She, too, had run. Shackled by her gender and youth, she’d never gone far. Most times, she’d favored hiding, and she was good at that. At making herself as unnoticeable as moss on a stone.
If Wilmington cannot find me, he cannot hurt me.
That had been her motto. Even so, evading him completely was impossible. He would hunt her down, and in his mild, matter-of-fact way, tear her confidence to shreds.
“What a disappointing investment you are proving to be, Evie.” He would say it almost conversationally. “Fat and plain, a four-eyed blemish on womanhood. You’ve inherited neither your mama’s charms nor her pleasing demeanor. You will end up on the shelf because no man will want you. And even though you are not of my blood, I shall have to bear the burden of your existence.”
That was Wilmington at his kindest. When he was drunk and raging, the monster would truly emerge. “You’re an ugly, useless cunt. A worthless bitch.” Red-faced, spittle flying from his lips, he would cage her against the wall and spew vitriol at her while she cowered. She’d learned to endure such moments by reciting plant taxonomy in her head.
Plantae… Tetradynamia… Siliculosa… Cheiranthus… Cheiranthus cheiri… the common wallflower.
Over and over again, so that while her body trembled, inside she felt nothing at all.
The change from girl to womanhood, however, had made the situation intolerable. Then, she’d had no choice but to fight back. To do…what she’d done.
The fact that she’d been under duress didn’t stem the flood of guilt and dread. Did the dream portend that her sins would soon catch up to her? She hadn’t heard from the blackmailer again—had buried the whole business in a pit of denial during James’s illness. But the extortionist could demand more money at any time, and God help her, she didn’t know if she could make good on her vow to leave James, even to protect him.
Not now, when he was smiling at her again. When he’d held her and listened while she purged her regrets…some of them, at least. Their talk and the kiss that followed had sown seeds where hope had lain fallow.
“There will be other chances,” James had said.
He’d given her his word—which, for him, was as unbreakable as a vow. True, he hadn’t done more than that yet…but he was still getting his strength back. Moreover, she felt as if they had been given a fragile second chance and knew, intuitively, that he felt it too. If they were to make their marriage work this time around, they couldn’t rush things. They couldn’t make the same mistakes as before. She didn’t know how she would manage her secrets, but knowing how much her husband valued honesty, she resolved to be as truthful as she could.
In the meantime, James had had heaps of visitors. Mr. Friend and Lord Dunsmuir had been practically glued to his side, pestering him about the campaign until, finally, she’d set her foot down and told them her husband needed rest. They’d left him with a pile of speeches and notes for the hustings. She’d argued that James oughtn’t push himself so soon, but he had insisted he was up to the task.
It was good to have her bull-headed husband back. So good that abandoning him and the life they shared seemed impossible. Perhaps her dream hadn’t been an omen about her blackmailer, but about something else. Xenia and Gigi had alluded to the dreams they’d had of Thomas and Rosalinda. Their visions had started when they arrived in Chuddums and started falling for their respective mates. Both ladies were convinced that by finding their own true love, they were helping to undo the curse. By exposing the truth of what happened between Thomas Mulligan and Rosalinda, they would finally bring Bloody Thom peace.
Could it be that James and I are a part of this? Is a happy ending possible for us? If he knew my secrets, could he still love me?
Rosalinda’s question echoed in Evie’s heart.
When will I ever be free?
The next morning, James left for an early ride with his brothers. Which was just as well since Evie had a list of tasks to tackle. She and Xenia accompanied Gigi to Chuddums, where market day had taken over the square. Stalls were overflowing with produce, freshly caught fish, and assorted local specialties. She met with the flower seller to make the selection of flora for Gigi’s ball. Evie carefully chose flowers not only for their aesthetic value but also for their meaning: garlands of myrtle and ivy to symbolize fidelity, pink roses for admiration and joy, and orange blossoms for eternal love.
She and the ladies also stopped at the dressmaker’s shop. In addition to her own ball gown, Gigi had insisted on ordering ones for Evie and Xenia, and during their fittings, the trio enjoyed tea and gossip with the talented modiste, Mrs. Sommers. By the time they returned to Bottoms House, the men were back. Xenia went to assist Ethan with his latest composition, and Evie headed to the drawing room, where the butler had said James was entertaining guests.
At the door, Evie hesitated. She wanted to support James in his ambitions…to be a true helpmeet. A politician’s wife was an important partner in his success: her social savviness and influence could make or break a campaign. While Evie couldn’t claim to be a skilled hostess, she was willing to try to be what her husband needed.
Yet James hadn’t invited her to this gathering. Beyond her presence at the hustings, he hadn’t asked anything else of her…of a public or private nature. He had been kind and gentle, but he had made no marital overtures, which she’d attributed to his physical recovery and the demands of the campaign. But perhaps it was something else—something to do with her.
Maybe he no longer desires me. Maybe he realizes that I am not pretty or popular enough to stand by his side. Maybe he thinks I will dull his shine rather than enhance it.
Self-doubt coiled around her like a vine. She saw herself as others had seen her: awkward, plain, worthless. She nearly turned around and left. Then she heard a burst of laughter and exuberant exclamations. She recognized the voices of Mr. Friend and Lord Dunsmuir…but who did that sultry female voice belong to?
Before she could think twice, she opened the door and entered.
James was standing by the window, and next to him was the most stunning creature Evie had ever seen. The woman was statuesque…and the statue she resembled was that of Venus. Sunlight brought out the auburn in her brown hair, giving her curls a fiery sheen. Her upswept coiffure exposed the graceful arch of her neck and the generous swell of her bosom.
While Evie’s own figure was rounded, this lady had both curves and height, resulting in a voluptuousness that Evie could never hope to achieve. The newcomer looked as if she’d been poured into her emerald-green walking dress, so flawlessly did it cling to her figure. Even Evie, who was no arbiter of fashion, could tell that the frock was the product of some Bond Street genius. However, with her sculpted face and rose-tinted complexion, this lady would look exquisite in rags.
That wasn’t the worst of it. The ravishing female was flirting with Evie’s husband…and had her hands all over him. Evie watched with a spark of outrage as the woman reached out and caressed James’s arm.
“I have saved you from a speck of dust, sir.” The lady’s voice had a teasing purr. “You know I have learned my lesson and prefer my candidates—and their reputations—spotless.”
Red bled into Evie’s vision; she marched toward them.
“Good afternoon.”
