Chapter Twenty-Two
The following week brought a return to London society, although in truth, Evangeline had not missed it.
After the peace of Blackwood Hall and the warmth of the picnic, the prospect of spending an afternoon navigating the expectations and scrutiny of the ton felt considerably less appealing than it once had.
Nevertheless, attendance at Lady Danbury's annual garden party was one of those obligations that could not be politely avoided.
Lady Danbury herself would have considered any excuse a personal insult.
By three o'clock, the gardens of her grand townhouse in Grosvenor Square were crowded with members of the aristocracy enjoying one of the finest afternoons of the Season.
White marquees had been erected across the lawns to provide shade from the summer sun.
Footmen circulated carrying silver trays laden with champagne, ratafia, and delicate cakes.
Ladies in fashionable muslin gowns strolled among flower beds bursting with roses and peonies, while gentlemen gathered beneath the trees discussing politics, horse racing, and the latest parliamentary debates.
The air carried the scent of fresh flowers and cut grass.
A small orchestra played near the terrace.
Everywhere Evangeline looked, she saw familiar faces and familiar eyes watching.
At first she paid little attention. After all, as Duchess of Blackwood, attracting attention had become unavoidable.
Then she began noticing the expressions and the whispers.
The subtle glances exchanged between ladies standing only a few feet away. A peculiar sensation settled in her stomach; something was wrong. She noticed it again a few minutes later when two matrons paused near a rose arbour. One of them lowered her voice, unfortunately, not quite enough.
"It does seem unfortunate."
Her companion sighed. "One would have expected news by now."
Evangeline's shoulders stiffened.
The first lady shook her head sympathetically. "Perhaps the poor girl simply lacks the constitution for motherhood."
The words struck like a slap and heat flooded her face.
The women moved away before she could react, leaving behind only the lingering sting of humiliation.
For several moments she stood perfectly still, until she became aware of Rosalind beside her.
Her sister's expression was unusually grim. "You heard that."
Evangeline forced a smile. "I am afraid I did."
Rosalind glanced around the gardens as disapproval flashed across her face. "It has been months, not years."
"I know."
The absurdity of it should have made the comments easier to dismiss. Instead, they seemed to echo every fear she had tried so hard to suppress.
Rosalind stepped closer. "I believe I know where it is coming from."
Evangeline looked at her. "Do you?"
Rosalind's expression darkened. "His Grace's cousin," she said. "Lord Nathaniel Hawthorne."
Evangline knew remarkably little about Anthony's cousin personally. In truth, she had exchanged only a handful of words with him since her engagement. Nathaniel always appeared perfectly agreeable in company—charming, polished, and effortlessly courteous.
Yet over the months she had learned to distrust appearances.
Anthony never spoke of his cousin unless necessary, but the few occasions he had done so had revealed more than he probably intended.
Sebastian's opinion had been even less flattering.
Combined with the whispers she had heard throughout society regarding gambling debts, reckless behaviour, and a relentless interest in the Blackwood inheritance, Evangeline had formed a clear impression of the man.
Nathaniel Hawthorne smiled like a gentleman, but no one who knew him seemed to trust him.
"What has he done?" she asked quietly.
"I overheard him speaking to Lady Pembroke earlier," Rosalind lowered her voice. "He was discussing the Blackwood succession."
Evangeline's stomach tightened as Rosalind continued.
"Not directly, of course. He was far too clever for that."
"Naturally."
"He merely remarked upon the importance of heirs and how unfortunate it would be if the line failed."
The bitterness in Rosalind's voice spoke volumes.
Evangeline sighed.
It sounded exactly like Nathaniel. Just subtle enough to avoid accusation and cruel enough to achieve the desired effect.
Unfortunately, before either sister could say more, a familiar voice interrupted.
"Your Grace."
Evangeline turned to find Nathaniel Hawthorne standing before her. He was wearing a polished smile that she guessed was a well-practised device to conceal his malice so effectively.
Rosalind's expression hardened, but Nathaniel ignored her entirely.
"Your Grace," he said, bowing his head. "I trust you are enjoying the afternoon."
Evangeline summoned every ounce of her composure. "It has been very pleasant."
Nathaniel smiled. "Excellent."
His gaze lingered on her, both assessing and calculating.
"Though I imagine recent conversations have been somewhat uncomfortable."
A chill crawled down her spine. "I do not know what you mean."
"Of course not," he said. The false sympathy in his tone made her skin crawl. "But still, it cannot be easy."
Rosalind stepped forward. "My lord—
Nathaniel continued as though she had not spoken.
"The expectations attached to a great family are considerable."
Evangeline knew precisely what he was doing.
"I assure you," she said evenly, "I am quite capable of understanding my responsibilities."
"I never doubted it," he said, his smile widening. "Still, one cannot help feeling sympathy."
The pity in his voice was deliberately cruel.
"A woman in your position faces enormous pressure." Nathaniel lowered his voice further. "After all, Blackwood's future depends entirely upon the production of an heir."
The words landed exactly where he intended, which was directly upon every insecurity she possessed, and for one terrible moment, Evangeline found herself unable to respond.
Because a part of her feared he was right.
Nathaniel saw the hesitation and pressed harder.
"One imagines His Grace had little choice in the matter."
The implication hung heavily between them.
"Your value to the family must feel like a tremendous burden."
"That is enough."
The voice came from behind her, and Nathaniel's smile faltered.
Evangeline turned to find Anthony standing several feet away. The air seemed to change around him.
Anthony's grey eyes settled on his cousin. "Nathaniel." The warning in his voice was unmistakable.
Nathaniel recovered quickly. "I was merely expressing concern."
"No," Anthony said, stepping closer. "You were insulting my wife."
The surrounding conversation began to quiet, people were watching now. Evangeline realised half the garden must be listening.
Nathaniel spread his hands. "Surely you misunderstand."
"I understand perfectly." Anthony's voice remained calm, which somehow made it more frightening. "I will make this simple."
Nathaniel's smile vanished entirely as Anthony stood beside Evangeline now. Close enough that she could feel the heat of his presence and to know exactly whose side he had chosen.
"My wife's worth is not determined by gossip," Anthony continued, his gaze never leaving Nathaniel. "It is not determined by society's opinions." A muscle tightened in his jaw. "And it is certainly not determined by your opinions."
Nathaniel's face flushed.
"The Duchess of Blackwood deserves respect, and if you are incapable of providing it, you will refrain from addressing her altogether."
Anthony took a step forward.
"Do not speak of my wife in such terms again."
For a long moment, Nathaniel just stared, and then he inclined his head stiffly before he turned and walked away.
The crowd around them gradually resumed its conversations. Although Evangeline suspected the incident would provide material for gossip for weeks.
Anthony remained beside her, watching Nathaniel disappear into the crowd.
Only when his cousin was gone did he finally look at her. The concern in his expression immediately softened the knots in her stomach.
"Are you all right?"
Evangeline swallowed. "Yes."
The answer emerged softer than she intended. Because she was not merely relieved. She was moved.
For the first time since their marriage, she had watched Anthony choose her publicly. Without hesitation or concern for appearances. And the realisation settled deep inside her heart.
***
The carriage ride home was quieter than usual.
Outside, London rolled past beneath the fading light of evening. Shopkeepers were closing their doors while lamps flickered to life along the streets.
For several minutes neither spoke, and then Evangeline broke the silence.
"Thank you."
Anthony looked across the carriage. "For what?"
"For defending me."
His expression immediately closed with familiar restraint, and Anthony looked away toward the window.
"I will not tolerate insults directed at my wife."
The words were matter-of-fact. Yet the memory of his anger remained vivid in her mind. He had been furious with Nathaniel.
Not embarrassed or inconvenienced, but furious, and on her behalf.
And long after the carriage rolled through the gates of Blackwood House, she found herself remembering the look on Anthony's face as he stood beside her and told an entire garden full of people that her worth could not be measured by her ability to provide an heir.
For the first time, she began to wonder whether his feelings might be growing as impossible to ignore as her own.