Chapter Twenty-Seven #2
She remembered the tenderness he had shown during his recovery. The evenings spent reading together. The way his eyes followed her when he believed she was not looking.
Rosalind was convinced those things meant something, and part of Evangeline desperately wanted to believe it. Yet another part remained frightened. Because for all the affection that had grown between them, Anthony had never once spoken of love.
He had never suggested altering the terms of their arrangement and he still had never kissed her.
The omission had once seemed peculiar. Now it felt significant.
The thought followed her all the way back to the house.
By the time she returned, the sun had begun its gradual descent toward the horizon. Golden light spilled across the stone fa?ade of Blackwood Hall, turning the windows into sheets of amber.
A footman opened the door as she approached.
"Has His Grace returned?" she asked immediately.
The servant shook his head.
"No, Your Grace. A message arrived from London. His Grace's business detained him longer than expected."
Disappointment arrived with surprising force. She had not realised how much she wanted to see him.
"Thank you."
She handed over her gloves and moved toward the staircase.
It did not matter; Anthony would return later, and by then, perhaps she would know more. Perhaps she would have decided what to say. Because until she was certain, there was no point burdening him with speculation.
The thought had barely formed when another footman appeared from the direction of the front hall.
"Your Grace."
She paused.
The young man carried a sealed packet. "This was delivered by special messenger."
Evangeline frowned. "For me?"
"Yes, Your Grace."
Assuming it was likely correspondence relating to estate business or perhaps a charitable matter, she accepted it without concern.
Only once she reached her sitting room did she break the seal.
Several folded documents slipped into her lap. A letter accompanied them.
The handwriting was unfamiliar, and for several moments, she simply stared at the signature at the bottom of the letter.
It was from Anthony's cousin, Nathaniel Hawthorne.
There had been no sight or sound from him since the night of Anthony's accident. Until now. She forced herself to read.
Your Grace,
I trust you will forgive the liberty I take in writing to you directly. Under ordinary circumstances, I should not dream of intruding upon the private affairs of a husband and wife. Unfortunately, I fear there are truths which no one else appears willing to place before you.
You have always struck me as a lady of uncommon kindness, and for that reason alone I find myself unable to remain silent.
Enclosed are copies of certain documents relating to the Blackwood succession and the arrangement upon which your marriage was founded. I suspect none of the information itself will surprise you. My cousin has always prided himself upon honesty, particularly when honesty serves his own purposes.
What may surprise you is how little has changed.
When Anthony Hawthorne required a wife, he did not seek affection, companionship, or happiness. He required an heir. Nothing more.
Time was against him. The terms of my late uncle's will made immediate action necessary. He therefore selected a young lady whose circumstances rendered refusal difficult.
My cousin made a practical decision and, from his perspective, an effective one. He selected you because you were desperate and easily persuaded. He required a wife quickly and found one willing to accept his conditions. Your role was simple: provide an heir and remove yourself from his life.
I do not write these things to wound you, Your Grace. On the contrary, I write because I believe every lady deserves to understand the role she has been asked to play.
No doubt my cousin has behaved with courtesy. Perhaps even kindness. He has always understood the value of maintaining appearances. Yet kindness should not be mistaken for devotion, nor civility for affection.
If you doubt me, I encourage you to read the enclosed documents carefully.
You will find no mention of love, no promise of permanence and no expectation of a shared future. Only obligations and conditions.
Your marriage is a bargain, and bargains, by their nature, conclude once their terms have been fulfilled.
I wonder whether you have asked yourself why my cousin established such precise boundaries from the beginning. Why he insisted upon rules. Why he kept certain distances firmly in place. Why, despite all the intimacy marriage permits, he has remained so carefully guarded.
The answer is painfully simple. Because he never intended this arrangement to become anything more.
You imagine yourself loved, you are mistaken. My cousin does not possess the ability.
The moment you provide an heir, Blackwood will do precisely what he promised.
Men like the Duke value duty above happiness. They honour agreements long after wiser men would abandon them. Whatever regard he may feel for you, it will never outweigh the obligations he has imposed upon himself.
I would advise you to prepare accordingly.
A year passes very quickly.
Your obedient servant,
Nathaniel Hawthorne
Slowly, Evangeline unfolded the accompanying documents.
The first was a copy of the inheritance clause from the late duke's will.
She had heard Anthony talk about it before, but seeing it written in black ink somehow felt different. Colder somehow.
The next document contained notes regarding the original terms of her marriage.
She already knew the contents, Anthony had never hidden them. But still her stomach tightened.
Because there was something deeply unsettling about seeing the arrangement reduced to writing.
There was no emotion, warmth or humanity. Only obligations, requirements and conditions.
One particular line seemed to leap from the page.
Upon successful conception, Her Grace shall be entitled to reside at any Blackwood property of her choosing…
The words blurred briefly before her eyes.
Her attention returned to Nathaniel's letter.
My cousin selected you because you were desperate and easily persuaded. He required a wife quickly and found one willing to accept his conditions. Your role was simple: provide an heir and remove yourself from his life.
Evangeline's fingers tightened around the paper and anger flared immediately.
Much of what Nathaniel implied was absurd. Anthony had never deceived her; in fact he had been brutally honest from the beginning. And yet… Her gaze drifted unwillingly toward the documents once more, and the room seemed suddenly smaller.
Men like my cousin value duty above happiness.
Evangeline closed her eyes. For several moments, she sat perfectly still.
She knew Nathaniel wanted to hurt her, that he was manipulative and cruel.
Yet the most devastating lies were often built upon fragments of truth, and that was the problem. Because everything Anthony had ever done suddenly seemed capable of another interpretation.
She remembered the night of the proposal and the matter-of-fact way he had outlined their future.
She remembered his insistence upon rules and his determination to maintain emotional boundaries. Most of all, she remembered the one boundary he had never allowed her to cross.
No kissing, the rule had always troubled her. Now it returned with painful clarity. Because kisses were not practical or necessary.
They belonged to affection.
Anthony had denied her that one thing from the very beginning.
A sick feeling settled in her stomach. Perhaps because some part of her had always feared exactly this.
That she had mistaken kindness for love and companionship for devotion.
That while she had been building dreams of a shared future, Anthony had remained exactly where he had always been. Outside the walls of his own heart.
A sudden wave of dizziness washed over her.
She lowered the papers onto the desk and pressed a hand to her temple as the room tilted unpleasantly.
Nausea followed almost immediately. For a moment she thought it was simply distress. But of course, there might be another reason.
Her hand drifted unconsciously toward her abdomen.
She needed certainty, immediately.
***
An hour later, the physician arrived.
The examination was discreet and professional.
Evangeline sat quietly while the older man asked his questions and made his observations. Her heart pounded throughout. When he finally straightened, his expression was kind.
"Congratulations, Your Grace."
The words echoed through the room, and for several moments she could only stare.
The physician smiled. "It is early, but there is every indication that you are with child."
Joy should have followed, excitement, relief. Instead, pain rose so suddenly that she could scarcely breathe.
She was pregnant with the child they had both hoped for, the child that would secure Blackwood's future.
Tears burned unexpectedly behind her eyes, and she quickly wiped them away. She had fulfilled her side of the bargain; the agreement was complete.
The physician left shortly after and she was left alone.
Night had fallen and the house was quiet. A single lamp burned beside her chair. Nathaniel's documents remained spread across the desk exactly where she had left them.
The physician's words echoed relentlessly through her mind.
You are with child.
Slowly, Evangeline rested a hand over her abdomen and the gesture felt instinctive now.
She should have been happy. Instead, her heart felt shattered.
She had become exactly what she had feared from the beginning.
A temporary wife, chosen to provide an heir.
And now that she had fulfilled her purpose, she no longer knew whether Anthony would want her to stay.
And in that moment she knew she had to choose for herself. She had to choose to go before he told her to.
So she got up and hurried to the door, pulling it open and glancing down the hall where a footman stood.
"Please prepare a carriage," she said. "I must leave for Mayfair at once."