Asher had been by her side in seconds.
“What did he say to you?” he demanded, and she frowned at his accusatory tone.
“Nothing.”
“He wasn’t flirting with you?”
She raised her brows at him. Was he jealous? No. Not jealous. He couldn’t be, for he felt nothing for her besides, at the best, some fondness. He had made that clear. She was sure that it had more to do with a man protecting what he owned, like she was a belonging.
“Don’t like to share your toys, Asher?” she said, unable to keep herself from making a saucy comment.
He frowned at her.
“You are my wife,” he said, his words clipped.
Whatever that meant.
She simply shrugged at him before turning away to make pleasantries with Lady Thalia, who was polite and said she was happy to have Evelyn in the house, but disappeared shortly after breakfast concluded.
Now, Evelyn was alone, moving through the public rooms of the ground floor of Asher’s grand London manor, exploring what was now her home.
She had been here before, but it had been years ago, when Asher’s parents had held events. From what Evelyn could recall, the duke and duchess had loved to host, which was made apparent by what she had seen from the dowager duchess this morning.
As she walked through the house, even though they had hosted only that morning, it already felt cavernous, hushed, almost watchful, her every footstep echoing. Servants movedefficiently, quietly, as though trained not to intrude. They never met her eye, even as she prepared to smile her welcome at them.
The silence felt heavier than the noise in this house, built to impress and designed for order. She suddenly missed the clutter of her father’s study, the hum of debate between the two of them or the scholars he invited into his home, the sound of the pages turning. Their townhouse was much smaller, of course, but every space was full, books nearly tumbling off the full shelves, half-used candles littering every corner of the room.
Evelyn had sometimes been bothered by how cluttered it had been, but suddenly she would give anything to have it back.
This house reminded her of the Asher she was most familiar with. The duke she had observed at events, the man he had been at the wedding breakfast. Controlled, distant, imposing.
But then she recalled how he had been in the carriage, and when they had danced — just the two of them. Then there had been the words from Lord Julian.
Perhaps that other side to her husband, the one that she actually rather enjoyed, could become more apparent.
Impulsively, she sought out the housekeeper, finally finding her below stairs in what Evelyn assumed was her office.
“Mrs. Jenkins?”
The woman jumped, her hand on her bosom as she turned, staring at Evelyn as though she had broken in.
“Your grace, what are you doing down here?” she said, looking around as though they were about to be caught.
“I came to speak to you,” Evelyn said, suddenly uncertain. She had always had conversations with their housekeeper in her office when she lived at her father’s townhouse. Was it different here? She forged on. “I would like to have dinner alone with my husband this evening.”
“Alone?” she repeated, blinking.
“Yes, perhaps in a private dining room or the breakfast room?”
“But the duchess— that is…”
Evelyn tilted her head, one eyebrow raised as she held her ground, reminding herself thatshewas the duchess. After a moment, she swallowed, hoping she retained her outward appearance of calm. If Evelyn had to adjust to this new life, so should everyone else.
“Very well,” the housekeeper said with a small, strained smile. “All will be arranged.”
Evelyn allowed the triumph to spread over her lips as she walked away.
She had done it.
