably as they disappeared down the corridor.
The drawing room door closed behind them, and silence followed.
Evangeline suddenly became very interested in her flowers as she adjusted one stem and then another.
Behind her, Anthony spoke. "How are you?"
The question sounded deceptively simple, and yet, it made her heart race.
"I am perfectly well." Her answer arrived rather too quickly.
Anthony was silent for a moment.
"Duchess."
Evangeline turned reluctantly to find that he had moved closer. His gaze remained steady, as though he could see straight through every carefully constructed defence.
"You seem determined to avoid me."
Heat rose immediately to her cheeks. "I have not been avoiding you."
One dark eyebrow lifted. "We shall return to the estate tomorrow. On the way, I shall be inspecting several tenant farms. Are you happy to accompany me?"
"You wish me to meet the tenants?"
"If it pleases you."
Evangeline considered the invitation. Part of her wanted to refuse, but another part was curious. And a third part, an increasingly troublesome part, simply wanted to spend time with him.
"Yes," she said quietly. "I would like that."
Anthony inclined his head. "Then I shall see you in the morning."
His voice returned to its usual formality.
"Good afternoon, Duchess."
Before she could answer, he turned and left the room, the door closing softly behind him.
Evangeline remained exactly where she was, the flowers forgotten upon the table. Because despite the ordinary nature of the conversation, despite the simplicity of the invitation, despite the fact that he had scarcely touched her at all—
She felt entirely unsettled, and somehow, she suspected tomorrow would be no easier.