Chapter 4 #2
“Well then,” Colin said at last, reaching for the decanter, “if you are determined to ruin your life in spectacular fashion, I suppose a drink is in order.”
He poured two glasses of brandy and handed one to Evander. Raising his own, he added, “To your new wife, Lady Grace, the future Duchess of Rainfield.”
Evander took the glass and downed it in one swift motion.
The burn of the brandy did little to steady the restless tension in his chest. He set the empty glass down with a quiet force. His gaze swept the room. The whispers were no longer subtle now; men watched openly, their expressions ranging from curiosity to thinly veiled scorn.
I have no patience for this.
“I will not return here,” he said abruptly.
Colin glanced at him. “To the club?” he asked.
Evander nodded once. “To this place,” he replied. “Or any like it. Let us go.”
Colin pushed back his chair, rising with a shrug. “Then we shall find better company elsewhere,” he declared. “I know a place that serves a tolerable supper.”
Evander stood as well, his movements sharp with purpose. “Lead the way,” he said.
They crossed the room together, the weight of attention following them to the door. Evander did not look back.
Outside, the air struck cool against his face, a welcome contrast to the suffocating atmosphere within. He drew in a steady breath as they descended the steps, the noise of the club fading behind them. Colin spoke of trivial matters as they walked, though Evander scarcely heard him.
His thoughts remained fixed on what he had done.
He had acted without hesitation, without strategy, without the careful deliberation that had defined most of his life. It was unlike him, dangerously so. And yet, despite the risk, despite the complications that would surely follow, he could not convince himself it had been a mistake.
I have secured a mother for my son.
But as Grace’s voice echoed in his mind, sharp, defiant, unyielding, he recognized the truth beneath it all.
I’ve also acquired a wife. Or, as she so pointedly said… I bought one.
“How could you do this to me?” Grace demanded, her voice deep with a hurt she could no longer conceal.
Grace did not pause as she entered the parlor, her composure unraveling the moment the door shut behind her.
Walter stood by the decanter, pouring himself another drink as though nothing of consequence had occurred. “It is time you married,” he said plainly. “You are seven and twenty years of age and long past when it ought to have been settled.”
Grace stared at him, her hands trembling slightly at her sides. “You sold me,” she said, the words quieter now but far more cutting.
Walter waved a dismissive hand. “Do not be absurd,” he replied. “You are fortunate I secured you a duke.”
Grace’s breath caught, her anger flaring anew. “I wanted to marry for love,” she complained, the words breaking from her with desperate clarity.
Walter turned on her then, his patience gone. “I will hear no more of it,” he snapped. “You will present yourself tomorrow to the seamstress, and preparations will begin at once for your wedding dress.”
Grace opened her mouth to protest, but he cut her off with a glare. “This matter is settled,” he said firmly. Then, without another word, he turned and strode from the room.
The silence he left behind felt suffocating.
Grace stood there only a moment longer before turning and fleeing, her steps quick and uneven as she climbed the staircase.
By the time she reached her room, the careful restraint she had worn all evening had shattered completely.
She closed the door behind her and pressed her back against it, the tears coming before she could stop them.
She crossed the room blindly and sank onto the edge of her bed, her breath catching in uneven gasps.
“It is my life,” she whispered, though there was no one to hear it.
Yet it no longer felt like hers. It felt decided, arranged, and bartered away without her consent.
The walls of her room, once a place of comfort, now felt like a cage.
She pressed her hands to her face, trying to steady herself, but her thoughts would not quiet.
She had spent years maintaining control, managing her household, her reputation, her very existence within society’s expectations.
And in a single evening, it had all been stripped from her.
She was no longer the mistress of Evergreen House.
I’m a transaction. I’m a scandal. And my own father has betrayed me. No wound has ever cut me so deep as that.
Yet, unbidden, another thought slipped through her turmoil.
His face.
That infuriating, knowing smirk. The way he had looked at her, not with pity, not with false charm, but with something sharper, something that unsettled her entirely.
She could still feel the weight of his eyes on her.
She could still feel his hand at her waist as they had danced at her ball, steady and unyielding.
Heat rose to her cheeks, and she straightened abruptly.
“No,” she said under her breath, shaking her head as though to rid herself of the thought.
Whatever strange pull had existed in that moment meant nothing now. He had made his offer like all the others, only louder, more decisive.
He bought me, which makes him no different than the others.
Grace drew in a steadying breath and stood, moving toward her writing desk with renewed purpose. If she could not control what had been done, she could at least choose how she responded to it. She sat, taking up her pen, and began to write.
My dearest Joan,
I scarcely know how to put into words the events of this evening, though I find myself in desperate need of your understanding.
My father returned without warning, and before I could make sense of his urgency, I was taken to a gathering—no, not a gathering but something far worse.
I was presented at a gentlemen’s club to a group of men and made the subject of what can only be described as a negotiation for my hand.
It was not courtship nor even propriety but something altogether more degrading, and before I could object, a decision had been made.
I am to be married, Joan. The gentleman is the Duke of Rainfield, a man I had encountered only briefly before this night, and whose manner is as unsettling as it is…
difficult to ignore. I cannot pretend to feel anything but anger and confusion, yet the matter is considered settled by all except myself.
I beg of you, if it is at all possible, come to London. I find myself in greater need of your friendship than ever before, for I fear I am entirely alone in this.