The wedding breakfast was to begin shortly in the Ravenscar House entrance hall. Such an event was usually held at the bride’s family’s home, but the duke had insisted that it would be far easier for his family to host and Evelyn hadn’t felt like arguing, for she was not much of a hostess — not that she shared that with the duke, for she was sure that hosting was one of the primary skills required of a duchess.
Perhaps she should have told him.
She hadn’t seen her new mother-in-law since the church, as she was led to her room where she was supposed to settle. It was, however, difficult when it was an extremely large bedchamber that was beautiful, lavish, imposing, and entirely not hers. She stared at the bedclothes and ornate decorations she would never have chosen for herself, imagining instead lighter draperies. A writing desk by the window. Shelves instead of gilt ornament. Perhaps she would not change it all at once, but she would love to make space for herself.
Soon enough, however, she was back downstairs to the life that had now been chosen for her, where their few guests had already arrived.
The duchess – make that the dowager duchess now – floated effortlessly between Lord Julian and Verity, who had arrived with her mother since she was no longer accompanying Evelyn.
The duke’s mother seemed practically born to take on the role.
Unlike Evelyn, who currently felt like an unwanted guest and not the bride of the party.
She hardly belonged in such a setting, let alone in the role of duchess. She belonged in her learned societies with her father, her nose in a book, her feet in the British Museum while she solved puzzles.
“What are you doing?”
She didn’t have to turn around to know how close he was standing behind her, for she could feel the puff of breath on her neck, the low timbre of his voice in her ear.
When she turned, he was looking at her as thoughshewas the puzzle, and she wondered if he would ever look at her the way she had seen some husbands look at their wives — with affection, at the very least.
“I am observing how well your mother hosts,” she said, telling the truth. “It comes very naturally to her.”
“Years of practice,” Asher said. “You’ll get there.”
Evelyn bit her lip. That was not exactly her life’s goal, but she supposed she didn’t have much choice now. Before she could say anything in response, though, he had already moved on.
Her father finally arrived, but rather than paying his daughter, the bride, any attention, Evelyn was astonished when he couldn’t tear his gaze away from Asher’s mother, as though she transfixed him. Evelyn had to say his name a couple of times to capture his attention, and as much as she wanted to ask him what his connection to the dowager duchess was, she never had the chance, for the setting was too intimate, all the guests too close.
Evelyn was, of course, seated next to her new husband, although she found it difficult to eat any of the food at the breakfast that had been set so formally before them.
Thank goodness for Lord Julian, who regaled the table with his stories, and for Verity, who watched and listened with such obvious disdain that Evelyn found it difficult not to break out into laughter.
At one point, Evelyn asked her husband to pass her sugar for her tea, and when he set it in her hand, their fingers touched, causing her to gasp as she had to clench her fist so no one could see them shake.
It shouldn’t be anything. Just two people, now married, sitting side by side as a husband helped his wife with her tea. But when his skin had touched hers, it seemed almost to burn her with its spark, and Evelyn stiffened, as did Asher, both quickly looking away from one another as she tried to pretend that she was unaffected.
“Are you all right?” Verity asked, leaning against her on her other side, and Evelyn gave a quick nod.
“Of course.”
Verity lowered her voice to a whisper. “Evelyn, if you’re not happy with this…”
Evelyn gave her a wry smile. “It doesn’t much matter anymore, now does it?”
“Well, just know I’m here for you, for whatever you need.”
Evelyn patted her hand, appreciating the sentiment, even if there was nothing Verity could ever do to make this better.
By the time the guests left, Evelyn had nearly given up trying to maintain the calm in which she’d always prided herself.
Needing to be alone, she made for the stairs, but Asher’s voice stopped her.
“I’ll accompany you.”
Was he coming up the stairs with her?
Evelyn looked at him in alarm, especially when it seemed that he immediately understood her concern.
