If her father succeeded in taking her inheritance, everything would be lost. The dower house became more essential than ever. That—at least—he could not take. If she could secure the deed and live quietly there, perhaps she could manage. Surely her father wouldn’t take all the money. He’d leave her something to survive on… wouldn’t he?
What if he didn’t?
Was it truly possible that she would have to marry?
Were all her schemes—her carefully laid plans to evade her father’s control and societal expectations—just fanciful, foolish nonsense?
She bit her bottom lip as she burst into her bedchamber and rang the bell for her maid. She kicked off her boots with irritation, then paused, sighed, and walked back to retrieve them. Sarah would have to pick them up if she left them there. And that wasn’t fair.
She set them neatly by the bed just as Sarah entered.
“Shall I help you change, Your Grace?” the maid asked, bobbing a quick curtsy.
“Yes, please. I must get the horse smell off of me,” Evelyn muttered.
“Was it quite as dreadful as you feared?”
“Worse,” she said flatly.
Sarah smiled as she helped her with the buttons. “The riding—or the gentleman?”
“Both.” Evelyn paused. “No… the riding was not quite as dreadful as I remembered. The company was.”
Sarah gave a quiet hum of agreement and continued helping her undress.
“Oh, Sarah,” Evelyn said with a sigh, “what I wouldn’t give for just one decent gentleman.”
She surprised herself with the admission. Had she really said that? She hadn’t even realized that her resolve about marriage might be softening. Was it Nathaniel’s warning that had rattled her? Or that moment in the music room—the rush, the electric nearness of the kiss?
Did she want a real husband? Did she want… to be kissed?
Certainly not by Nathaniel. Absolutely not. But… maybe by someone.
Sarah laid out a fresh gown, a deep blue evening dress with delicate silver trim, but Evelyn shook her head.
“Not that one. I will not be dining with His Grace tonight.”
Why had she said that?
They rarely dined together. Why had she expected it now? Why had the idea taken such root in her mind that the rejection had stung?
“No, I shall simply take a tray in my chambers. The primrose-colored gown will do.”
Sarah nodded, selecting the simpler gown and helping her into it.
“Has not a single one of the gentlemen been agreeable?” Sarah asked carefully.
Evelyn detected something in her maid’s tone—curiosity, perhaps? Or was it something more?
“No,” she said at last. “They’ve all been either terrible bores, sanctimonious prigs, or complete idiots.”
“But surely,” Sarah ventured, “there must be a decent man out there. Someone kind and attentive. Someone who truly cares for you.”
Evelyn looked at her closely. What was she implying?
“I wish I didn’t have to marry at all,” she said slowly, watching Sarah’s expression. “Do you think I must?”
Sarah hesitated. “People will talk.”
