He was right, of course. But as she struggled to think of what to call him, heat rushed to her cheeks. “I-I just realized I don’t know your given name, Blackburn.”
“Vaughn Courteney,” he said with a slight bow. “Seventh Earl of Blackburn, at your service.”
“Vaughn,” she repeated, letting the feel of it settle on her tongue. “It suits you.”
He lifted his brows. “Does it? I admit I rarely hear it, for everyone in my acquaintance calls me Blackburn or my lords me into oblivion.”
“Even your wife?” she asked.
She saw the flicker of his reaction at the mention of Lady Blackburn. The tightness of his lips and the way the life dimmed in his eyes made her wish she hadn’t asked.
“Florence called me Vaughn at the beginning, but not for years now,” he said.
“It’s shame men of your station don’t get to use their given names very often. Blackburn is a title, it’s been owned by many men. You become anonymous in a way when it’s all you’re known by.”
He drew back a little. “You’re right, of course, though the observation isn’t one I’ve heard anyone else ever make. I suppose the anonymity is part of the point. I’m meant to be a position rather than a man.”
She shook her head. “Well, I think it’s sad.”
“It’s a costume, like what you’re wearing now.”
She glanced down at herself. If he’d been surprised she’d called out the anonymity of his position, she was equally surprised he noted the performative aspect of her own.
“I suppose the benefit of both our costumes is that they offer protection,” she said. “But if you’d like me to call you Vaughn, I’m happy to do so. And you may continue to call me Evelina. Or Evie, if it suits.”
He nodded. “Evie. I like that. I never heard Southwater call you that.”
“He only did once or twice, always when drunk.” She frowned, for the fact the duke had only ever accidentally used her nickname had always stung a little. To her, Evie was an expression of love and affection that her sisters often used. Harry hadn’t wanted to do so, he’d said as much whenever pressed.
“Then all the better reason for me to do so,Evie.” They stared at each other a brief moment and then he offered her his arm. “Shall we be off? We’ll be just beyond fashionably late for the opera now and I think that’s perfect if our goal is to be seen.”
She pushed away any tangled thoughts the topic of names had created in her and took his arm. She was off to battle now, but at least she had a good ally in the fight. One she hoped she could help as much as he helped her.
* * *
As the carriage bobbed along the busy streets toward the Drury Lane Theatre, Vaughn found himself watching Evie. She would have looked entirely serene, if not for the fact that she kept working her hands together and her foot tapped beneath her skirt. They were subtle tells, of course, but there nonetheless.
“You seem nervous,” he said softly.
She jolted as if surprised he’d noticed. Her dark brown eyes dropped away from his for a moment and then she sighed. “I suppose there’s no reason to hide it, given the nature of our relationship. It’s…it’s the first time I’ve been out to such a large event since Southwater ended things last month. Unlike at the gambling hell or Lady Lena’s, there will be little avenue for me to escape if the crowd’s attention becomes too intense. And even if I could, I don’t want to let you down by acting incorrectly.”
He tilted his head. “Letmedown? I must make it clear, Evie, whatever the nature of this arrangement we’ve made, I don’t see you as a tool. I know how impossible all this is. When I see them together, it hurts. I’m not so much a fool as to think you would feel differently. If you need to escape, we’ll leave. And if it hurts…you can take my hand.”
She stared at him, surprise evident on her lovely face. For a moment he wondered how rare it was for her to be offered kindness or gentleness, understanding that she was as full and real a person as he was, that she had a heart and emotions.
If she hadn’t been granted those allowances, he was angry on her behalf.
“Thank you, Vaughn,” she said at last. “And the same goes for you.”
He smiled as they came to a stop before the Drury Lane Theatre. It had burned down several years before and only been rebuilt and opened for performances less than a year before. He stepped down from the carriage and held out a hand to help her down. There were few people on the street in front of the building, as they were late. Together they stared up at the plain, rectangular façade with its portico that welcomed patrons.
Together they said, “I miss the old building.”
He looked at her and they laughed that they’d said the same thing at the same time.
“The brickwork was just prettier before. And the statue of Apollo?” she said.
“Yes, it was all just so much grander,” he agreed. “I used to get a thrill just looking at it.”
