Evan gave a careless shrug, his gaze momentarily distant. “Ophelia likes it and so we shall have it. It is of no consequence anyhow, we will get it over with and then I shall go back to eating mutton and peasant and whatever else I please and she can eat whatever strikes her fancy.”
“Whenever you speak of your marriage, I sound so detached. Do you not think it would have been better to wait for the right woman?” Jonathan asked.
“Perhaps. But it is such an effort. And besides, at one-and-thirty, I’d rather avoid whispers that there’s something amiss with me.” He looked at Jonathan with a mocking smile. “So, I shall do my duty—marry the lady, produce an heir, and satisfy societies expectations.”
Jonathan shook his head, watching Evan with faint amusement. “It hardly sounds like a pleasant union for either of you.”
Evan gave another dismissive shrug. “We’ll make do,” he said, with a nonchalance that bordered on indifference. “She’s friendly enough. And the nice thing is, this marriage doesn’t demand I change my habits.” He grinned with devilish humor.
“Are you certain it is wise to carry on as you have been after saying your vows?”
“Why should I deny London of my presence? Or my charms?” Evan asked with a chuckle. He was well aware there were more charming men than he, but Jonathan didn’t need to know this.
Jonathan, a taller, wiry man with a more serious air, arched a brow. “You, Evan, are as incorrigible as ever.”
“Oh, don’t go moralizing on me, Weston.” Evan leaned in, his eyes gleaming. “It wouldn’t suit you.”
“Your future father-in-law might not find it quite so charming,” Jonathan replied, raising his glass to his lips with a smirk. “But I suppose you’re managing him too?”
Evan scoffed. “Managing is hardly the word. Old Lord Braverman was keen to negotiate terms, and Ophelia’s father was delighted to be rid of the responsibility.” He let out a languid sigh, as though tired of the whole business. “The fact is, I needn’t bother myself with the family. My affairs are my own.”
Jonathan shifted, leaning closer, his voice dropping slightly. “And what of Rose?”
At this, a rare flicker of something vulnerable crossed Evan’s face. His voice, when he spoke, was lower. “Rose knows well enough what’s to come. She’s not surprised, nor particularly bothered.”
Just then, Evan heard the faintest rustle of movement behind him. He whipped his head around, eyes narrowing as he scanned the empty hallway behind them.
“Did you hear something, Weston?” he asked, still peering into the shadows.
Jonathan, however, simply shook his head, looking unimpressed. “Nothing at all. Perhaps it’s your guilty conscience.”
“I think not. Come, let us investigate. I’d rather not have my conversations overheard,” he said and stepped inside the hall where
he could hear the muted strains of laughter and polite conversation drifting from the ballroom.
“Evan?” Jonathan called and caught up to him. “You are getting paranoid.”
“I thought I heard someone eavesdropping but I must have been mistaken,” he said. “Let us look for Marley. Has he even arrived yet? Maybe we can await him at the entrance.”
As he examined the space for his elusive business associate, his attention was momentarily diverted by a pair of unfamiliar gentlemen, both murmuring their congratulations as he passed.
One in particular, a young man with an impressively tailored coat and striking resemblance to an older acquaintance, caught Evan’s eye.
“Who is that?” he asked Jonathan, who had followed him out.
“Ah,” Jonathan replied, following Evan’s gaze. “That would be Alexander Hayward, the newly returned Marquess of Howe. His father is the Earl of Worcester—the one who met that unfortunate fate of being thrown in Newgate.”
Evan raised an eyebrow. “Worcester’s son? I thought he’d vanished after the scandal. Curious, that he appears so pleasant.”
“Entire family does, by all accounts,” Jonathan replied, giving Evan a significant look. “Though growing up under someone like Worcester could hardly have been an easy lot. They’ll be at your wedding, did you not know?”
“Braverman arranged it all rather in haste, I did not trifle with the guest list,” Evan said with a shrug. “This entire wedding was arranged without my input. All I need to do is show up, speak my vows, and go back to living my life as I please.”
Together, they made their way to the entrance era of Almack’s where the line of those looking to enter had thinned out.
Evan’s attention was abruptly pulled away by a sudden flurry of movement near the entrance of Almack’s. A young woman came dashing down the steps, her feet catching on the hem of her gown, and before Evan could register the impulse, he found himself lunging forward to steady her.
He grasped her arm just before she could stumble entirely, feeling the warmth of her hand as she clutched his sleeve. She was wearing a gown of rose-colored silk, similar to the one he’d earlier seen. Was she the same woman? Perhaps not. It was a rather popular color this season.
