Chapter Twenty-One
Evangeline knew before she opened her eyes that morning that something was wrong.
For the last several days, ever since the Whitmore party and their return, she had carried a quiet hope she scarcely dared acknowledge, even to herself.
It had followed her through meals, walks, and evenings spent in Anthony's company.
She had found herself wondering what it would mean if the purpose of their marriage had already been fulfilled.
Wondering how Anthony might react. Wondering whether a child would somehow make the uncertain space between them easier to navigate.
Which was why the realisation that her monthly courses had begun arrived with crushing certainty.
She sat motionless on the edge of the bed, staring at the floor while disappointment settled heavily in her chest.
The reaction surprised her.
A few months ago, she would have viewed the matter entirely practically. The sooner she conceived, the sooner her family's future would be secured and the terms of their arrangement fulfilled.
Now it felt different. Far more personal and much more painful.
By the time she descended for breakfast, she had composed herself as best she could.
The breakfast room was bright with morning sunlight. Silver dishes gleamed upon the table while fresh flowers scented the air.
Anthony glanced up from his coffee as she entered.
"Evangeline."
She managed a smile. "Good morning."
He studied her for several seconds. "Something is wrong."
Trust Anthony to bypass all polite conversation and proceed directly to the heart of the matter. She lowered herself into her chair and for a moment she considered dismissing the question. Then decided against it.
"There is no need to worry."
Anthony did not look reassured. "Evangeline," he said. "Tell me."
She looked down at her hands. "I am not with child."
Silence followed and for a long moment, Evangeline did not dare look up, fearing the disappointment or even anger in her husband's face.
When she finally found the courage to lift her head and look at him, Anthony's expression was soft. After a moment, he set down his cup.
"We knew it might take time."
Evangeline bit her bottom lip. "You are not disappointed?"
A faint smile touched his mouth. "Of course I am disappointed, but I am not alarmed. We still have time."
There was no blame or impatience. No frustration, only confidence in the belief that it would happen in time.
"You're right," she agreed.
The room settled into silence. As much as Evangeline wanted to share in his confidence, she could not entirely ignore the uneasy feeling that lingered in her stomach.
From the moment a woman entered society, she was taught that marriage and motherhood would become the defining responsibilities of her life.
A gentleman might distinguish himself through politics, military service, scholarship, or the management of his estates.
A woman, however, was expected to create a family.
To provide heirs. To secure the future of the generations that followed.
It was not a burden she had ever questioned. It was simply the way of the world. Yet now, that responsibility felt alarmingly personal.
The terms of Anthony's inheritance had transformed what ought to have been a private matter into something far larger.
An heir would not merely secure Blackwood's future.
It would protect countless tenants and servants whose livelihoods depended upon the estate.
It would prevent Nathaniel Hawthorne from gaining control of lands he would almost certainly mismanage.
It would safeguard everything Anthony had spent years rebuilding.
So much rested upon something she could not fully control. That was the part she found difficult to ignore.
No matter how optimistic she tried to be, she knew there were women who waited years for children.
Women who never conceived at all.
She had heard whispered conversations among married ladies during her Seasons in London. She remembered seeing the strained smiles of wives whose families anxiously awaited an heir. She remembered the pity directed toward those who failed to provide one.
The thought made her chest tighten.
What if she disappointed him? What if months passed and nothing happened?
What if the fault lay with her?
Anthony had never once suggested such a thing. Indeed, he had been unfailingly kind. Yet the fear remained all the same, lurking quietly beneath the surface of her thoughts.
***
Over the next several days, Evangeline did her best to put the matter from her mind.
She threw herself into estate business with renewed determination, spending mornings reviewing household accounts with Mrs Dearwell and afternoons visiting the village school.
She met with Mrs Carter regarding repairs to her cottage roof, discussed winter supplies with the vicar's wife, and spent an entire morning helping Miss Briggs organise books for the schoolchildren.
Outwardly, nothing had changed. Inwardly, however, she felt oddly subdued.
The disappointment lingered more stubbornly than she wished to admit.
Each morning she woke with the same quiet ache in her chest. Each evening she told herself that Anthony was right, that they had plenty of time and no reason to worry. Yet the reassurance never quite settled the uneasy feeling that accompanied her wherever she went.
She tried not to dwell upon it or imagine futures that had not yet come to pass. Unfortunately, she suspected Anthony noticed all the same, although they did not speak of it again.
That morning, she sat alone in the blue sitting room with a book resting forgotten in her lap.
Sunlight streamed through the tall windows overlooking the front drive while a gentle summer breeze stirred the curtains. Somewhere in the distance she could hear gardeners working among the rose beds.
She had been staring at the same page for nearly ten minutes when the sound of carriage wheels reached her ears.
At first she paid little attention; visitors arrived at Blackwood Hall often enough.
Then she heard voices and looked up.
Curiosity overcoming distraction, she crossed to the window. The moment she saw the carriage, her heart leapt. The book slipped forgotten onto the chair and a broad smile spread across her face as she pressed closer to the glass.
Her mother was descending from the carriage with the assistance of a footman, followed by Rosalind, who adjusted her bonnet against the breeze. Daphne was already ahead of them, speaking animatedly enough to be heard from the house, even through closed windows.
Without a second thought, she gathered her skirts and hurried from the room. By the time she reached the entrance hall, the front doors were already opening.
Daphne came in first. Evangeline barely had time to brace herself before her youngest sister threw her arms around her.
"Daphne!"
"We have come to rescue you."
"Rescue me from what?"
"The dullness of married life."
Rosalind entered behind them, rolling her eyes. "Do not listen to her."
"It is a noble mission."
Lady Margaret laughed softly as she stepped into the hall. "I assure you, we were invited."
Evangeline blinked. "Invited?"
A familiar voice answered from behind her. "I thought a change of company might be welcome."
She turned to find Anthony standing at the foot of the staircase with Sebastian a few steps behind.
Evangline met Anthony's eyes, and while his expression remained characteristically composed, a warmth flickered in his gaze.
And suddenly she understood. He had noticed she was unhappy. Without drawing attention to it, without forcing uncomfortable conversations, he had simply arranged for the people she loved most to come to her.
Her throat tightened, but before she had time to say anything, Anthony stepped forward.
"I have had a picnic arranged for us all," he announced.
"A picnic?" Evangeline repeated.
Anthony nodded. "The weather is favourable."
Sebastian scoffed. "You planned a picnic?"
"I said one had been arranged," Anthony clarified. "Now, should we?"
***
The gathering took place on a broad stretch of meadow overlooking one of the most picturesque corners of the Blackwood estate.
Gentle hills rolled away toward the horizon in waves of green and gold, dotted with grazing sheep and divided by ancient stone walls that had stood for generations.
Clusters of wildflowers scattered colour through the grass while a narrow stream wound its way across the landscape, its surface flashing silver whenever it caught the afternoon sun.
Several enormous oak trees provided welcome shade from the summer warmth. Beneath them, servants had arranged the picnic before withdrawing. Thick Persian rugs and wool blankets had been spread across the grass, creating comfortable places to sit and converse.
Nearby stood several folding tables and campaign chairs, the sort often used during country excursions by wealthy families. White linen cloths fluttered gently in the breeze, their corners secured with silver serving dishes and baskets.
Mrs Dearwell had clearly interpreted the instructions to prepare a simple outing as a personal challenge.
The tables groaned beneath an impressive display of food.
Platters of cold roast chicken, sliced ham glazed with honey, raised game pies, fresh bread, cheeses from neighbouring farms, and bowls overflowing with strawberries and cherries were arranged beside crystal decanters of lemonade and chilled wine.
Smaller dishes held pickled vegetables, potted shrimp, and delicate pastries that looked almost too pretty to eat.
Daphne stopped in front of the spread and stared. "Good heavens."
Evangline laughed. "It appears Mrs Dearwell believes we are feeding an army."
"A very fortunate army," Daphne replied
Lady Margaret shook her head as she settled into one of the chairs. "When I was a girl, picnics consisted of a basket and a blanket."
"That sounds deeply inadequate," Daphne informed her.
Anthony, who was helping a footman uncork a bottle of lemonade, glanced over.