Epilogue
As the carriage drew up before the house, Anthony stepped down before the footman could lower the steps completely.
His attention was immediately caught by unusual activity near the entrance, where a second carriage stood waiting in the drive.
Several trunks had already been loaded onto the rear and a groom adjusted one of the leather straps securing the luggage.
Anthony slowed as a strange feeling settled in his stomach.
"What's this?" he asked.
The groom straightened immediately. "Your Grace." He glanced toward the carriage.
"The Duchess requested the carriage be prepared."
Anthony frowned. "Requested it for what purpose?"
"To travel to London, Your Grace."
The uneasiness deepened. "London?"
"Yes, Your Grace. Mayfair."
For a moment Anthony simply stared. Nothing about the situation made sense. Evangeline had not mentioned any plans to visit her family. More importantly, she would normally have waited for him.
A dozen possibilities immediately presented themselves. None of them were reassuring.
"Has something happened?"
The groom looked confused. "Not that I know of, Your Grace."
Anthony was already moving toward the house, a sudden urgency settling over him. Perhaps Lady Margaret was ill or one of her sisters required assistance.
He pushed through the front doors, and Mrs Dearwell appeared almost immediately.
"Where is the Duchess?"
"In her sitting room, Your Grace."
Anthony did not wait for anything further. He crossed the hall and climbed the staircase two steps at a time. By the time he reached her rooms, his pulse was pounding.
He knocked once before opening the door and then stopped.
Evangeline stood near the window, a travelling cloak resting across the back of a chair and a small trunk sitting beside the door.
She turned to him then, and the warmth that normally appeared whenever she saw him was entirely absent. For the first time since their marriage, she looked at him like a stranger. Achill settled in his chest.
"Evangeline," he said, as he crossed the room.
He reached out to take her hand but she stepped back.
"Don't," she said.
Anthony froze and then dropped his arm. "What is happening?"
Evangline drew a slow breath. "I am leaving."
Anthony stared at her. "Leaving?" he repeated.
She nodded. "I thought it would be easier if I departed before—"
"Before what?" Confusion gave way to disbelief. "What are you talking about?"
Evangeline looked away. "I am returning to London."
"Why?"
Silence followed
"You know why."
"No," he said. "I don't."
Her gaze lifted to his and he saw the pain there. Pain he did not understand.
"Please do not make this more difficult," she said.
The words ignited something sharp inside him, and when she attempted to move toward the door, he stepped into her path. He was unwilling to let her walk away without explanation.
"No," he said. "You do not get to leave without telling me what has happened."
For a moment she simply stared at him. Then she turned and walked to her desk. She picked up a collection of folded papers and turned back to him.
"I received these this afternoon."
Anthony took them. The moment he saw Nathaniel's name, his jaw tightened.
He read quickly, with growing disbelief, then irritation, and finally anger.
"Evangeline—"
"He wasn't wrong." The interruption caught him off guard. "He merely put it into writing."
Anthony stared. "What?"
"The inheritance clause." She gestured toward the papers. "The agreement."
"Evangeline—"
"The separation provision." Her voice wavered slightly. "You told me all of those things yourself."
Anthony looked down at the documents and then back at her. "I don't understand—"
Evangline shook her head. "I think you told me the truth from the beginning," she said. "This was all it was ever going to be, wasn't it?"
The question stunned him. "Evangeline—"
"You never promised love," she said quietly. "You never promised a future together."
His chest tightened as she looked down.
"And you gave me exactly that."
For the first time, Anthony began to understand the depth of the misunderstanding.
"Evangeline—"
"I cannot stay."
The words broke something inside him. Her voice trembled, despite her obvious effort to remain composed.
"You do not want what I want," she continued.
Anthony stared. "What do you think I want?"
"This," she said, gesturing to the papers. "What we agreed to. But I am not sure I can do it, Anthony. I do not think that my heart can take it."
He took a step towards her again, but she shook her head.
"You don't want me," she said. "I was convenient. You needed a wife."
"Evangeline, please—"
"You needed someone suitable."
The pain in her voice stopped him.
"I wanted to be your wife."
Anthony's breath caught.
"I wanted to be the woman you loved."
The room fell silent as tears slid down her cheeks.
"But I cannot stay and pretend that it is enough."
For one suspended moment, Anthony simply looked at her.
And then he understood, not only what Nathaniel had done, but what he himself had done.
Months of caution and restraint. Months spent protecting himself from feelings he should have confessed long ago. And now she believed the worst, because he had never given her reason to believe otherwise.
Slowly, Anthony reached into his coat.
"Evangeline." She looked at him uncertainly as he removed the wrapped parcel. "I bought this for you."
Confusion flickered across her face. "What?"
"I was going to wait until after dinner." A humourless smile touched his mouth. "Clearly that plan has failed."
He placed the package into her hands and for a moment she simply stared.
Then she carefully untied the ribbon and the poetry volume emerged.
"Anthony..."
"Open it."
With trembling fingers, she opened it.
On the first page, written in his own hand, were the words he had struggled over for nearly an hour before leaving London.
For my wife.
For the woman who brought light into a house I thought would always remain dark.
You were never meant to leave.
I love you.
The room became utterly silent as Evangeline stared at the inscription and then at him.
Anthony took a step forward. "The arrangement no longer matters," he said. "The inheritance does not matter. The only thing that matters is you."
For a moment, neither moved.
Then the truth he should have spoken months ago finally emerged.
"I love you," he said. "And I cannot imagine my life without you."
Tears slipped down her cheeks as he spoke.
"You are my home, Evangeline. I never intend to send you away, because I want you here at Blackwood. With me."
His voice dropped.
"For as long as you wish to stay."
Anthony reached for her hand, and this time, she let him.
"You are my wife in every sense that matters."
For several moments she simply looked at him, and then she laughed through her tears. It was a broken, beautiful sound.
"I love you, too."
Relief crashed through him so powerfully he nearly staggered. For a moment, neither spoke.
"But I do not know how to stop believing what I read," she whispered.
The admission hurt, but he understood that he had given those fears room to grow.
Anthony gently took her hands. "You do not have to stop today. But believe me when I say this." His thumb brushed her knuckles. "I will spend the rest of my life proving it."
Her expression softened, and at last, the distance between them finally disappeared.
Anthony lifted a hand to her face, slowly, giving her every opportunity to pull away. But she didn't.
His gaze dropped briefly to her lips and then returned to her eyes.
"Evangeline." The sound of her name was barely more than a whisper as he leaned in.
The kiss was gentle at first, almost reverent, carrying months of unspoken feeling and hard-won trust. When she reached for him, he felt her smile against his mouth, and something deep inside him finally settled.
For the first time since they had met, there was nothing standing between them.
And when they finally broke apart, Anthony remained exactly where he was, his forehead resting lightly against Evangeline's.
The room seemed impossibly quiet. Outside the windows, the last light of evening was fading from the sky, painting the gardens below in shades of gold and violet.
He could feel the warmth of her hands in his and the lingering certainty that everything he had feared losing was somehow still within his reach.
Evangeline's eyes shone with tears, although this time they were no longer tears of heartbreak.
"I cannot believe you wrote that," she murmured, glancing down at the poetry volume still resting between them.
Anthony smiled faintly. He was just beginning to lean toward her again when a sharp knock sounded at the door.
Both of them froze.
The timing was so spectacularly unfortunate that Anthony briefly considered pretending he had not heard it.
The knock came again, more urgently this time.
Anthony closed his eyes as Evangeline's shoulders began to shake with suppressed laughter.
"Do not laugh at my suffering."
"I am trying very hard not to."
The third knock was accompanied by a familiar voice.
"Blackwood."
Anthony sighed. "Unfortunately, that is Sebastian."
"Perhaps he will go away."
"He never goes away."
Reluctantly, Anthony crossed the room and opened the door.
Sebastian stood in the corridor looking dusty, dishevelled, and entirely unapologetic.
His gaze moved briefly from Anthony to Evangeline, and then back again.
Understanding dawned immediately. "Ah."
Anthony narrowed his eyes "Not one word."
Sebastian raised both hands. "I assure you, I have many words. I simply recognise that now is probably not the time."
Despite the obvious amusement lurking in his expression, his demeanour quickly became serious.
"My apologies, but this cannot wait."
Anthony stepped aside as Sebastian entered the room.
Evangeline straightened, concern immediately replacing her earlier happiness.
"What has happened?"
Sebastian removed his gloves. "We found Nathaniel."
Anthony felt Evangeline tense beside him.
"Where?" he asked.
"Attempting to leave the country."
Sebastian's expression hardened.
"He never reached the coast."