Chapter Fifteen
Several days after their visit to the estate, Blackwood House was thrown into cheerful disorder by the arrival of a dressmaker.
Evangeline had scarcely finished breakfast when a procession of assistants began carrying boxes, garment bags, and carefully wrapped parcels into one of the larger sitting rooms. Within an hour, every available chair and sofa seemed draped in silk, muslin, velvet, and fine wool.
Mrs Latimer, a fashionable London dressmaker with an impressive reputation and an even more impressive confidence, stood in the centre of the room directing her assistants like a military commander.
"Careful with that sleeve, Miss Turner. The French trimming is extremely delicate."
She turned toward Evangeline and beamed. "Your Grace, His Grace instructed me that your wardrobe is to be brought fully in keeping with your position."
Evangeline blinked. "My position?"
"As the Duchess of Blackwood, of course."
Mrs Latimer said the words as though they explained everything, and perhaps they did. Although they had been married almost a month, it still felt foreign to her, her position.
For the next several hours, Evangeline found herself measured, pinned, fitted, and consulted on an astonishing variety of garments.
There were elegant evening gowns suitable for London society, walking dresses for country visits, riding habits fashioned from dark green cloth, opera cloaks, gloves, bonnets, slippers, and enough ribbons to decorate an army.
The sheer extravagance left her slightly overwhelmed.
She had never lacked for clothing, but the Everly family had spent years carefully managing every expense. New gowns had been altered and reused. Trimmings had been changed from season to season. Every purchase had required consideration.
This was something entirely different.
By the time Mrs Latimer finally departed, Evangeline felt exhausted.
She was still staring at a pale blue evening gown when Mrs Dearwell arrived carrying a letter.
"A messenger brought this from London, Your Grace."
Evangeline broke the seal. As she read, her eyes widened.
The letter was from Lady Margaret.
Anthony had done exactly as he had promised and a substantial settlement had been transferred into her mother's control. Separate funds had been established for Rosalind and Daphne's dowries, ensuring that both sisters would enter society with every advantage their father had once hoped to provide.
For several moments, Evangeline simply sat staring at the page.
Then she folded the letter and rose. "I should like the carriage prepared."
Mrs Dearwell smiled. "Of course, Your Grace."
The journey to London seemed shorter than usual, and by the time Evangeline arrived at the Everly townhouse, she could scarcely contain her excitement.
The front door had barely opened before Daphne appeared. "Evangeline!" She flew down the front steps.
"Is it true?" Evangeline asked.
"I assume you mean the dowries?" Daphne seized her arm. "Yes, it is true!”
Lady Margaret stood waiting in the drawing room, the letter already clutched in her hand. Rosalind sat beside her on the sofa, looking equally astonished.
"My darling." Lady Margaret’s words trembled slightly and emotion shone in her eyes. "You have saved us."
Evangeline's throat tightened. "It was not only me."
"But you made the sacrifice."
Lady Margaret squeezed her hand.
Rosalind stood next. "Oh, Evie."
She threw her arms around her sister, and when they separated, Daphne immediately stepped forward.
"I should like everyone to know that this changes everything." She grinned. "Do you know how many gentlemen I can now reject?"
Everyone laughed, even Lady Margaret.
"I believe that was not the intended purpose of the dowry," their mother said.
Daphne looked thoughtful. "Well, I shall become extremely selective."
Rosalind shook her head. "I fear wealth has gone directly to her head."
The afternoon passed in laughter and conversation, and for the first time since her father's death, Evangeline saw genuine relief in her mother's expression.
The constant worry that had lingered beneath every smile seemed lighter now that the future no longer felt uncertain.
That knowledge followed Evangeline all the way back to Blackwood Hall.
Anthony had kept his promise.
***
That evening, long after dinner had ended, Evangeline found herself wandering through the quiet corridors of the house.
The servants had largely retired. Candlelight flickered along the walls while the distant ticking of a clock echoed softly through the silence.
She had spent hours thinking about her family and the futures now waiting for them. Now she needed to thank Anthony properly for what he had done.
After a brief search, she found him in the library.
The room glowed with the warm light of a fire burning in the hearth. Shelves lined the walls from floor to ceiling, their leather-bound volumes catching the flicker of candlelight. The scent of old books and polished wood hung pleasantly in the air.
Anthony sat in a chair near the fire with a book resting open in one hand.
Without the demands of guests or estate business, he looked unusually relaxed, almost younger.
He glanced up as she entered, and surprise crossed his face.
"Evangeline."
"I hope I am not disturbing you."
"Not at all." He set the book aside. "What is it?"
For a moment she hesitated, and then she crossed the room.
"I received a letter from my mother today."
Anthony nodded once. "I see."
"The settlements arrived," she said, smiling. "And my sisters were nearly impossible to manage."
The corner of his mouth twitched. "I imagine Daphne considered it a personal triumph."
"She immediately began discussing which gentlemen she intends to refuse."
Anthony gave a throaty chuckle. The sound pleased her more than it should have.
She clasped her hands together. "I wanted to thank you."
"There is no need," he said. "You did what was required and now so have I."
"There is every need."
Anthony looked uncomfortable, as though gratitude was something he preferred not to receive.
"You promised to provide for them," she continued. "You have done far more than that."
"They are your family."
The answer may have seemed simple to him. But to Evangeline, it meant everything.
"My mother has not looked so relieved in years."
"I am glad."
The quiet sincerity of the words touched her unexpectedly. But she could still see that Anthony was uncomfortable, and to ease his discomfort, she nodded toward the volume.
"What are you reading?"
The change of subject appeared welcome. Anthony picked up the book. "A collection of Byron."
Evangeline laughed softly.
"I suspect you approve."
"Only because I spent half my childhood hiding in my father's library reading poetry."
Anthony looked amused. "Did you?"
"Constantly."
She settled into the chair opposite him. "My sisters were usually forced to listen to dramatic recitations afterwards."
"I feel compelled to offer Rosalind and Daphne my sympathies."
"They enjoyed it."
Anthony raised his eyebrows in disbelief, and Evangeline giggled.
"What about you?" she asked.
"What about me?"
"What filled your childhood days?" she asked. "Horseback riding and fishing, I presume."
Anthony shook his head. "No," he confessed. "I was not much for either as a boy."
"I can hardly believe that."
"It's true," Anthony continued. "I preferred quieter pursuits, much to my father's disgust. Now, Edmund, he loved anything to do with the outdoors."
Anthony paused, and Evangeline saw the grief on his face. She had seen Edmund's portrait in the hall and the housekeeper had told her that he had not returned after the war.
"Edmund was your brother."
"Yes," Anthony confirmed.
"Will you tell me about him?" she asked, without thinking.
To her surprise, Anthony suddenly smiled.
"He was always trying to get me to accompany him," Anthony said.
"Fishing, hunting, riding, he would drag me along.
On one occasion he took me down to the lake to fish.
And we must have walked too close to a goose's nest, because the next thing it came charging out of the reeds and straight for Edmund. "
He chuckled, his eyes twinkling now.
"Oh no," Evangeline said, smiling. "What happened?"
"Edmund really fell into the pond," Anthony laughed. "But he would not admit he'd jumped in to escape the angry goose, so instead he declared that he was conducting scientific research."
She laughed again, and Anthony joined her, the sound filling the library with a warmth and easiness.
As the laughter faded, a comfortable silence settled between them.
The fire crackled softly and, outside, wind brushed against the windows. The clock on the mantle ticked away.
Evangeline had not become aware of how late it was.
"You should get some rest," Anthony said.
"Yes," she agreed.
Anthony got up, offering her his hand. He helped her up out of the chair, and she stood, close enough that she could see the gold threads of firelight reflected in his grey eyes and hear the steady rhythm of his breathing.
It sent a nervous flutter through her stomach.
For a moment, neither spoke.
Anthony was looking at her with an expression she could not quite decipher.
She swallowed, and his gaze dropped to her lips.
A rush of heat climbed into her cheeks.
Silence stretched as the easy companionship of a few minutes earlier gave way to something else entirely.
She leaned forward, about to brush her lips against his, when Anthony stiffened. Whatever emotion had softened his expression vanished behind familiar walls.
His jaw tightened, and the warmth left his eyes.
A heartbeat later, he stepped back, only a single pace, yet it felt as though an entire room had appeared between them.
Confusion washed through her as Anthony looked away.
When he spoke, his voice had regained its usual controlled formality. "It is late." Evangeline stared at him as he inclined his head. "Duchess."
Evangeline forced herself to answer. "Your Grace."
Something flickered across his face then. Regret, perhaps, or frustration. She could not tell.
Before she could decide, he turned and walked toward the door. His hand paused briefly upon the handle. "Good night, Evangeline."
"Good night."
A moment later the door closed softly behind him, and silence settled over the room once more.
Evangeline remained where she was, staring at the empty doorway.
Slowly, she sank back into her chair. The fire continued to burn and the books remained exactly where they had been. Nothing had changed, and yet everything felt different.
She could still see the look in his eyes before he stepped away, still feel the certainty that had existed for that brief, impossible moment.
He had wanted to kiss her, she was certain. So why had he stopped himself?
The question lingered long after the fire burned low.