“No,” William said slowly. “I was only recalling her Grace’s expression this morning. Not Evelyn—your mother.” His mouth tightened. “She was best pleased with your absence.”
Sebastian scowled. “What are you suggesting?”
“Only that the Duchess’s unhappiness suited her.” William’s tone remained even.
Sebastian’s hands clenched. His anger was not solely for his mother—it was for himself. He had left Evelyn unprotected, and his mother would have revelled in it.
“You needn’t lecture me,” he said sharply. “I can envision the scene well enough.”
“You asked what troubled me,” William replied, unruffled.
Sebastian sighed. “William...it’s not simple, you know,” he began to explain. William’s smile lifted at the corner.
“I know. Truly, I do.” He smiled. “Love rarely is simple.”
Sebastian shook his head. “You misunderstand. When you met Gemma, you both knew at once how you felt. I—”
He hesitated.
“I had never evenmetEvelyn before she saved my life.”
William smiled. “A memorable introduction.”
A reluctant smile tugged at Sebastian’s mouth. “I suppose.” He looked into his teacup. “But I do not know whether she wants anything from me beyond a convenient arrangement.”
That was the heart of it, the worry that gnawed at him.
William’s brows rose in silent prompt.
“What?” Sebastian demanded.
“Ask her,” William replied mildly, though the glint in his eye betrayed a certain satisfaction at striking the mark.
Sebastian’s temper pricked. “I could do with less patronising.”
William inclined his head. “Quite right. My apologies.”
Sebastian exhaled through his nose. “Let us leave it.”
“As you wish,” William said, and though the words were mild, something in them pressed too close to Sebastian’s raw nerves.
He looked away, fingers tightening around the arm of his chair. He needed space—silence—anything that was not William’s quiet insight or Evelyn’s soft, bewildering gaze echoing in his mind.
“I should like a moment alone,” he said at last, tone even but final. “There is…a good deal to consider.”
William studied him for a heartbeat, then nodded. “Very well.”
Sebastian stood. “My thanks.”
William offered no further comment—no advice, no censure—which was almost a relief. As Sebastian turned from the table, the familiar hush of the club settled around him, giving him what he needed most: a pause. A breath. A little time to think before the world—and Evelyn—demanded anything more of him.
Chapter Sixteen
Evelyn gazed out of the window. It was late afternoon—four o’clock—and still Sebastian had not returned to the manor. He had vanished that morning, long before she was awake, and though she had expected, even hoped, to see him at breakfast, he had not appeared. She had spent the morning sitting miserably in the drawing-room with his sister, Gemma, and later she had sat in her chamber, memories of him swirling around her head and mixing with a longing to talk to him, to tell him how she felt and to explore the new feelings growing between them.
He did not return for luncheon, though all had presumed he would. By teatime, Evelyn was wretched. The Dowager Duchess continued to cast her glances—glances Evelyn could interpret only as smug. It seemed perfectly—painfully—clear that Sebastian was avoiding the manor in order to avoid her.
It made no sense. Had she somehow repelled him? Yet his touch had been so gentle, his gaze so full of admiration. She could not believe she had imagined the warmth in his eyes. But if not—where was he?
