More people poured out—Charles’s aunt and uncle, the Marquess and Marchioness of Sunderland, and two of his siblings. The third sibling, a lady in her late twenties, had married an Italian man and now resided out of the country, and Charles explained with a rueful grin that he justcouldn’tget her across two continents in time. Then there was Lady Durham, who enveloped Evelyn in a perfumed hug.
“I cannot say I amdelightedfor you,” she said, drawing back and tapping her cane on the floor. “He is a rake and a libertine. But I suppose he has vowed to change for you.”
“No.” Evelyn smiled a little. “I imagine he will be all that he has ever been.”
Lady Durham raised a brow. “And that doesn’t matter to you?”
“I loved him then and I will continue to love him now. Be happy for me, Hilary.”
“Oh, dearest, I couldn’t wish anything better for you, so long as you know the man he is.” Lady Durham patted her arm. “You will be a duchess and your future assured. If you love him too, so much the better.”
“You are quite as cynical as Charles.” Evelyn laughed. “Yes, I love him. And he loves me.”
“There’s a lot to be said about that,” she acknowledged. “Did you take him to the arch? Say his name there?”
“I—” Evelyn paused, then blushed. “A trifle more than just his name.”
“Then it’s hardly a surprise that I am here for your wedding day.” Lady Durham gave a small, private smile. “Its power is not diminished, I see.”
“Hilary—” Evelyn broke off as the duchess tapped her on the arm.
“You’ll want to freshen up before the ceremony,” she said, and gathered her skirts in one hand. “Come.”
Evelyn allowed herself to be led upstairs, wondering which dress she ought to wear. She had not packed anything even remotely bridal; if anything, she had dressed down, hoping to draw no attention to herself.
“Charles told his father and me of his intentions last week,” the duchess said, leading Evelyn to the master suite. She hesitated in the doorway.
“Your Grace—”
“I’ve told you more than once to call me Theo.” She spoke with an impatience that hinted at the lady she had been when she was young—spirited and vivacious. “If you can call my son by his Christian name, then I beg of you to do the same for me. I may have married a duke, but that doesn’t mean I wish to be addressed by my title every second of every day.” She gestured to a dress standing in the middle of the dressing room, made up of two parts: a dress and a blouse. Both were fawn with black lace trimmings, and it was one of the most beautiful gowns Evelyn had seen. “Forgive my presumption,” she continued. “Charles confided in me that, as you were unaware of his intentions, you would not packed accordingly. I took the liberty of speaking with your seamstress and arranging this to be made up with your measurements. You are under no obligation to wear it, of course, but—”
“No.” Rare tears stung Evelyn’s eyes. In the short time she’d had to consider her marriage, she had come to terms with the fact that she would have to make do, and to have a dress made up for her like this touched her beyond measure. “No, it’s beautiful. May I try it on?”
“Of course.” The duchess gestured for her maid.
As Evelyn stepped into the heavy crinoline skirts, a blouse attached to her upper body, she chanced a glance in the mirror. Her hair gleamed silver-like in the light, pulled back tight in its usual knot.
“I would like to dress my hair differently,” she said. “Charles has said—he likes my hair, despite its colour.”
“I imagine he likes itforits colour,” the duchess said as another maid came to unpin her bun and tease the style into something softer. “It suits you.”
Evelyn smiled at her reflection. “Yes, I think it does.”
The duchess disappeared into an adjoining room, coming back with a velvet box in her hands. “I have something for you.” She opened the box to reveal a beautiful diamond necklace. “This belonged to the former Duchess of Norfolk, and I received it on my marriage. You are not yet the duchess, but I think it would be fitting for you to wear it for your marriage, too.” She placed it carefully around Evelyn’s neck, where it sat heavy and cold. “You know, I was friends with Nate when we were children, too. When he offered to marry me, it was a pragmatic and somewhat gallant solution to both our predicaments.” She sighed in fond remembrance. “Neither of us thought we would find love.”
“Neither did I,” Evelyn said. “In fact, I was quite certain I would never marry.”
“Life has an odd way of turning itself around in that way. Becoming what we least expected it to.”
Evelyn turned to face the older woman, an emotion she couldn’t name in her chest. “You are not disappointed? That Charles is marrying me instead of Lady Rosamund?”
“That girl.” The duchess shook her head, merry eyes warm. “He didn’t care two snaps of his fingers for her, and so no matter how pretty or accomplished she was, she would never have done for him. You, my dear, will be an excellent steadying hand on his impulses and his temper. He has always been at his best around you.” The merriment left her eyes, but the fondness did not. “It is precisely what your mother would have wanted for you. We talked about it at length, you know, but—well, Charles grew up the way he did, chafing at his father’s expectations, and became far too wild to make you a proper husband. It’s only lately that he’s settled down at all. So how could I be disappointed when it was all I ever wanted for the both of you?”
Evelyn tried to speak, but words failed her. Her mother had wanted her to marry Charles?
“She would be proud of you,” the duchess said quietly.
“I’m nothing like her.”
