Chapter 1 #3
“But the more time that is wasted…” She fanned herself. “They could be anywhere now, Your Grace.”
Someone cut them off with a hand on his shoulder. He recognised the voice. It was one of Freddy’s associates, John French, who was always coming to the house in summertime to play cricket.
“It seems,” John said, dropping his voice to the register of grave confidence, “there has been some complication with Frederick.”
Evander returned his gaze to Miss Knowles. “What a keen insight. Do you have anything useful to say, French?”
A pause, as the young man adjusted his approach. “Your brother,” he said more plainly, “has run away with your betrothed. Do you intend to pursue him? Shall I?”
Evander scowled and rose to his feet. He towered over John. He towered over most people. “What do you think? Find the footman who came here. Tell him to return to the house and send someone after my brother at once.”
The man hesitated, maybe knowing more than he was letting on. “If this is your desire…”
“It is not my desire, it is my order,” Evander replied, his voice rising.
The man receded, nodding. Evander scrubbed a hand over his face, thinking to no end. His mind flashed with the face of Seraphina. What the devil had she been thinking? What the devil had he done to deserve this?
He met the eye of Mrs. Hartwell. “Hand that here,” he said. She had picked up the scandal sheet and extended it to him, then returned to tending her niece.
Evander unfolded the paper and read. Somehow, while reading, the words did not seem so impossible to him after all.
Deep down he had always known something like this would happen.
Not this, not precisely this sequence of events.
Not Frederick's particular brand of mischief delivered at quite this moment.
But he had doubted something, a wrongness he had permitted himself to overlook.
He had seen them together, Freddy and Seraphina, especially in Norfolk.
He had told himself it was a friendship, a familiarity, the natural warmth of two people who had moved in the same circles for years and were going to be brother and sister soon enough.
That had been Evander’s mistake, and now Miss Knowles was paying for it, and so would his own family.
His thoughts moved without his full permission to the jilted bride, and then his eyes moved too.
She was awake now, covering her face with her hands.
He badly wanted to see her. The hands moved to rip something out of her hair.
A metal hair accessory. It clattered down the altar steps and a piece broke off.
He had last seen her at luncheon yesterday, straight-backed and composed at the pianoforte, hanging on Frederick’s every word when he interrupted her with a joke.
He thought she loved him and was glad for his brother, who he hoped loved her too.
Evander would never know love. He had made his peace with that.
There was no one in the world he preferred over his own company.
But not everyone was like him. Not Miss Knowles, though he hardly knew her.
But women needed to be wanted. Why should she have been any different?
The buckle landed at his feet. He picked up the pieces, the bulk of it and a small plated flower, and crouched before her again.
“Miss Knowles,” he said, repeating himself when she did not hear him, more concerned than he expected to be. “We must return you home, Miss Knowles.”
She seemed surprised to see him there. Her pale, heart-shaped face contorted with horror, then sadness.
He had never seen her look so alive. And despite the appalling, confusing events of that morning, despite the fact he had no right to feel this way, he could not help but admire the natural, terrible, unfiltered emotion she displayed. She was sublime.
“Why has this happened?” she murmured, coming apart slowly. Her aunt reached for her and she pushed her away, determined to straighten herself. A tear fell from her eye. The priest and Mrs. Hartwell stepped back.
The church was clearing out now. Evander wasn’t sure who had directed the guests to leave, but most of them were gone.
Handing Mrs. Hartwell the hair buckle, he reached out a hand for Miss Knowles to take. “Only the Lord knows. But there is no use staying here,” he said softly. “Come, stand up.”
She hesitated a moment, then allowed him to pull her upright.
She stumbled, still weak from her collapse, and fell against him.
He froze as she settled a hand on his chest to steady herself.
It was the matter of a few seconds, but they lasted for ever.
She was thin and cold, her chestnut brown hair frizzing around her face in ringlets.
His body tensed involuntarily, and he swore he felt her tense too.
The day would sort itself, like it always did. There were solicitors and licenses, the careful machinery of damage mitigation, and Evander knew how to operate it…
But he did not know how to help this woman who stood in his arms and sobbed. He did not know if he could.