Although seven years had passed since Lord Calvert Wilmington’s death, the mere mention of him sucked the breath from Evie’s lungs. She flinched as if she were the helpless, terrified girl she’d once been.
“Do not speak of him,” she said hoarsely.
“I must, lest you forget the most important lesson of all. Men are the downfall of intelligent women. Look at your poor mama. My Beatrix was so talented and beautiful, yet she fell for that scoundrel Wilmington. Mark my words, lambkin: love is just another name for folly.”
Before Evie could respond, she heard familiar footsteps. She whirled around, and her heart thumped recklessly at the arrival of her husband. As ever, he was impeccable. Some men bore the mantle of their station, but James inhabited it. Every inch of him, from the gleaming waves of his bronze hair to the tips of his polished shoes, declared him a peer of the realm.
Compared to him, she looked and felt like a dowd. Hastily, she brushed back the tendrils that had escaped from her untidy plait. She tried to smooth the wrinkles from her skirts, but seeing the dirt stains, she sighed, realizing it was a lost cause.
“Good morning. I didn’t know you had returned,” she said awkwardly.
“I just got in,” James said. “What a surprise finding you here, my dear.”
Although his tone was pleasant and tinged with wry amusement, she knew him too well. His blue eyes glinted with steel, a sign of temper held in check. This surprised her. Since her hasty retreat had occurred a week ago, she’d assumed that his annoyance would have faded. Emotions generally rolled off James like water off a richly plumed duck.
“It is my habit to start work early,” she said warily. “As you know.”
“Your devotion to your studies is, indeed, admirable.”
Was there an edge to his tone? His suaveness made it difficult to tell.
“Welcome back, my lord.” Harkness’s curtsy was stiff and just short of being insolent. “I was about to accompany my lady back to her rooms?—”
“I’ll escort my wife, Harkness,” James said mildly. “You may attend to your other duties.”
Harkness appeared as if she might argue. But she couldn’t gainsay her employer—or admit that she didn’t have much in the way of duties, other than fussing over Evie. Pinching her lips together, she marched out.
Evie thought it wise to change the topic. “Your return journey was comfortable, I take?”
“Quite.” James flicked a speck from the sleeve of his Prussian blue frockcoat. “Your company would have made the trip more agreeable.”
“I am, um, sorry I left. I had to take measurements of the wallflowers, which were about to bloom. I left you a note?—”
“I read it.”
He said nothing more, leaving his words swinging like a noose. Any response she could think of seemed like a perilous choice. Tension bloomed, lush and suffocating. Everything left unspoken seemed to fill the space between them; she was surprised the glass panes didn’t steam up with all that was held in. She rubbed her damp palms against her skirts, her heart thumping with the imperative to say something—anything—to relieve the silence.
She wished he would be angry with her. She’d survived being berated, beaten, and worse. Yet this quiet from James was devastating. He’d never looked at her this way before. With such…indifference. The coolness in his blue-grey gaze chilled her and made her feel brittle. Capable of being broken.
She wanted to tell him that she was sorry. That she didn’t want to leave. That she had no choice. Yet she couldn’t say any of those things without opening Pandora’s box.
You cannot let James see the ugliness of who you truly are.
“Then you understand.” Her voice tremored. “About the wallflowers, I mean?”
“I am not your keeper. You must do as you please.”
The flash of bitterness in his expression jabbed her heart like a pin. The precise and delicate pain spread and spread.
“However, I must ask that you make preparations. The family will be arriving tomorrow.”
“Your family is coming here?” she said blankly. “Who?—”
“Owen is electing to stay behind. But Mama, Papa, Ethan, Xenia, Gigi and”—James’s mouth curled slightly—“that Godwin fellow will be present.”
“That Godwin fellow” referred to Gigi’s new husband, Conrad Godwin, a notorious industrialist. Since the pair had married in haste and without her family’s consent, the Harringtons had yet to make up their minds about him. Evie’s impression was more favorable, which wasn’t surprising since Godwin had risked his life to save hers during the kidnapping fiasco. Moreover, despite Godwin’s faults, it was obvious that he was head over heels for Gigi and vice versa.
As much as Evie adored James’s kin, the idea of them descending upon Grove Hall unnerved her. Her composure was already shaky. Being around people—especially people who were kind and perceptive—would make keeping up her walls even more difficult.
