“Evelyn,” her mother returned softly, looking up with such love that Evelyn’s heart ached.
She joined them at the table. There were plenty of sandwiches, which was, in itself, somewhat new. While they had never starved, the fare had grown increasingly simple, and the sight of ham and cheese was a new surprise. She looked at Lucy inquiringly. Her friend shrugged.
“Consider it… a gift to your mother?” she suggested brightly.
Evelyn chuckled, shaking her head in delight. “Oh, Lucy,” she murmured. “Thank you so much.”
Lucy smiled and gestured for her to help herself to sandwiches.
They chatted happily, and though her mother spoke little, Evelyn caught her watching them—now and again a small smile flickering to her lips. Each time, Evelyn’s heart leapt.
She savoured the lunch and the easy conversation, and it was difficult to rise at last and make for the door, knowing the coach would be waiting promptly at four o’clock.
In the hallway, her mother drew her aside.
“Are you happy?” she asked quietly.
Evelyn swallowed, tears springing to her eyes. “I am, Mama,” she said gently. The concern in her mother’s face moved her deeply—but the soft relief that followed her answer moved her more.
“Good,” her mother murmured. “Good.”
Evelyn embraced her tightly. She blinked back tears as she stepped toward the door, fumbling in her reticule for a handkerchief.
“I will return soon, Mama,” she promised, her voice roughened with emotion.
“Please do, daughter,” her mother said, touching her hand.
Evelyn hugged her again—swiftly, fiercely—then hurried downstairs to the waiting barouche, ready to be carried back through the busy streets and into the cool quiet of the countryside.
When she returned to Brentfield Manor and hurried up the stairs, she heard the Dowager Duchess’s voice echoing sharply through the hallway.
“So selfish! How can someone be so selfish? Nearly dinnertime, and we have guests! No proper duchess would be so thoughtlessly late!”
Evelyn froze. Heat rushed to her cheeks. Shame rooted her to the stair, and she half-whirled to flee—intending to rush straight to the dining room without even changing her gown—but before she could move, Sebastian’s voice cut through the tirade.
“Mama. That is enough.” His tone carried a dangerous edge. “Evelyn has her reasons for calling upon her mother so soon—I am quite certain of it. I will not have you insult her.”
Evelyn stared, astonished. Tears had been threatening a moment ago; now her heart surged with stunned gratitude. He had defended her—again—and without hesitation.
Footsteps approached. She turned, ready to dart down the stairs, but Sebastian saw her.
“Evelyn! There you are.” He stepped toward her. “I must tell you that there is some urgency in preparing for dinner.” His voice, however, was cool—almost indifferent. Evelyn frowned.His defence had been swift and fierce, yet now he sounded aloof. He bewildered her.
“I will prepare at once,” she said quickly. “At what hour are we expected to dine?”
“Half an hour past seven.”
Evelyn murmured thanks and hurried to her chamber. She rifled through her wardrobe, seized the only remotely appropriate evening gown—a dark blue one slightly tight at the bodice—and rang for her maid. Fifteen minutes later, her hair was dressed in a simple chignon, and she was flying down the stairs to the dining room.
Sebastian and his mother were already seated: he at the head of the table, she at his right. Evelyn slipped into her place at the foot. Nicholas was not yet there, but Lord and Lady Chelmsworth were seated and seemed quiet. Evelyn thought that everyone looked tense, and she wondered why, gazing down uncomfortably at her dark blue gown, which was just a little too tight and seemed old-fashioned in comparison with Lady Chelmsworth’s elegant burgundy creation.
“Lord and Lady Carlington, and Lady Belinda are here, your Grace,” the butler announced. “Shall I show them in?”
“Please—please do,” the Dowager Duchess replied promptly.
Sebastian’s eyes widened, then narrowed with unmistakable anger. Evelyn frowned. Clearly, he had not expected these particular guests.
The butler returned a matter of seconds later, a thin older man in a navy-blue evening coat and an older woman with elegantly curled white hair beside him. Just behind them was someone in a long white gown, because Evelyn could see part of the skirt showing around the door, but she could not see the woman clearly. She bit her lip as a dark-haired young lady, around her own age, glided in.
