Chapter Twenty-Five
Anthony had always considered himself a patient man.
Years of managing estates, navigating Parliament, and dealing with difficult relatives had required a temperament capable of enduring almost anything.
Unfortunately, he was discovering that patience was considerably easier to exercise when one was not confined to a bedchamber under the watchful supervision of an overly attentive wife.
Three days after the physician had declared him out of immediate danger, Anthony found himself seated in a chair near the window while Evangeline rearranged the stack of books upon a nearby table for the third time that morning.
"I fail to understand why everyone insists upon treating me as though I am made of glass," he remarked.
Without looking up, Evangeline replied, "Because you were thrown from a horse less than a week ago."
"Anthony folded his newspaper and regarded her with resignation. "You have become remarkably tyrannical."
That earned him a smile.
"I learned from Mrs Dearwell."
"God help us all."
The smile widened, and Anthony felt a corresponding warmth spread through his chest.
The exchange should have irritated him. Instead, he found himself looking forward to these small arguments. They had become a familiar part of each day. Evangeline fussed over him, he protested, and neither of them altered their behaviour in the slightest.
The truth was that he no longer objected to her presence. In fact, he had become alarmingly accustomed to it.
For years he had managed every difficulty alone. Even Sebastian, for all their friendship, occupied a separate sphere of his life. Dependence had always seemed dangerous. Yet over the course of the past week, he had found himself relying upon Evangeline without even realising it.
She anticipated what he needed before he asked and noticed when his headaches worsened. She knew precisely when to argue with him and when to leave him in peace.
Most unsettling of all, her presence brought him comfort.
The realisation ought to have troubled him. Instead, it felt natural.
By that afternoon, the summer sunlight had shifted across the room, filling the bedchamber with warm golden light. The windows stood open, allowing a pleasant breeze to drift through, carrying the scent of roses from the gardens below.
Evangeline settled into the chair beside his bed with a book resting in her lap.
"What are we reading today?" Anthony asked.
She glanced down at the cover. "A novel."
His expression immediately became suspicious. "A good one?"
"Of course."
Anthony found himself smiling before she had even opened the book.
She began reading aloud, her voice warm and expressive as she brought the story to life. At some point, Anthony realised he had stopped paying attention to the plot entirely. The words themselves faded into the background while he listened instead to the cadence of her voice.
The sound settled deep inside him.
***
That evening, after supper had been brought upstairs, she insisted upon a game of chess.
Anthony had once considered himself a reasonably capable player; he now suspected he had been mistaken.
"You are distracted," Evangeline informed him as she moved a piece.
Anthony looked down at the board and immediately regretted it and his position had deteriorated considerably.
"I am recovering from a concussion."
"You said yesterday that you felt much improved."
"I may have exaggerated."
She gave him a knowing look. "You cannot use your head injury as an excuse for why you are losing."
"It seems as good a reason as any."
"It's your turn."
The game ended precisely as she predicted. Anthony lost and Evangeline looked insufferably pleased with herself. The sight of which should not have been nearly as charming as it was.
"What shall we do now?" she asked.
Anthony said nothing for a moment, but he suddenly felt very tired. Sensing it, Evangline got up.
"Bed time," she said.
Then she leaned over and kissed him on the forehead.
"Get some sleep," she said.
Before he could reply, she retreated to the armchair in the corner of the room. Despite trying to convince her that he did not need to be watched all night, Evangline had spent every night asleep in that chair.
Anthony smiled to himself as he turned over. Sleep came quickly. He was unsure what time it was when he woke again. The fire in the hearth had burned down to embers. He rolled over to find Evangeline asleep in the armchair. The book she'd been reading had slipped to the floor.
Without thinking, Anthony pushed the cover aside and got up. He crossed the room towards her.
A loose curl rested against her cheek, and he brushed it gently aside.
For several moments he simply stood there watching her. And then, acting upon impulse, he slid one arm beneath her knees and another around her back.
She made a small sound of protest as he lifted her, then settled immediately against his chest.
Anthony carried her to the bed. The weight reminded him that he was not yet fully recovered, but he ignored the discomfort.
Carefully, he lowered her onto the mattress.
The moment he attempted to withdraw, she shifted closer.
One hand closed lightly around the front of his shirt and a soft sigh escaped her.
Slowly, he lay down beside her and wrapped his arms around her.
They lay like that, in the dim room, and as Anthony listened to her steady breathing, a sense of peace washed over him. It was quite unlike anything he had experienced in years.
In that ordinary moment, a man and wife in bed beside one another, he found a quiet certainty that felt more intimate than almost anything they had previously shared.
As the clock on the mantel ticked by, Anthony remained awake.
Moonlight filtered through the curtains while the dying fire cast soft shadows across the room.
His thoughts drifted inevitably toward the future and toward the arrangement they had made before marriage.
At the time, he'd been so sure about the boundaries he'd set.
That once she conceived, she would be free to reside wherever she pleased.
But now the idea felt unbearable. The thought of Blackwood Hall without Evangeline was impossible to imagine.
More importantly, Anthony could no longer imagine his own life without her.
Without her laughter in the library and her questions at dinner. Without her habit of appearing precisely when he needed her.
The realisation settled over him with startling clarity.
He loved her, and the truth no longer frightened him. If anything, it explained everything.
Evangeline shifted in her sleep and moved closer unconsciously. Anthony looked down at her and his throat tightened.
In that moment he knew that he wanted her beside him, not because he needed an heir, but because he could no longer imagine a future that did not include her.
The decision brought an unexpected sense of calm.
For months he had feared losing control, but now he understood the truth. Control had never been the thing he feared losing.
It was Evangeline.
And as he wrapped an arm around her sleeping form and closed his eyes, Anthony knew with absolute certainty that he would do whatever was necessary to keep her safe, and to keep her with him.