Emma’s chest tightened. Her own life had been riddled with complexities, but this—this was something else entirely. “Do you see her often?” she asked hesitantly.
Evan’s lips twitched into a rueful smile. “As best we can. But it hasn’t been simple. Only a handful of people know the truth—myself, Mr. Hatfield, and her adoptive parents are among them, and Jonathan. No one else. Not theton, not the servants, not anyone. Rose cherishes her freedom too much to risk it. She is among my dearest friends, but I cannot tell anyone about her. So, I hide her. I meet her when I can, but it is always disguised as some sort of charitable outing, as if I am her benefactor. She hates it. As do I.”
Emma frowned. “But now that your father is gone,” she ventured, “surely you could bring her into your life more openly. She’s your sister, Evan. Your family.”
“She is,” Evan said, his voice firm but tinged with resignation. “But society wouldn’t see it that way. They would tear her apart, Emma. And they would tear my mother’s memory apart with her. Do you think they would forgive her for having a child outside of marriage? For seeking comfort where she could find it?” He shook his head. “No. They would call her immoral. And they wouldn’t stop there. My mother endured enough in life. I won’t let her reputation suffer in death as well.”
Emma swallowed hard, the fierce conviction in his voice shaking her to her core. “What about Rose?” she asked. “Does she agree with you?”
He nodded slowly. “We’ve talked about it many times. Rose is practical. Pragmatic. In that, she is much like you. She knows that living quietly, without scrutiny, is a privilege she can’t afford to lose. She’s happy enough with the life she has. The alternative would destroy her.”
Emma’s thoughts swirled as she tried to reconcile the truths he was telling her. “The letters,” she said, her voice tentative. “Why did you keep them there, in my chamber? And if you see one another, why do you write?”
Evan nodded. “Yes. We must write. Meeting often isn’t safe. You saw us in Hyde Park and assumed the worst. You recall? The woman you saw before I was due to marry Ophelia?” His tone was weary, not accusatory. “It wasn’t an affair, Emma. It was Rose.”
A flush crept up Emma’s neck as the memory of her jealous suspicions flooded back. “That was her?” she asked, almost disbelieving.
“It was,” he confirmed. “I couldn’t tell you then of course. But I should have. Not that it would have changed anything.”
“She … Rose didn’t want you to marry me did she?”
He shook his head. “No, she was in favor of my marriage to Ophelia because she saw her story as an echo of our mother’s love for her father. I told her I would never let Ophelia marry someone awful out of obligation. That I’d keep her from it. And I still intend to, though that is a matter we must discuss another time. But as for you? No. She felt it was wrong of me to demand it, and in hindsight she was right. It was my temper getting away from me.”
She looked away, shame prickling her skin. She wanted to apologize, but the words stuck in her throat. Instead, she asked,“Why was Mr. Hatfield here? Has he never had a relationship with her?”
Evan hesitated, and she saw a flicker of frustration cross his features. “Not really. He met her a number of times but she never knew who he was. Now that she is grown, he wishes to know her better but she is reluctant. She worries her adoptive parents will be upset, though they were once friends with Mr. Hatfield.”
Emma stared at him, her heart aching with the weight of all he had revealed. “Why didn’t you tell me?” she asked softly.
His gaze met hers, steady and remorseful. “Because I’ve never been good at trust, Emma. And because Rose asked me not to tell anyone, especially not you if I was not sure that you would understand. But you’re right—I should have. Especially after it was so clear to me that you would, indeed, understand.”
For a moment, neither of them spoke. Then Evan took another breath.
“I have done so much wrong, Emma,” he began, his voice barely above a whisper, though it held steady. “I have been foolish, thoughtless… I see that now. But never, never doubt that I care for you more than I have ever cared for anyone in my life. Even before I knew what it was to love you, I was drawn to you, compelled to seek your company, to hear your thoughts.” His throat tightened as he fought the wave of emotion threatening to silence him.
Emma tilted her head slightly, her expression guarded, yet her lips parted as if to speak. She didn’t. He took her silence as permission to go on.
“I cannot change my past, nor undo the mistakes I’ve made. But I would do anything—anything—to make amends, to prove myself worthy of you.” He reached out then, his hand trembling slightly as it hovered between them, uncertain. “If you can forgive me—if you can find it in your heart to try—then I will spend every moment of my life striving to earn your trust again.”
Emma looked at him, her breath visibly quickened. Slowly, as if caught between logic and impulse, she placed her hand in his.
“Evan,” she murmured, her voice both brittle and beautiful in its vulnerability. “You hurt me—terribly. But I believe you when you say it was not your intention. And if I’ve learned anything about myself, it’s that I… I do not wish to let this go. To let us go.” Her voice quavered on the last word, but she stood resolute.
He felt the sting of tears behind his eyes, though he blinked them away swiftly. “Emma,” he breathed, bringing her hand to his lips and kissing it gently, reverently. “You do not know what this means to me.”
For a moment, neither spoke. The world seemed to retreat, leaving only the two of them in a cocoon of tentative yet profound understanding. Then, as her gaze softened and a faint blush crept up her neck, Emma spoke again.
“You mentioned something before,” she began tentatively, “about Ophelia. How you wouldn’t let her marry someone awful. What did you mean by that?”
Evan paused, the question pulling him from his reverie. With a soft sigh, he released her hand, though he stayed close, meeting her eyes with sincerity. “It has to do with your revelation,” he said simply.
“My revelation?”
“Yes,” he replied. “After you spoke of Jonathan and Brigitte, I realized something. Jonathan admitted his love for her, but he was convinced they could never be together because of their stations. He believed their circumstances insurmountable. That led me to consider another arrangement—one that might serve all involved.”
Emma frowned slightly, her brow furrowing as her intrigue deepened. “What arrangement?”
Evan folded his arms loosely, not out of defensiveness, but to steel himself for her reaction. “Jonathan cannot marry Brigitte openly,” he began, “but he might agree to marry someone in similar straits. Someone like… Ophelia.”
