Sebastian pushed back his chair and stood. “I must ask you to excuse me, Evelyn. My mother and sister will be returning home shortly. I need to speak with them.”
“Of course,” Evelyn agreed. He had explained earlier that his sister had escorted their mother for the day so that Evelyn might arrive quietly, without the pressure of ceremony. The tone in which he had said it suggested she would prefer not to face the Dowager Duchess today—on a day when Evelyn already felt uncertain about nearly everything.
“Thank you.” He bowed and left the room, posture rigid, controlled. As soon as he had gone, Evelyn let herself lean back and close her eyes. She was exhausted.
The coach ride had not been overly long, but she had felt every minute of it. Sebastian had spoken little; she had been unable to think of anything to say—her heart aching at the thought of Mama and James, her pulse thrumming with awareness of the man across from her.
She opened her eyes and allowed her gaze to drift around the room, studying it properly. It was a big room, with long glass windows, a yard or so apart, on the west-facing side. They let light flood into the room, making it bright and uplifting. The display of so much glass in one place was a clear display of wealth, but that was not the reason why Evelyn appreciated it.
She could not help thinking of the townhouse where she had lived for so long and wishing that her mother could have so many windows. They might lift her mood. Despite the evident opulence and the bright, airy room, the house had a tense, hushed air that troubled Evelyn. She could not identify what the cause of the oppressive atmosphere was, and she studied the room more closely, wondering if she could place it.
The walls were covered with white flocked silk, bearing a pattern of acanthus leaves in white. The curtains were ochre velvet, and the upholstery had a dark red stripe that matchedthem. A fireplace with a marble mantel was on the eastern wall, though no fire burned there since the day was not cold. Paintings of landscapes hung on the walls. A bookshelf stood in the corner, made of dark wood. Evelyn stared at it, curiosity filling her despite her exhaustion. She went to the bookshelf and studied the volumes there.
A voice from the hallway made her jump, spinning sharply round.
“Your Grace, I beg your pardon for disturbing you,” the butler murmured with a small bow. “But his Grace requested that I summon Miss Heathfield to show you to your chamber.”
“Oh.” Evelyn’s gaze moved to a young woman wearing a black uniform, with reddish curls covered by a cloth bonnet. “Thank you,” she murmured. She was still reeling from the shock of being addressed as ‘your Grace’. It felt surreal, like everything about her life of late.
“Your Grace, if I may escort you to your chamber?” the young woman asked. “I am to be your lady’s maid.”
“Thank you,” Evelyn replied distractedly.
This was the moment she had tried not to think about—yet had thought about constantly since dawn. Half-formed impressions of what might be expected of her drifted uneasily through her mind: apprehension tangled with that inexplicable pull toward Sebastian, that sensation of being drawn to him whether she willed it or not.
She followed Miss Heathfield down the hallway until they reached a large door. Perspiration prickled down Evelyn’s spine as it opened.
“If you should need anything, the bell-rope is here,” Miss Heathfield said, indicating the long cord beside the mantel. Evelyn nodded.
“Thank you.”
Her maid went on to point out the adjoining boudoir, the washstand, the wardrobe. Evelyn scarcely heard. Her gaze moved over the chamber, searching as though for clues. This was the room adjoining Sebastian’s, and his presence was everywhere. The very air carried the sense of a man of discipline, precision… and privacy.
Miss Heathfield curtseyed and slipped out.
Evelyn sat on the edge of the bed, drained. The bodice of her gown felt stiflingly tight, and she reached behind to loosen a few buttons—an easy task after years of dressing herself. The loosened fabric allowed her to breathe at last.
She rose and crossed to the window. Twilight had settled, turning the sky a clear, sapphire blue. The garden below was shadowed and mysterious beneath the tall trees—one more unknown in a life now full of them.
Her suitcases waited near the wardrobe. They held only a few garments; most of her wardrobe belonged to her old life, not to that of a duchess. She knelt to open one and lifted her Shakespeare volume. If anything might settle her thoughts, it would be that.
She had barely begun to read when a knock sounded. Before she could respond, the door opened, and Sebastian entered.
Evelyn gasped, instantly aware of the loosened bodice. The neckline had fallen slightly, and though her shift covered her, more of her cleavage was revealed than she wished. She hastily drew the fabric together. His gaze flicked there—just for a heartbeat—before rising to her face, sending a flush scorching across her cheeks.
“I trust you feel at ease here,” he said quietly, stepping into the room.
“Um… yes,” she managed, her voice thin with embarrassment.
“I regret that I was so long detained by my family. I hope the room is to your liking.” His eyes flicked briefly toward her loosened bodice, but if he noticed anything amiss, he chose not to remark upon it.
Evelyn nodded. “It is.”
He came to sit on a low stool beside the bed. His knees were only inches from hers, the nearness making her pulse quicken painfully. His gaze fixed on her face with the same unyielding attentiveness she had felt from him since the ceremony—disconcerting, unsettling, yet somehow compelling.
“I presume you have met your lady’s maid?” he asked. His tone sounded slightly strained, as if the topic itself embarrassed him.
“Yes, I have. Thank you.” The words came out breathless. Heat coursed through her, her heartbeat loud in her own ears. His gaze held hers, and something inside her tightened and unfurled at once—longing braided with apprehension.
