Hazel, always the direct one, finally spoke. “Evelyn, dear… are you certain this is what you want?”
Evelyn paused, smoothing the fabric over her knees. “It is what we agreed upon. From the beginning.”
“Yes,” Matilda said gently, “but much has changed since then.”
Cordelia nodded. “You love him.”
Evelyn’s fingers curled slightly in the silk. “I do.” She forced the words out before they could choke her. “But that is not enough, not if he doesn’t feel the same.”
“You don’t know that,” Matilda said softly.
“I do know,” Evelyn replied, rising slowly to her feet. “He had every chance to say something. I waited… and he said nothing. And I… I couldn’t bear to stay just to be told goodbye.”
She turned toward the window then, with her arms folded across her chest, watching the misty outline of carriages pass along the street. Her heart ached like a bruise pressed too often.
“This was for the best,” she added, more quietly this time, as if trying to convince herself. “We both deserve a life not built on pain. And he deserves to be free of the past.”
There was a pause, heavy with words left unsaid, until Cordelia stepped forward and wrapped her arms around Evelyn’s shoulders.
“You are the bravest woman I know,” she whispered.
Evelyn closed her eyes, breathing through the ache in her chest. “Then why does it feel like I’ve broken my own heart?”
Cordelia’s arms tightened around her, and Evelyn leaned into the embrace for a breath or two before stepping away with a fragile smile.
Hazel knelt by the open trunk and began folding the rest of Evelyn’s gowns with brisk efficiency. “Because you have,” shesaid simply, not unkindly. “But sometimes a clean break is better than lingering in uncertainty. Time will ease it.”
Evelyn turned back toward the center of the room, her fingers twisting in the fine muslin of her sleeve. “I thought I had prepared myself. I told myself this was always going to end.” Her voice trembled despite her best efforts. “But last night, before he left… I hoped. I don’t know why, but I hoped he would say something, do something. Anything.”
Matilda spoke up from her place near the hearth, her voice hesitant but clear. “He may not have known how to.” She was pale but steadier than she had been the night before. “The Duke… he is not a man accustomed to speaking his heart.”
Evelyn gave a soft, humorless laugh. “No. He speaks through action. And last night, he acted. He left.”
Silence stretched across the room. The only sound was the ticking of the small clock on the mantel, counting out each painful moment.
Cordelia sat herself down beside Evelyn and took her hand. “You’re not alone in this. Whatever happens next, we are with you. Always.”
Evelyn blinked away a tear and squeezed her friend’s hand. “I know. And I am grateful. Truly.”
Hazel stood, dusted her skirts, and gestured to the disheveled pile of trunks. “Then I suggest we stop mourning and start arranging. There’s far too much to do in this house, and I, for one, refuse to allow you to wallow when there are curtains to be hung.”
That earned a small laugh from the group, and the tension in the room eased just a little.
Matilda stepped forward with folded linen in her arms, her expression both earnest and timid. “May I help too?”
Evelyn smiled warmly at her. “Of course you may. This is your home now, too… for as long as you need.”
Matilda’s eyes shone, and for a moment, Evelyn could forget the sharp ache in her chest. There was comfort in this sisterhood, one born of pain but tempered in love.
Still, as she turned to help Cordelia with the books, her gaze drifted again to the window. She told herself not to look for him. But she did.
Suddenly, a deep, loud voice echoed through the corridor, just outside the drawing room.
“Evelyn?”
Evelyn suffocated a gasp. Her head was shaking, and she was unable to stop it.
“It can’t be,” she kept repeating to herself.
