“How is your husband?” Marianne asked. “Has his mood improved at all?”
Evelyn gave a dry little laugh. “I think not. He stumps about the house as if he has gravel in his boots he cannot be rid of. He speaks little, and when he does, it is only to bark orders or voice displeasure. He reminds me of his uncle.”
Charlotte grimaced. “It sounds as though you merely exchanged one Duke of Sinclair for another, with very little gain. But do you think, perhaps, he is this way because he thinks you do not care for him?”
“I think not. We have discussed this before, and I shall not debate it again.”
“I say you kiss him,” Charlotte said rather boldly.
All eyes turned to her.
“Have you gone mad?” Marianne asked. “Why in heaven’s name would she do such a thing?”
“Why not?” Charlotte shrugged. “If you are miserably married, you might as well attempt to find some enjoyment in it. He may kiss you back—and it shall be a passionate embrace.” She hugged herself for dramatic effect. “Or he will be appalled, and you shallhave a row. Did you not tell me earlier you would not mind a fight that shattered the cutlery?”
“Charlotte, your romantic notions are utterly absurd,” Marianne interjected with a snort. “Next, you’ll be suggesting Evelyn seduce him with poetry and rose petals.”
“Now there’s an idea,” Charlotte said, her eyes lighting up mischievously.
“Absolutely not,” Evelyn said firmly. “I said I would not mind a row that shakes the cutlery, yes. It would be better than this eternal silence we live in now. But I have no desire to kiss him.”
She did not want to admit she had once wanted to. That she had nearly done so, several times, but that was then. The present was altogether bleaker. The idea that they might kiss again was ludicrous. Atlantis would rise from the depths of the sea before such a thing occurred.
“Perhaps,” Aunt Eugenia said thoughtfully, stirring her tea, “the problem is not that you don’t care for each other, but that you both care too much and are afraid to show it.”
“Aunt Eugenia,” Evelyn protested.
“Hear me out, dear. I watched you both at your wedding. There was something there—a spark. You’re both so determined to protect yourselves that you’ve built walls too high to climb.”
“Walls can be torn down,” Charlotte said hopefully.
“Or one can simply walk around them,” Marianne added pragmatically. “Though I suppose that requires knowing where the gate is.”
“I wonder if perhaps you could inspire him to assist with our venture,” Marianne offered, changing the subject.
“What do you mean?”
“Well, he is one of the richest men in the realm. He could donate—one large enough that those climbing boys might be fed not just one night, thanks to a bake sale, but for many nights. And if he gives, perhaps others will follow suit.”
Evelyn exhaled, frustrated. “I do not wish to ask him for anything.”
“Pride is a luxury those poor children cannot afford,” Aunt Eugenia said gently. “You said you wished to bring about change. We can attempt to raise funds, but if we cannot turn to the wealthiest among us, what chance do we have? We must use what influence we possess.”
“Besides,” Charlotte added with an impish grin, “asking him for help might give you that row you’re wanting. He could refuse spectacularly, you could shout at him for being heartless, and voilà, cutlery rattling all around.”
“Charlotte!” Marianne scolded, though she was trying not to smile.
“What? At least then they’d be speaking to each other.”
“Did Uncle Frederick support your causes?” Evelyn asked, ignoring her youngest sister’s theatrics.
“Of course,” Eugenia replied without hesitation. “But then, your uncle was always generous with his purse.”
“As generous as you are with yours now, when it comes to our father?” Evelyn asked coolly.
Her aunt’s color drained. Evelyn had never spoken so plainly to her before, but now, as a duchess, she was in a position to say what needed saying. Technically, she outranked her aunt. And if she were to do good in this world, she must not flinch from hard truths.
“Evelyn, that is unkind. Your father is?—”
