“Oh no, dearie. Nothing of that nature—I can’t imagine he would take that well. No. You must bring him to the Lovers’ Arch.”
“The Lovers’ Arch?” Evelyn wrinkled her nose. “I’ve never heard of such a thing.”
“It’s more myth than anything.” Lady Durham pursed her lips as she thought. “I remember a friend—for the life of me, I can’t recall her name—telling me about it in a book she read. I believe it was in her library. Old, stuffy tome about myths and legends in the British Isles, or some such nonsense. And it mentioned the Lovers’ Arch in Hyde Park. A Roman stonemason built it for his love before they ran away from home, leaving behind nothing but rumours and this archway. There’s an inscription. Lovely story, true or not, and according to legend, all you must do is say your lover’s name under the arch, and they will be sure to fall in love with you.” She beamed. “Of course, invoking its full powerwould be a mistake, given you don’t desire his love, but I’m certain merely passing through would be enough to change his mind about you.”
Evelyn wrinkled her nose. “You think it has power?”
“What I think doesn’t matter. What matters is thatyouthink it.”
“But I don’t,” Evelyn said. “I don’t believe in magic, and what you’re describing is certainly magical.”
“More the influence of happy souls gone before. And besides, what harm can it do? You certainly have nothing to lose, and if it transpires it doesn’t work, you can always rely on your logic.”
Evelyn considered the situation carefully. Logic, she had to confess, had not worked thus far, and she currently had no other course of action open to her. Lady Durham might mention seduction as a means of persuasion, but Evelyn had never learnt those arts; that was in part why she desired Charles’s help. He would be able to teach her how to be desirable. He could teach her pleasure. A bright moment in her life before he married and she would lose him in all ways.
Lady Durham was right about another thing: there trulywasno harm in trying. She might as well exhaust all options open to her before giving up entirely.
“Why not?” she said. “I shall try the arch.”
Chapter Five
Charles tucked his hands behind his back as he strode into Norfolk House. Evelyn had sent him a note requesting him to call on her, but first, he must obey the demands of filial duty.
His mother, the Duchess of Norfolk, sat with tea and cake in the drawing room, her eyes lighting when she saw him. He had several brothers and sisters, but as they all resided elsewhere, he was the child his mother saw the most.
“You came,” she said, and kissed his cheek. “You look well.”
“Flattery will get you everywhere.” He took her hand and brought it to his mouth. Although he had, at times, a fraught relationship with his father, he had always adored his mother. She stood up for him when the duke attempted to criticise his way of life. Still, he knew better than anyone that such things could not continue; he had passed the age at which youth could excuse him, and a disregard for his situation in life could no longer be attributed to immaturity.
In short, his mother no longer had the power to protect him from his father’s wrath, and he understood that in very clear terms.
“Well?” he asked as he sat. “What did you bring me here to berate me about this time?”
“Charles! I never bring you here to berate you.”
“Quite right. You bring me here soFather can do it instead.”
She pursed her lips. “Your father just wants to see you settle down and be happy. And in truth, so do I.”
“Well, I have agreed to the marriage you helped arrange, so I can only assume you are overjoyed at the prospect.” He took a bite of the fruitcake and placed his plate on the table before them both. “Tell me, how do you like my future bride?”
“My opinion is far from the only one that matters.” She pierced him with a sharp, blue-eyed glare. “What doyouthink of her?”
“I?”
“You are the one who will be marrying her, Charles.”
He took another bite of cake as he contemplated his answer. Over the years, he had never cultivated a liking for any of the eligible ladies that were thrust in his way. Lady Rosamund was no different. Her only redeeming feature, save for the fact his mother liked the match, was that she seemed to have no particular liking for him, either.
But what could he say? Every year, it was as though the pool of ladies grew younger. Some gentlemen preferred that, fresh and malleable, but the very idea of it made him feel like a lecher, leering over schoolgirls.
At least Lady Rosamund shared his disinterest. The difference between them was that she was prepared to do her duty in order to receive the title, and would do it with a smile on her face. And Charles could not accept his unpalatable duty with equanimity.
Yet to admit such a thing to his mother, for whom he harboured a soft spot, felt untenable.
“I have no doubt she will make a worthy duchess,” he said eventually.
“Charles.” She gripped his hand. “That was not what I was asking.”
