“Well then—that settles the matter,” Gemma declared, beaming.
Sebastian felt the first true easing of tension since the meal began. Evelyn leaned back a little, the stiffness in her posture softening, and—blessedly—she reached for some toast. His own throat was so tight he doubted he could swallow more than a few bites.
He managed two slices, well buttered, before hesitating. Ought he remain to support her, or withdraw before his mother’s barbs grew too pointed? But Gemma had already drawn Evelyn into a gentle stream of conversation, coaxing her into ease with the same quiet skill she had shown since childhood.
“...and riding mantles are all the fashion this season,” Gemma was saying. “I ordered a new one, though I fear the colour may have been ill-chosen. Red can be so very showy.”
“If it is a darker red, it need not be,” Evelyn offered, shy but friendly.
“That is true,” Gemma agreed, her smile brightening.
The two women were smiling at one another, and Sebastian’s heart filled with warmth, relief unknotting the tight knots in his muscles. At least Gemma was being friendly to her. He shot his sister a grateful look.
William surfaced from behind his newspaper. “Shall we depart?” he asked his wife.
Gemma laughed softly. “It is nine o’clock, dear. There is no need to fly.”
“Nine?” Sebastian tensed. “I must look over the books.” He had assured the butler that he would review the household accounts before their meeting at ten. He glanced sorrowfully at Evelyn, wishing that he did not need to hurry away and abandonher to the mercies of his family. She gazed up at him and for just a second, his body flooded with heat, her gaze filling him with longing. He looked away, his mind too busy with the half-remembered sensations of kissing her.
“Excuse me,” he said quietly.
“I trust we shall meet again at luncheon,” Evelyn murmured.
“Of course.” The simple assurance gave him a wholly unreasonable sense of gladness.
He hastily retreated to his study, shut the door, and drew a steadying breath. His own reactions unsettled him more than his mother’s disapproval ever could.
He settled at the desk and opened the account books, but the columns blurred. A memory—heat, silk, the taste of her breath when she had trembled beneath him—rose unbidden. He seized a quill, hoping numbers might discipline his thoughts.
A knock startled him.
“Come in,” he called.
Nicholas slipped inside, grinning uncertainly. His dark hair was tousled; concern warred with curiosity across his features.
Sebastian gestured to the chair opposite.
“What troubles you?” he asked.
“I wished to see how you fared,” Nicholas admitted. “When you rose so abruptly from the table, I feared you felt unwell.” His brow creased.
“I am well,” Sebastian said, touched. “Only...” He hesitated. As eldest brother—and as a duke—the burden was his to bear alone.
“Mama?” Nicholas asked quietly.
Sebastian nodded, glad that his brother understood without him having to say.
Nicholas sighed. “You know, perhaps she will come to see matters from your point of view. After all, you did acthonourably. Everybody will say so. And Miss Caldwell seems like a pleasant enough person.” He smiled.
“She is,” Sebastian said—and felt heat rise at even that small admission. “She is... polite and affable,” he added cautiously.
Nicholas’s grin widened. “One cannot object to such qualities.”
“No.”
Yet his brother wore that faraway look again. Sebastian had observed it more than once lately.
“You have done rightly,” Nicholas said softly. “You protected a young woman who needed it. A good woman—by all accounts.”
