Chapter 19
It took considerable effort for Stephan to manage a moment alone with Evelina. After the ceremony, her friends seemed determined not to leave her with him for even a moment. At last, he managed to coax her into a small alcove just outside the dining hall. “Do you regret your decision?” he asked.
Stephan could not have said precisely why he asked.
Maybe it was because he had decided that Evelina was the woman whom he wished to marry after all.
As he had gazed at her in the church, he had thought only of how witty she was and how beautiful she appeared in that white gown.
There was maybe a small, shameful part of himself that feared Evelina might not wish to marry him.
Worse, she might believe him to be a bother.
He did not love her. He would not even say that he was her friend. Still, there was something special about Evelina, and she deserved a consideration that Stephan did not often find it in himself to give.
“If I regret it or not depends entirely on you,” Evelina said.
Then, she was swept into the tide of gown-clad duchesses, all of whom clustered around her as if she were Queen Charlotte and they her ladies in waiting.
Stephan took his place at the head of the table, conscious that three of the men who were present were dukes.
Worse, they were dukes who had been raised properly, as far as he could discern. They had not fled to the sea as he had.
Stephan silently thanked God that he had decided to invite Murrayton and that his friend had not decided that he would rather not be bothered with the wedding breakfast after their disagreement earlier that morning.
“Shall we?” Stephan asked.
Without waiting for a response, Stephan took a large swallow of his tea. There was one benefit to a wedding breakfast, and it was that there was food. He could not speak if he was busily filling his mouth with jam and toast.
“This home is lovely.” The speaker was a young woman, who bore a strong resemblance to Evelina.
Stephan vaguely recalled hearing her name. What was it? Theodosia? No—
Theodora, the Duchess of Hawthorne. Her husband was Alexander Kendall, the Duke of Hawthorne.
“Thank you, Your Grace,” Stephan said.
He and Evelina might have readily agreed to address one another informally, but Stephan decided it was best not to try that with the Duchess of Hawthorne. At least, not yet. The young woman was already glaring at him from across the table.
“I imagine that we will hold a club meeting soon,” she continued. “I trust you know that Evelina is the founder of the Corset Chronicles Club?”
“I am quite aware,” Stephan said.
The Duchess of Hawthorne smiled thinly, her eyes darting to the two women who sat across from her. Stephan glanced beside the Duchess of Hawthorne. Her husband sat to her left, her mother to her right. The lady’s mother was scandalous, the rare woman who had received a separation from her husband.
Stephan tried to remember what the circumstances had been, but they escaped him. He did have a vague memory of someone—likely Murrayton—telling him that sordid tale, though.
The remaining two ladies were members of Evelina’s club. One was the Duchess of Winterleigh. Stephan looked between the pair, trying to decide which one of Evelina’s scandalous friends that was.
“We meet often.” This speaker was the lady with brown hair and a smattering of freckles across her face; Stephan knew that many men considered freckles to be unattractive, but he found that they lent her a winsome expression.
“And I do not believe Evelina will wish to cease meetings now that she is married.”
“Of course not, Maria,” Evelina said.
Maria—that meant she was the Duchess of Winterleigh. The remaining lady must be Anna, the Duchess of Wutherton.
Stephan found himself rather pleased at correctly remembering half his guests. Once he had identified the ladies, it was easy enough to find their husbands.
“I would not dream of asking Evelina to cease her club meetings,” Stephan said. “A lady ought to have something productive with which to occupy her time.”
“Yes, her friends,” the Duchess of Wutherton said.
The three women looked at him as if they were planning a mutiny.
Stephan’s lips twitched in amusement. Strangely, the thought of mutiny did not conjure his own memories at sea.
Instead, he imagined Odysseus facing a mutiny from a group of angry, gown-clad women.
Evelina’s friends were certainly formidable ladies.
It begged the question: what manner of men would find pleasure in marrying such unusual women? Stephan’s gaze snapped to the Duchess of Wutherton, who was clearly with child and who ought to have left society long ago.
“What is your club?” asked Murrayton.
“We are a gathering of ladies,” said Evelina. “Our purpose is to discuss ideas and innovations which impact women’s lives.”
“Along with certain intellectual matters,” added Evelina’s sister.
“A group of bluestockings,” said Murrayton. “Perhaps, my wife might join you. Amelia is quite an intellectual.”
“Perhaps,” Evelina said.
“Your wife is not with you today.” Evelina’s mother looked at Murrayton with a wary expression.
“She is a little unwell,” Murrayton said. “In truth, I would not have come to the wedding at all if Rothbury was not such a dear friend. My darling is often plagued with headaches, and on those days, I like to remain close to her.”
Stephan wondered how Amelia felt about that. He could too easily imagine Murrayton hovering over his wife like a mother hen, promising everything she might possibly want, while the poor lady tried to sleep.
“Does His Grace have many friends?” asked the Duchess of Hawthorne.
“Theo,” the Duke of Hawthorne said, lips twitching in amusement.
The duchess widened her eyes in mock surprise. “I am only trying to learn more about my sister’s new husband!”
The Duke of Hawthorne shook his head. “I suspect you will not leave this breakfast without enduring an interrogation, Rothbury.”
Stephan chuckled. The duke’s words were thoughtful, even endearing, but his face told another story. Stephan had faced many battles, but never quite one like this. It was as if he was being faced with a table full of adversaries, who were choosing to fight with words instead of weapons.
Maybe he ought to suggest that they all duel instead.
Stephan vaguely recalled reading a medieval text about some hapless knight who had encountered three fights in a single day.
As was conventional, said knight had emerged victorious in every single battle, resulting in himself befriending his former adversaries.
Regrettably, Stephan doubted he would be as lucky.
“There is not much to say,” Stephan said. “I left London ten years ago and joined the fight against Napoleon. After my father died, I returned and took the title of Duke of Rothbury.”
“The Dowager Duchess is not here,” said the Duke of Wutherton.
Stephan clenched his jaw so tightly that it hurt. He had only just remembered that he knew this man. The Duke of Wutherton was one of his father’s former associates. Stephan had even visited him on occasion! He nearly groaned at the realization.
While his days since returning to London had been full of so many visits that all the faces and names blurred together, it was still humiliating not to have recognized a potential ally from the start.
“She did not wish to come,” Stephan said. “The situation between us has not improved, regrettably.”
He tried to sound genuinely apologetic about it. The women’s heated whispers seemed to prove that he had failed.
“I am certain to meet her soon,” Evelina said, furrowing her brow. “Aren’t I?”
He supposed that eventually she would, but Stephan had not been eager to consider the particulars of such a meeting. “Yes.”
At least, Evelina was married to him. The Dowager Duchess of Rothbury would be too late to convince Evelina that he was an unsuitable man to wed.
“You have a fondness for Homer,” Murrayton said. “Is that right, Your Grace?”
Stephan sighed and chewed another mouthful of toast. Murrayton had hopefully steered the conversation towards safer waters.
“I do,” Evelina said. “But doesn’t everyone?”
“I imagine there must be someone somewhere with poor taste,” Murrayton offered. “But I imagine that is something that you and Rothbury have in common. He also has a great interest in Greek culture.”
“Yes,” Evelina said. “We met at the British Museum.”
“Ah,” Murrayton said.
Stephan swallowed his toast. Evelina’s face was calm and composed.
Was she thinking about their tryst in the study?
Stephan took another sip of tea. He remembered in exquisite detail how she had appeared to him then.
Her red hair had been wild, her curls bouncing about her face and fighting against her pins.
Evelina’s face had been flushed, her neck and chest pinkening as pleasure overtook her.
She had been warm and eager, delightfully receptive to his every touch.
Stephan suspected that her husband had not been good to her.
Even if he had sworn there would be no real fondness between them, Stephan still liked to think of himself as a good man, and no good man would leave a lady unsatisfied and wanting.
He fully intended to rip that gown away from her, peel away those silken stockings, and at last remove those drawers.
There was a special satisfaction in knowing that she would be wearing undergarments that he had chosen, that were specifically for him.
“Was that last week?” asked the Duke of Hawthorne, looking at his wife.
She nodded. “I wanted to see the new Egyptian collection, which was marvelous. I have told Rosalind that I will take her to see it soon, and you simply must come with us.”
“Of course.”
“And you,” Evelina’s mother said. “If you are not too occupied with your husband.”
Evelina smiled. “I am certain that I can find the time to visit the museum again with you.”
“We can all go together,” said Murrayton.
Stephan clenched his jaw. “I will likely be occupied. I have much to do in putting the dukedom in order.”
“Yes,” said the Duchess of Hawthorne. “But I hope that your ducal duties will not come at the expense of your wife.”
And if they do, what will you do? Stephan thought.
There was no point in antagonizing his sister-in-law, so he did not. Still, he wondered what these women, these fierce protectors of Evelina, thought they would do if he was not the man they felt he should be?
Maybe he ought to employ someone to taste his food for him. It was well-known that poison was a woman’s weapon, and he would nearly bet on one of these women having an uncomfortable interest in botany.
“My ducal duties will never come before Evelina’s needs,” he said smoothly. “I promise you that, my dear sister.”
The duchess did not look appeased. Evelina placed a gentle hand over her sister’s. “My husband is a man of his word.”
Stephan wondered suddenly if these women knew of his unique arrangement with Evelina. Maybe that was the source of their distrust, or maybe it was something deeper.
I could ask.
Stephan instead ate a spoonful of eggs and tried to let himself fall away.
Eventually, he managed it. The Duke of Winterleigh began speaking about a play, and Stephan was at last forgotten.
He could ask about Evelina’s friends, but he would not.
She was the perfect wife and mother to his heir, but they were not friends.
They had sworn not to be anything more than convenient.
If he learned too much about Evelina, they might become something much more, and he could not allow that.