Chapter 3
Three
Lunch had been served with the usual precision of the Evergreen household—roast fowl, fresh bread, and a delicate lemon tart—yet Grace barely touched hers. Victor, the Marquess of Hamton, observed her with mild concern as she pushed food idly around her plate.
“I swear to you, Victor,” Grace said at last, setting her fork down with a soft clink, “if I am forced to endure one more conversation with a man who believes himself entitled to my entire future, I shall retreat to the country and never return.”
Her tone carried both exhaustion and restrained indignation.
Victor lifted his wine glass slightly, studying her over the rim with faint amusement. “That sounds rather dramatic, even for you,” he replied.
“It is not dramatic,” Grace insisted. “It is survival. The ton is full of hypocrites and uncivilized brutes pretending to be gentlemen.”
Victor gave a low laugh, shaking his head as he set his glass down. “Trust me, Grace,” he said, “there are just as many of those types in the country as there are in London.”
Grace sighed heavily, folding her hands together. “Then perhaps I shall go to Kingsfall,” she declared after a pause. “Joan wrote only last week, and she said the sea is particularly beautiful this time of year.”
Victor nodded thoughtfully. “Lady Joan is well?” he asked.
“She is,” Grace replied, a faint smile returning. “Very well indeed. She and Leonard seem quite content.”
“I am due to visit Leonard myself,” he said.
Grace thought about her best friend Joan, who had married the Duke of Kingsfall, Leonard Wren. She had been happy for her friend, but the distance between them did make her feel alone.
Before Grace could respond, the distant sound of commotion echoed through the corridor. Moments later, a servant appeared in the doorway, slightly breathless.
He announced, “The Duke of Evergreen’s carriage has just approached.”
Both Grace and Victor froze in unison.
Grace set her napkin down slowly. “Did you know Father was returning?” she asked, turning to her brother.
Victor’s brows furrowed as he shook his head. “No,” he said. “This is news to me as much as it is to you.” For a brief moment, silence settled between them.
Grace rose at once, smoothing her skirts. “Then we should meet him,” she said.
Victor stood as well, and together, they moved into the corridor. As they waited, Grace felt a familiar anxiousness, a fragile flicker of hope she did not dare name. Perhaps, after all these years, he would look at her properly. Perhaps he would finally see her.
The front door opened with force.
Walter Bennet, the Duke of Evergreen, entered like a man at war with the world. Without pausing, he tossed his hat and cloak toward a startled servant and barked, “I require a drink. Immediately.”
The servant scrambled away as Walter strode past his children, heading straight for the parlor.
“Victor, Grace, come along.”
Grace turned to Victor in stunned silence.
Has he finally returned for good? Will he finally spend time with us as a family?
They followed him into the room where Walter had already poured himself a generous brandy. He downed half of it in a single swallow before finally exhaling sharply.
Victor stepped forward cautiously. “Father,” he said, “we had no word to expect you. Is all well?”
Walter gave a humorless laugh, setting the glass down with force. “Well?” he repeated. “This is my house, is it not? I should not have to inform anyone when I return to it.” His tone was sharp, dismissive, already bristling with irritation.
Grace stepped forward slightly, attempting gentleness. “Of course not, Father,” she said carefully. “It is simply that we like to prepare your rooms and arrange supper properly for your arrival.”
Walter waved a hand as though dismissing the very idea of courtesy. “Spare me the fuss,” he replied.
He poured himself another drink, his movements brisk and agitated. “My investments have failed me,” he said bluntly. “I require funds. Immediately.” The words landed heavily in the room, and both Grace and Victor straightened.
“How much?” Victor asked at once.
Grace added quickly, “How can we help?”
Walter looked at them as though the answer should already be obvious.
“Victor,” he said, ignoring Grace entirely, “you will go to the country estates. Deal with the tenants and raise the rents.”
Victor frowned deeply. “Father, that is not a simple task…” he began.
Walter cut him off with a sharp gesture. “I do not care. You will leave within the hour.” The command was final, unyielding.
Victor exhaled slowly. “Very well,” he said at last. “I will prepare my things.”
Without another word, he turned and left the room. Grace watched him go, unsettled, before turning back to her father.
Now, I can have Father’s undivided attention. There’s so much I wish to share with him. Perhaps we could go to the opera together—what a joyful notion.
“Is there anything I can do?” she asked softly.
Walter finally looked at her, his eyes assessing her as though she were part of the furniture rather than his daughter. He took another sip of brandy before answering. “If you wish to be useful,” he said, “go and prepare yourself.”
Grace blinked. “Prepare myself? Are we going on an outing, father?” she asked.
Walter nodded curtly. “Wear your finest dress and look elegant. Be ready for the evening.” His tone allowed no question, no softness, no explanation.
Excitement settled in Grace’s chest, though she kept her expression composed.
“Yes, Father,” she said quietly. “Right away.”
Walter dismissed her with a small wave, already turning his attention elsewhere. Grace hesitated only a moment before curtsying slightly and stepping back.
She obeyed. She always obeyed.
Maybe this time she could finally win her father’s affection, even make him stay.
For the first time in a long time, she allowed hope to fill her.
Evander glanced around with mild approval as he was guided into Boodle’s, the gentlemen’s club, alongside his closest friend, Lord Colin Drayden.
“One must admit,” Colin murmured, “this is where the real business of London is conducted.”
Evander gave a short, humorless exhale as they walked. “If this is business,” he said, “then I fear for the state of the country.”
Colin smirked faintly. “You say that now,” he replied, “but half the contracts that matter are signed over brandy in rooms like these.”
The club itself was all dark oak panels and low candlelight, its corridors lined with portraits of long-dead patrons who had once believed themselves untouchable.
A white-gloved servant led them through the foyer with quiet precision, passing first the card room where hushed wagers and sharper smiles prevailed, then the dining room where silverware glinted beneath heavy chandeliers.
Beyond that lay the reading room, a quieter space filled with leather chairs, newspapers, and the faint rustle of turning pages. Every corner of the establishment carried an air of controlled indulgence, as though even pleasure was expected to behave properly here.
“The only business I care for,” he said bluntly, “is finding a new mother for Benjamin.”
Colin raised a brow at that as they sat at a table in the main room. “Brandy, good sir,” he said to the servant who bowed and went off to fulfill the order.
“Still having problems with Benjamin?” he asked.
“My son recoils from me,” Evander said flatly. “As though I am not his father at all.”
Colin’s expression softened slightly, but he kept his tone light. “He is a child of only six years,” he said carefully. “Children are rarely rational.”
The men quieted as the servant placed a decanter of brandy before them with two glasses, poured each a drink, and then departed.
Evander’s grip tightened around his glass. “I think Benjamin believes I took his mother from him,” he said.
Colin frowned. “Why would he think that?”
“He is too young to understand the carriage accident. Too young to understand that I could not save her.” His voice hardened slightly, as though anger at himself was easier than grief.
The club around them continued its measured hum of conversation, yet something in the atmosphere had shifted as more men began to fill the room.
The main hall was broader here, lined with columns and high-backed chairs arranged for informal gatherings of men who considered themselves influential.
Deals were made in whispers, alliances formed over brandy and cigars, and reputations quietly reshaped in corners where no women were present.
Tonight, however, there was an odd tension beneath it all, a sense of anticipation that did not belong to ordinary business.
“Something has shifted. Men are piling in,” he muttered.
Colin gave a half-smile. “It usually does when something profitable is about to happen,” he replied.
Evander had barely nodded when movement at the far end of the room caught his attention.
A woman entered. She was not alone.
Evander’s glass paused halfway to his lips.
A man held her firmly by the arm as though guiding, or rather directing, her forward. The woman beside him looked composed only in appearance; beneath it, Evander saw something unmistakable. Shock. Stillness. A kind of frozen resistance that did not yet know how to move.
Lady Grace. What is she doing here?
He turned slightly toward Colin. “What is going on?” he asked sharply. “Why is there a woman in here?”
Colin followed his gaze and gave a quiet, knowing sound. “Ah,” he said. “It must be an auction.”
Evander’s eyes narrowed. “An auction?” he repeated.
Colin leaned back slightly, unfazed. “Not truly an auction per se,” he said, “but close enough. A quick marriage arrangement. The men gather and place their bid: wealth, influence, power. Whoever offers the most advantageous match secures the bride.”
Evander looked back at the scene, his expression darkening.
Colin gestured subtly. “That is the Duke of Evergreen, Walter Bennet,” he added, “and his daughter, Lady Grace Bennet.”
Evander’s gaze fixed on her fully now.
“It seems he wishes to offer his daughter to the highest bidder. Unfortunate but not unprecedented,” Colin said.
Evander heard the men around the room beginning to murmur offers among themselves and exchange giddy words that being married to the daughter of a duke would bring grand connections.
Evander continued to hear fragments, fortunes named, estates listed, alliances proposed in casual tones that made his skin crawl.
The bidders were older, their voices thick with entitlement, their offers impressive only in their desperation to acquire proximity to her father’s title and to have something young and unclaimed.
It disgusted him more with every passing second.
Lord Ternor entered the room and moved to the front of the group of men.
“No man here can match my offer, so you might as well concede,” he boasted.
Then Evander watched as her eyes found his. Everything else in the room fell away.
She did not move. She did not speak. But something in her expression struck him with brutal clarity, an appeal not for rescue but for escape from something she had already been forced into.
Evander’s chair scraped violently against the floor as he stood.
“Evander…” Colin began, but he did not hear him.
His voice came before thought, before reason, before any consideration of consequence.
“I will offer double what any other man here can offer,” he said sharply.