She laughed, causing Rory to blink in disconcerted surprise.
“What the hell’s so funny?” he demanded.
“I think,” she said, “we can dispense with any illusion that you have ever had any love at all for me.”
Thankfully, he seemed to agree that marrying her was a lost cause. “You, a duchess?” he jeered. “What a joke. You’d never pull it off. You’d be the laughingstock of society.”
At having her own opinion quoted back to her almost verbatim, Evie’s amusement vanished and she stared, stunned, because she was seeing for the very first time just how awful, how cruel, she had been to herself all these years with her low opinion of herself. How much and how often she’d sold herself short.
That, she decided, was going to stop. No more self-disparagement. No more—how had Max put it?—hiding her light under a bushel. No more thinking she’d fail at something just because she’d never tried it before.
Could she be a duchess? She’d thought, as Rory thought, that the answer was no. But was that true?
Nothing would please her more than proving herself and Rory and anyone else who dared to doubt her wrong on that score. After all, she’d tried so many new things in the past two months; she’d shoved aside all her insecurities, risen to every challenge, and she’d enjoyed every minute of it. Even with Max by her side to support and guide her, being a duchess would be the most work and the biggest challenge she’d ever taken on. There’d be daily opportunities to make a complete fool of herself. She’d be in the public eye all the time, the subject of gossip, open to ridicule. There’d be no running away. Nowhere to hide.
Even as she reminded herself of all the pitfalls, all the risks, she could feel excitement rising within her. Even as she told herself everything that could go wrong, she felt more and more that it was right. Even as she felt fear knot her stomach, she felt exhilaration, too.
She did want it, she realized. She wanted to be Max’s duchess, and she wanted all the challenges and inevitable faux pas that came along with that role. She wanted the house that was too grand for words, and the servants who didn’t respect her, and all the rules and duties she didn’t know—yet. She wanted to learn everything there was to know about committees and charities and flower shows. Maybe she’d even learn to ride a horse. Most of all, she wanted Max. She wanted to be his and make him hers.
This, she knew, was the elusivesomething moreshe’d been yearning for when he had come along two months ago with that silly bet. The adventure, the challenge. The love of one amazing man.
She took a deep breath. “I think you and I have said all there is to say, Rory. I’d like you to leave. Good luck to you. I doubt we’ll see each other again.”
He stared at her for a moment as if unable to believe she really meant it. Then, with a muttered curse, he turned and walked out.
Evie waited long enough to be sure he was truly gone, then she raced next door to Anna’s confectionery.
“Evie?” Anna said, looking up from a tray of petit fours she was decorating. “Did you come to buy something?”
She shook her head. “No, I want to borrow something. A dress. Something good enough for a dinner party at the Savoy. Do you have anything from your dressmaking days that might do?”
Anna’s face, usually so calm and placid, broke into a grin. “I suppose I can find something in one of the trunks upstairs that isn’t too out of fashion. I take it Lady Helen’s out of luck?”
Evie nodded, feeling giddy and terrified and gloriously happy. “Only if I’m not too late.”
21
Max was in no mood for a party.
Not that he didn’t appreciate the sentiment that had brought it about. The moment his sisters had heard about the scandal, they’d come rushing down from all parts of England to support him, their titled husbands in tow, and though it wasn’t much help to his low mood, he loved them all the more for it. They’d put out the call to aunts, uncles, cousins, and friends as well, and the result had been an all-out family campaign to show solidarity and lift his spirits, including this lavish dinner party at the Savoy. The only problem was that the guest of honor heartily wished he could be anywhere else.
He looked around the glittering reception room, filled with so many beloved faces, and all he could think was that this ought to have been an engagement party. Had Evie said yes, they’d be here now, together. He’d be on top of the world, and all his relations would be relieved that the crisis had passed, happy the duke was getting married at last, and Evie would be saved. As it was, Evie was ruined and disgraced, his family was pretending to be in a partying mood, and all he wanted was to get roaring drunk.
Nan walked by, giving him a rallying pat on the arm. His sister Idina followed, offering a sympathetic look. Penelope, in her turn, murmured something hopeful about a picnic in Hyde Park tomorrow if the weather was fine, and Audrey wondered if perhaps a trip abroad might be just what he needed.
Delia, being more practical than any of his four sisters, brought him a cocktail.
“This,” he said, taking the glass, “is why you are my favorite cousin.”
She smiled, moving to stand beside him, gazing at the milling crowd of family and friends. “Idina says that Westbourne House will be ready by tomorrow.”
“Good. That means my poor brothers-in-law won’t have all their wives’ relations crammed into their London townhouses.”
“And what about poor Ritz? You should have seen his face when Idina told him she wanted this dinner party and he and Escoffier had two days to help me prepare. I thought the poor man would have a heart attack.”
“He loves it. And besides,” Max added, nodding to the massive flower arrangements, trays of elaborate hors d’oeuvres, and elegant footmen in Savoy livery, “the results speak for themselves. I just don’t know what good it’ll do.”
“Yes, you do. The papers must know we stand behind you, whatever has happened or will happen.”
