Chapter 21
When Evelina went down for breakfast, she discovered that her husband was gone.
She ate breakfast alone under the watchful eyes of the unfamiliar staff, all of whom seemed strangely anxious.
Evelina wondered if Stephan was exceptionally stern with them or if he might have said something about her to make them all so strange.
As she finished, she thought longingly of her own staff.
Some of them would be moving into Stephan’s townhouse with her, but most of them would remain behind to manage her own house.
If Stephan had joined her for breakfast, they might have talked together and found some understanding about what had transpired the night before.
She might have learned more about him. Of course, Evelina did not really wish to know about him—not that much, anyway—but talking with him might be a means by which she could soothe the discomfort she felt at the thought of having a proper congress with him.
Evelina sighed and finished her tea, grimacing at the burning sensation in her throat; that was not from the tea.
She had awakened with a sore throat and wondered if it might have been the result of her negligence the night before.
Evelina had remained in the cold bath water for some time, and it was possible she had fallen ill.
After breakfast, Evelina decided that she ought to familiarize herself with her new home.
Even if she and Stephan would only remain together for a year, she still wished to know what manner of place he lived in.
She wandered through the rooms on the ground floor—the parlor, the morning room, the dining room, and a modest library.
Evelina climbed the stairs to the next floor, her eyes landing on the rows of portraits.
The one nearest to her was of a man with dark hair and dark eyes, seated beside an elegant woman with red-brown hair and green eyes.
Their portrait was formal and staged, as were those of most families, but the artist’s brushstrokes had still managed to convey the impression that these were two people who were deeply in love with one another.
The woman had a book open on her lap, while her husband leaned over, as if to see what she was reading.
Their eyes met in that moment, and they smiled at one another.
“Oh!” A feminine cry cut through the air, and Evelina turned her head sharply to the sound.
A red-faced woman with blond hair stumbled into an awkward curtsey. The woman was well into middle age and wore a black gown, which looked as though it was a few decades out of fashion. There was that same hum of anxious energy around her that Evelina had noticed from the other staff.
Evelina smiled gently, trying to show that she held no ill will towards anyone. “I apologize. Did I startle you?” she asked.
The woman put a hand to her chest. “No, I should have been more aware! I apologize for disturbing you, Your Grace. I am Katrina. Katrine Newbury, the housekeeper.”
She seemed unlike any housekeeper Evelina had ever met, but perhaps Mrs. Newbury was new to the position.
“You were not disturbing me,” Evelina said, gesturing to the portrait. “I was simply exploring. I assume this is the late duke and duchess?”
“Indeed, they were,” Mrs. Newbury said. “I have—well—I have heard stories about the late Duke of Rothbury.”
“What stories?”
Mrs. Newbury twisted her hands in her skirts, looking as if she was uncertain that she could share such stories.
At last, she offered a hesitant smile. “Well, the story I have heard is that the late Duke of Rothbury was a kind and thoughtful man. He loved his wife, the Duchess, more than most men have ever loved their wives. She was his entire world.”
Evelina glanced at the portrait. Given the duke’s doting smile, she could believe that the duchess was his entire world.
“I see,” Evelina said. “And she—I assume she died.”
“She did, Your Grace. I have heard that His Grace was devastated. His only comfort was his son.”
“My husband,” Evelina said, ensuring that she was following the story correctly.
“Yes, Your Grace. But the former duke had lost himself to grief,” Mrs. Newbury said. “Even his love for his son was not enough for him to pull himself from—well—from out of that. He was—I should not speak ill of the dead.”
“You are not speaking ill of him,” Evelina said.
Mrs. Newbury’s description of the late duke was enough to give one pause, however. What could the duke have done that might be construed as speaking ill of the dead?
“Did you know His Grace?” Evelina asked.
“No, Your Grace. I was hired by the Dowager Duchess of Rothbury after his death,” Mrs. Newbury said, sounding vaguely apologetic.
Evelina paused, considering. “I am told that the Dowager Duchess is a formidable woman.”
“I would say she is,” Mrs. Newbury said. “She was a great comfort to the late duke in his later years, or so I have heard. Her Grace often helped manage the estate.”
Evelina hummed, her eyes drifting to the other portraits along the walls. “Is she depicted here? I have not yet had the pleasure of meeting Her Grace.”
“Of course!”
Mrs. Newbury wrinkled her nose and walked along the corridor, inspecting the portraits. At last, she stopped and nodded to the gilded frame before her. “This one, Your Grace.”
Evelina joined the housekeeper and looked at the portrait.
It depicted a stately, elegant woman with black hair and blue eyes.
Evelina found herself taken aback, although she was not entirely certain what she had expected from the Dowager Duchess’s portrait.
This woman was no fairy tale villain or wicked stepmother, after all, but as real as Evelina was.
Her Grace did not look especially severe or imposing; on the contrary, her portrait gave little impression at all.
Mrs. Newbury sneezed. She glanced sheepishly at Evelina, her hand covering her face. “I apologize, Your Grace.”
“No need,” said Evelina. “You have been enormously helpful. Thank you.”
Mrs. Newbury curtsied, and clearly recognizing the dismissal, hurried away, leaving Evelina with the impression of a church mouse.
Evelina smiled wryly and continued working her way down the corridor, inspecting the portraits as she passed them.
She could find none of her current duke.
At least, none that she was certain of. There were a handful of portraits depicting young men with dark hair, but it was impossible to know if those were her husband or his ancestors.
At last, Evelina reached the end of the portraits.
She turned on her heel. There was a woman, pale as a ghost and clad in all black, who stood at the opposite end of the corridor staring at her.
The woman’s appearance was so sudden and unexpected that Evelina nearly screamed.
She threw a hand up over her chest and inhaled sharply, as she stared down at the woman.
It took several moments for Evelina to realize who it was that stood before her: the Dowager Duchess.
“What are you doing here?” Evelina asked, as she tried vainly to calm her racing heart. “How long have you been standing there?”
“Long enough,” Her Grace said curtly.
Evelina forced a smile. The Dowager Duchess of Rothbury was a formidable woman, engaged in a war of wills with Stephan over control of the dukedom.
Evelina would be a fool to let her guard down in front of this clever, imposing woman.
It was a pity; had the circumstances been different, Evelina might have admired Her Grace, a woman who fought for herself and her own interests.
“I am pleased to make your acquaintance, Your Grace,” Evelina said, keeping her tone pleasant. “Your reputation precedes you.”
“As does yours,” Her Grace said. “Of course, my grandson would choose the worst woman in London.”
Evelina forced down the spark of indignation inside her. “I am certain he could do worse than me,” she said. “There are many women in London, after all.”
The Dowager Duchess’s lips curled into a sneer. “Hardly. The owner of a scandalous club, the woman who led her own husband to his death—”
“You know nothing of it,” Evelina said sharply.
Her Grace did not know the truth of the Earl of Thornwall’s death, but the words still stung.
Evelina had heard them so many times, but she still found herself wounded by them.
Those words were a good indication of how dangerous the Dowager Duchess of Rothbury was.
This woman had information and gossip, and she did not hesitate to use her knowledge like a knife.
Another woman might have hesitated, bound by the silent understanding that there were some matters which ladies simply did not hold over one another.
Clearly, the Dowager Duchess would use any weapon at her disposal, no matter how cruel.
“But,” Her Grace continued, as if Evelina had not even spoken. “A woman who cannot give her husband a son after a year of marriage is a disgraceful thing. Perhaps, you are precisely what my grandson deserves.”
Evelina dug her nails into the palms of her hands, curling her fingers so tightly that they ached. “You are an unkind woman,” Evelina said. “I wonder what you deserve.”
Her Grace shrugged an elegant shoulder. “Rothbury, of course. And I will have it.”
“I doubt that,” said Evelina. “The late duke’s contract is quite clear that my husband need only prove he is a competent duke, and he has already returned home to tend to the dukedom. He has even found a wife, and despite what you may believe, I foresee an heir in our near future.”
“Oh, poor little duchess,” Her Grace said mockingly. “You are so certain that you will produce an heir. If you were not so pathetic, I might laugh.”
Evelina swallowed hard, her mind returning to the night before.
She had cringed at the thought of consummating her own marriage, of doing the very act which might produce an heir.
What if Evelina could not bring herself to have a congress with her husband?
She inhaled sharply, and the Dowager Duchess smirked.
Doubtlessly, some spark of hesitation must have shown on Evelina’s face.
“You should leave,” Evelina said, trying to conceal how the words had rattled her. “This is my house, not yours.”
“Enjoy it while you can,” Her Grace said. “I do not know what game you are playing, but you will lose it. If my grandson has what he wants from you, he will cast you aside without a thought.”
That did not matter. She and Stephan had already agreed to that arrangement, but Her Grace did not know that.
Evelina clenched her jaw, anger burning in her stomach.
The Dowager Duchess of Rothbury was trying to hurt her and for no reason at all.
Evelina realized suddenly that Her Grace had no reason to be in the townhouse at all, certainly not with Stephan gone.
No, this visit might very well be intended just to upset Evelina.
“And if you do not give him what he desires, I will take great joy in casting you out myself,” the Dowager Duchess added.
Evelina’s face was hot. Her Grace smirked, her expression dripping with condescension.
It was clear that this woman was accustomed to everyone bending to her will, but Evelina had not bent to anyone’s will since becoming a widow.
She was free, always, and she had faced much worse than this bitter, petty woman.
“Regardless of what happens with the heir, I will be taken care of,” Evelina said smoothly. “No, I will thrive and flourish. My marriage contract contains a stipulation that, regardless of what may occur, I will receive a generous allowance and a house of my own for the rest of my life.”
A flicker of surprise flashed in Her Grace’s expression. “Is that so?”
“It is,” Evelina said. “You are not the only woman who likes to wield and keep power. Now, I would advise you to leave my house, Your Grace. Whatever it is you hoped from this encounter—that I might plead for mercy or beg you to reconsider—you will not have it. I have other matters to attend to, and you have stayed long past your welcome.”
The Dowager Duchess scowled and stormed down the stairs.
Evelina remained where she was, simply watching.
Inside, Evelina’s heart raced, and her pulse jumped.
She had known that Her Grace was a force to be reckoned with, and a wiser woman might have found a way to stay in the Dowager Duchess’s good graces. However, Evelina was not that woman.
Still—
If Evelina could not manage to consummate her marriage, she would lose any chance she might have of bearing a child.
Even if she had her allowance and a house, Stephan would not even want to look at her if she failed him.
A lump rose in her throat, making it difficult to breathe.
She forced herself to appear stoic and imposing, but once she heard the door close, signaling Her Grace’s departure, Evelina let herself collapse against the banister.
The air was too warm, and she had difficulty drawing breath. She began to think over every detail of her plan and its execution, every little aspect that might go horribly wrong. All the thoughts rose inside her, playing together like a discordant symphony.
What have I done?