“Thank you,” Evelyn murmured. Her heart twisted. She wished she could believe him, but Sebastian’s absence stood in stark contradiction. A man who cared for her would not vanish without a word.
Nicholas seated himself as the butler returned with tea, then hurried away to fetch an additional cup and saucer. Evelyn let Nicholas and Lucy speak, content to lose herself in their lively banter—London, the countryside, their favourite pastimes. She longed to feel such ease with Sebastian.
But it is different,she told herself.He is different.She could not imagine him chatting of weather or pastimes or any such trivialities. He scarcely spoke so even among his own family.
Her mind filled with images of his face. His wide, blue eyes, in sharp contrast with his dark hair, and that expressive mouth, capable of curving into a wry, one-sided smile or settling into the hard, unyielding line that appeared when he was angry.
With effort, she brought her attention back to Lucy and Nicholas, now debating the delights of Bond Street. Evelynlistened with half her mind, grateful for the distraction from her misery.
“Frightfully expensive,” Nicholas was saying with a grin. “But then, I suppose that is precisely why people flock there.”
“For the most part, I believe you correct,” Lucy replied with a bright smile.
They chatted on for what felt like hours until, at last, Nicholas rose.
“I regret that I must excuse myself, ladies. I promised to exercise my horse before teatime, and I must be prompt.”
“Is it five o’clock already?” Lucy exclaimed, lifting her hand to her lips. “I must go down at once—Papa will be here any moment.”
“I shall walk with you,” Evelyn offered. She planned to take a turn in the garden afterwards, anything to avoid the house—and the Dowager Duchess.
“Thank you, Evelyn,” Lucy murmured warmly.
Nicholas exited first, and then she and Lucy walked down to the entranceway. Evelyn stood with Lucy on the front steps, conscious that at any moment the Dowager Duchess might come out. She scarcely felt comfortable anywhere in Brentfield except her chamber or the solitude of the gardens.
“There’s the coach! We were just on time. Good for Lord Nicholas,” Lucy said, her eyes sparkling.
“Indeed,” Evelyn teased warmly.
Lucy gave her a playful shove, and Evelyn returned it. They were laughing still when Baron Ormesby, Lucy’s father, drew up in his light carriage.
“Thank you for the visit,” Evelyn said softly, taking Lucy’s hands.
“And thankyou. I am certain we shall call on one another again very soon,” Lucy replied.
Evelyn thanked her once more and stood waving until the coach reached the end of the drive. Only then did she hurry toward the gardens.
Her steps carried her into the rose garden, where she sank onto a bench and breathed in the rich, sweet scent, willing her worries to fade. But every moment brought memories of Sebastian—his voice, his touch, the confusion of that morning. She could not dismiss him from her thoughts, no matter how she tried to explain his absence. Lucy’s lively company had kept her mind at bay for a while, but now the uncertainty returned with full force. Why had he gone without telling anyone?
She remained in the garden until a chill breeze finally drove her indoors. She drifted into the drawing room, hoping it might be empty. Solitude in her chamber would only magnify her thoughts. She needed people close by to keep her mind off her worries.
“Good afternoon,” a voice said from the doorway.
Evelyn tensed at the sound of a woman, but when she looked up from her sewing, relief washed through her. It was not the Dowager Duchess—thank goodness. She rose and offered a graceful curtsey.
Lady Chelmsworth—Gemma—stood there. Evelyn swallowed hard. Lady Chelmsworth had been friendly and welcoming since she had met her, but Evelyn barely knew her and, of Sebastian’s siblings, she was the hardest one to read.
“Good afternoon, Lady Chelmsworth,” she greeted her softly.
“Oh, call me Gemma, pray. Everyone does,” she said with an easy grin. Her dark eyes sparkled. Her features, so like Sebastian’s, drew Evelyn in despite her anxiety.
“Thank you,” Evelyn murmured. “May I ring for tea?” She glanced anxiously at the mantel clock. It was late for such a request, and she remained uncertain of the household’scustoms. As the daughter of the house, Gemma must once have overseen such matters; yet Evelyn was now the duchess, and the thought always unsettled her. One more reminder that she did not truly belong. The Dowager Duchess ensured she heard such reminders daily—and Sebastian’s distance made them feel sharper still.
“I took tea earlier in the Green Parlour,” Gemma said quickly. She studied Evelyn with a concerned expression. “I wished to speak with you… to make amends, perhaps, for certain awkwardnesses within the household.” Her gaze dropped, as though the words cost her something.
Evelyn frowned gently. “There are no awkwardnesses that could be yours to amend, Gemma.”
Gemma’s expression eased, though she still looked troubled. “You are kind. But I feel responsible nonetheless. I wish I could curb Mama’s harshness. I dislike how impolite she is to you.”
