Evelyn was silent for a moment. The scent of lavender and warmed sugar from the tea tray drifted through the air, nauseatingly sweet.
“Nothing,” she said at last, turning back to them.
“Nothing?” Cordelia echoed, as if she’d misheard.
“I will walk down that aisle tomorrow,” Evelyn said. “I will smile. I will play my part to perfection. And then, once the vows are spoken and the doors are closed, I will be alone. Withhim.” She hesitated only briefly before continuing, “And far away from the people who were supposed to protect me but instead sold me off, lied to me, and betrayed me.”
Cordelia’s eyes shone with unshed tears. Hazel seemed apprehensive.
“I used to think that family was a kind of shield,” Evelyn murmured. “A refuge. But now I know better. Family can be a cage too. A very polite finely decorated one.”
She moved back to her vanity and picked up her brush with careful precision, drawing it through her curls with slow, methodical strokes.
“I may not trust the Duke,” she added, “but at least with him, I know where I stand. He never pretends to be anything but what he is.”
Hazel spoke gently. “And what is he to you?”
Evelyn paused, staring into her own reflection.
“A man I’ll have to learn to survive.”
There was a silence after that. Even Cordelia didn’t have a quip to lighten the air.
Hazel stepped forward and rested a hand lightly on Evelyn’s shoulder.
“You’re not alone,” she said.
Evelyn gave a faint smile in the mirror. “I know. But thank you for saying it anyway.”
And then, with the grace of a woman raised to be unshakable, she set the brush down, straightened her spine, and looked ahead.
“Tomorrow, I will marry a stranger,” she told them, “but at least I will no longer belong to people who wore love like a mask for convenience.”
Her friends were both silent for a while, but then Cordelia decided it was high time they stopped being focused on the negative.
“You know,” Cordelia said, perching herself dramatically on the edge of Evelyn’s bed, “being married to the Duke of Aberon might not be as dreadful as you think.”
Hazel gave a dry little hum of agreement, folding her hands over her waist. “He may not smile often, but at least he doesn’t drool or ogle footmen like Lord Wexley.”
Cordelia shuddered. “Or reek of onions like Sir Prattlington. The man once proposed to me over a bowl of stewed parsnips.”
Evelyn snorted before she could stop herself. “You two are impossible.”
“But you’re smiling,” Cordelia pointed out triumphantly.
“I’m trying not to scream,” Evelyn muttered, standing to walk to her wardrobe under the pretense of adjusting a gown that didn’t need adjusting.
“Oh, come now,” Cordelia said with a sly grin. “Surely it hasn’t escaped your notice how the Duke looks at you.”
Hazel raised a brow. “It’s very… intense.”
Evelyn paused, her hand hovering over a pale blue hem.
“That is simply how he looks at everyone,” she said too quickly and a little too precisely. “Like he’s trying to decide whether they are a threat or a nuisance.”
Cordelia giggled. “Perhaps. But he stares at you like he’s found both. And likes it.”
“I think he just likes to brood,” Evelyn argued primly. “Brooding is a requirement for dukes, isn’t it?”
