Nathaniel’s jaw tensed, but he forced his expression to remain neutral. The last thing he needed was to show irritation. Or worse, the strange flutter of something that felt dangerously like hope.
He had heard the stories. That Evelyn had her eyes on him, that this was all some scheme to trap him into marriage. It was absurd, but predictable. Society ran on whispers and ink, not truth.
Yet sometimes, in unguarded moments, he caught her watching him with an expression he could not quite decipher. Sometimes she lingered when bringing him his morning correspondence, her fingers brushing his as she handed over the letters. Sometimes he found excuses to seek her out, to argue with her over trivial matters, just to see the fire spark in her eyes.
“You know as well as I do,” Nathaniel said, voice calm, “that the scandal sheets care little for accuracy. I would ask that you not lend your own voice to the chorus of nonsense.”
Philip raised his hands in surrender. “As you wish, Your Grace. I meant no offense.” He rose with the unhurried grace of a man who always had the upper hand. “I do wish you and the Duchess all the very best.”
And then he was gone, leaving Nathaniel to the silence, which settled again like dust.
He closed his eyes briefly and sighed. This was going to be far more difficult than he’d imagined. Not the task of finding Evelyn a husband—that had already proven nearly impossible. No, the difficulty lay in something far more treacherous: the growing certainty that he didn’t want to find her a husband at all.
The rain began just before dusk, spattering against the windows of his carriage as he rode home. The road to the estate was long and curved, passing through old trees whose dark limbs were bent low with spring moisture. When the house came into view, it loomed as it always did—too big, too quiet, too filled with memories that didn’t belong to him.
His uncle had lived here for decades, surrounded by splendor and the ghosts of the past. And though he had married multiple times, the house still seemed hollow. Even for a large family, it was too much. Compared to his mother and stepfather’s estatein Scotland—a home he’d once thought excessively grand—this place was a palace.
He stepped out into the drive, lifting his collar against the rain. The butler opened the door before he reached for it.
“Your Grace,” the man said, bowing as he took Nathaniel’s coat and top hat.
“Is the Duchess home?” Nathaniel asked, brushing droplets from his sleeve.
The butler hesitated, just long enough to draw Nathaniel’s attention. “She is. But… she returned in some distress, Your Grace. She’s in the drawing room. I believe she has been crying.”
“Crying?” Nathaniel repeated, surprised. Evelyn?
He could not picture it. Evelyn was made of iron and clever words. Crying did not suit her.
A sharp pang of something—concern, protectiveness—shot through his chest. What could have happened? Who had hurt her?
Still, he walked toward the drawing room, quiet as he could manage. He paused at the door, hand resting on the handle. Inside, he heard only the soft hiss of the fire.
He pushed the door open.
She was there, crumpled on the chaise lounge, her slim form folded into itself, her face buried in a pillow. Her arms were wrapped awkwardly behind her head, as if to hold herself together.
The sight struck him like a physical blow. This fierce, untamable woman, reduced to this fragile creature curled in on herself. Every protective instinct he possessed roared to life.
“Evelyn,” he said quietly.
She sat up at once, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. “Oh,” she said. “I didn’t hear you come in.”
“Perhaps because you were crying too much to notice.”
“I was not crying,” she said stiffly, her voice cracking just slightly.
The proof was all over her face. Her pearl powder was streaked, the charcoal around her eyes smudged and running. She looked almost comically tragic. And heartbreakingly beautiful.
“Are you quite certain?” he asked gently.
“I am,” she replied.
He looked upward in dramatic fashion.
“What are you looking at?” she asked, eyebrows drawn together.
“I am worried about the integrity of my ceiling. It appears to be leaking water directly onto your face.”
