Chapter 13

CHAPTER 13

Evan

E van stood at the window, overlooking the drive leading up to Haddington Manor’s grand entrance when he saw an unfamiliar carriage cresting the hill. His brows drew together. He noted that the coat of arms appeared to have been partially removed from the doors.

Who in the world could this be?

He leaned forward slightly when the carriage door opened and a man exited. He recognized him from Almacks’ – he was Alexander Hayward, the Marquess of Howe. And then, Lady Emma stepped out after him.

He placed his glass down on the window sill and made his way to the front door as his mouth quirked in a humorless half-smile. What business could she possibly have here? Whatever her reason, he doubted it was sincere—or rational.

He hadn’t heard from her for a fortnight now though the rumors and stories about her person had swelled in the scandal sheets for some while now. It seemed the ton had found a new target for their scorn and gossip. So much so, he’d felt badly for her. Badly enough at least to let go of his demand she wed him – for now. He still wanted to find a way to bring her to his side, because he needed a wife and she was the most convenient he could find. But he’d decided to give her a little time.

Yet there she was, approaching his door with a look of fierce determination that sparked his curiosity as he glanced at her from the side window by the door.

The butler led her in, and Evan barely had a moment to settle his features into a mask of indifference before she strode into the hall. She barely spared him a glance before curtly cursing and then stating, “Your Grace, I’ve come to discuss our marriage.”

For an instant, her words hung in the air like the snap of a bowstring. Evan’s surprise quickly shifted to guarded amusement. He gestured toward the drawing room.

“Well, that sounds like a matter that ought to be discussed in the drawing room, not the hall. Please, Lady Emma, by all means come through.”

He paused then and looked at the door where her brother lingered. “And you, Lord Howe. Will you join us?”

Her brother looked at him with an expression that was at once quizzical and disapproving. What had she told him about his demand, Evan wondered? He had to think this was all rather odd. However, to his credit, Howe shrugged.

“My sister has a matter to discuss with you and I shall keep my distance until she asks for my assistance, if you do not mind.”

“Of course not. Barnes,” he addressed the butler. “Please bring his lordship refreshments to the parlor. Make sure the fire is going.”

“Yes, Your Grace,” Barnes said and then led the marquess into the parlor but not before the two men exchanged a curt nod. Then, he followed Lady Emma into the drawing room. He noted that she’d marched in as if she owned the place, exuding a sort of angry air though what she had to be angry about was anyone’s guess.

He settled into his seat, watching her take hers with stiff elegance. “What precisely brings about this unexpected reversal?” His tone held a razor's edge. “The last time we spoke you were determined that you would never marry me even if I were the last man on this earth.”

Lady Emma's hands were clasped tightly in her lap, the knuckles faintly white, betraying how this wasn’t a decision made lightly. Her mouth pressed into a thin line as if she’d rehearsed her words and was determined to see them through.

“I most certainly did not say that.”

“Recollections may vary,” he said and shrugged, well aware she hadn’t been quiet so forward with her words, though he’d understood the meaning of her stance at the time.

“I’ve no illusions as to why I’m here,” she began, her voice cool. “In light of recent events, my reputation has been irreparably damaged. I am an outcast in society. I expect my voucher to Almack’s will soon be revoked as well. I am at my wits end. A marriage to you”—her tone faltered briefly—”appears to be my only option if I hope to salvage any future.”

Evan tilted his head, weighing her expression. “And you’re willing to take my suggestion then?” he asked.

She gave a sharp nod. “I would hardly call it a suggestion, it was a demand as I recall it.”

He smirked. “It was. But you are now willing?”

“I am hardly willing,” she replied but then looked down as a sigh escaped her. “I am in need of a match. I’m not seeking sentiment or companionship. Just as you arranged with Ophelia—only on paper, nothing more.”

“Ophelia?” Evan’s lips curled into a wry smile, his eyes glinting. “It’s interesting that you think you know anything of what Ophelia and I arranged. The last time, you were blissfully unaware of anything she and I had planned, so much so you saw fit to wreck it all on a whim,” he watched her carefully, noting how she tensed at his words.

“I have learned more about it since speaking to her, Your Grace,” she shot back. “I was wrong to do what I did but I did it out of…” her words faltered as though she were not quite as certain anymore why she had done it. She shook her head slightly as if to rearrange her thoughts. “My only interest is in ensuring that neither of us suffer further damage to our reputations. I’d prefer this to be as unremarkable and unburdensome as possible. In exchange, I expect no interference in my life, and I will offer none in yours.”

Evan gave a low chuckle, settling back in his chair. “Lady Emma, I assure you, the idea of anything resembling marital harmony with you is as foreign to me as it is unwelcome.”

A flicker of irritation crossed her face, though she quickly suppressed it. “Then we’re agreed,” she replied briskly. “This will be a marriage in name only.”

“Indeed,” he said, watching her with that same mocking smile. “That was all I’d intended from the start. If you are prepared to marry a man you so clearly disdain, then I see no reason to object.”

A silence fell between them, filled only by the ticking of the nearby clock. Evan’s gaze didn’t leave her face as he considered this arrangement. If he were honest with himself, he found Emma’s sudden change in demeanor—from righteous interference to resigned acquiescence—unsettling. She sat there, rigidly composed, her expression fierce but masking something else. Was it shame? Resentment? Or was it some vestige of pride that refused to let her accept her current situation without some struggle?

He leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees, bringing him a few inches closer to her. “Forgive me for finding this arrangement peculiar,” he said, his tone softening. “It was barely a fortnight ago that you seemed appalled by the very idea of this union. Yet here you are, insisting upon it. Might I ask why?”

Emma looked away, a faint blush coloring her cheeks. “I don’t need to explain myself to you. The scandal speaks for itself.”

Evan gave a quiet laugh. “Oh, the scandal is evident enough. I simply find it amusing that you are so keen to take on what could be a rather unpleasant existence.” He let his words linger, a goading edge in his tone.

Emma’s jaw tightened, and she fixed him with a cool gaze. “Perhaps I deserve it.”

Something flickered in her expression—something beyond her calculated response. His amusement faded slightly, a thread of curiosity pulling at him. Then it came to him. Ophelia. She said she’d spoken to her. Whatever Ophelia had said to her clearly had changed something within her. She felt guilty, that was it. He knew this was a perfect opportunity to further vex her, but he saw that she was already fairly distraught. Indeed, the last two weeks had to have been difficult for her. Thus, he decided to let things go. He was not a cruel man and she’d been rather brave to come here, he had to admit. There was no reason to be ungracious.

“Very well,” he said, waving his hand as if to dismiss her doubts. “You are committed to a marriage of convenience, and I am more than willing to oblige. But you should understand, Lady Emma, that I will not tolerate interference in my life. Whatever sense of righteousness may have led you here, I suggest you put it to rest.”

Her posture stiffened, but she inclined her head. “And you needn’t worry about interference on my part. I’ve no interest in your affairs, personal or otherwise.”

A brittle silence descended again, as each absorbed the strangeness of their accord. For Evan, the entire situation had an air of absurdity. He had been well aware that his quest to marry her might have been futile. She had a brother to protect her, and brothers-in-law who were Dukes in their own right. He still intended to try, if for no other reason than it would have made sense.

In his mind, he’d imagined telling the ton that they’d once had a dalliance long ago and that Emma had loved him ever since. That her reason for interrupting the wedding had been due to her love for him – and that he had realized he loved her too.

It would have been a love story for the ages that the ton would have lapped up like eager kittens led to a bowl of milk. But he’d been aware it might be a difficult task.

Now, here she was, staring across the table in full agreement.

“Good,” he said at last, breaking the silence. “Then we’ve come to an accord.”

She rose to her feet, her eyes remaining fixed on him, and something in their expression caused him to pause. She seemed almost… haunted. But she shook it off as quickly as it had appeared, her face settling back into that maddening mask of dignity.

“One last thing, Your Grace,” she said, her voice crisp, devoid of warmth. “Let it be understood: I have no intention of becoming some accessory to your social diversions. I expect respect, if nothing more.”

Evan raised a brow, his lips curving into a faint smirk. “Respect? My dear Lady Emma, I suspect you’ll find respect a complicated request in a marriage without emotion. But if it means that much to you, I can assure you that I will keep my affairs discreet.”

The color rose in her cheeks, her eyes narrowing slightly. But she gave a curt nod. “Then we have nothing further to discuss.”

He rose as well, and they stood there for a moment in a strange stalemate, neither willing to back down. There was a flicker of something unreadable in her eyes as she held his gaze, and for a fleeting moment, Evan felt an odd pull, a spark of curiosity about this woman who’d barged into his life so unexpectedly.

“Well, Lady Emma,” he said, extending a hand. “I suppose I ought to congratulate you on securing the future you so desire.”

She hesitated, then placed her hand in his, her fingers as cold and unyielding as her gaze. “Save your congratulations,” she replied tersely. “This isn’t what either of us wanted.”

He held her hand a second longer than necessary, a strange pang of regret stirring somewhere deep within him—a feeling he quickly dismissed as foolishness. As far as he was concerned, she was here only because she had no other choice, and he had no reason to think of her beyond that.

“Then I won’t waste my words,” he replied coolly, releasing her hand. “You’ll be my duchess, in name if nothing else.”

She pulled her hand back, the rigidity returning to her frame, and took a step back. “Precisely, Your Grace. Nothing more.”

“I will have my solicitor contact your brother in the morning to make arrangements. I take it we shall start reading the banns this Sunday with a view to wed in 3 weeks?”

“Indeed,” she agreed.

Without another word, she turned and left the room, her figure fading down the corridor. Evan watched her retreat, feeling an inexplicable weight settle in his chest as he did so. He shook his head, a bitter smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

Outside, she heard her speak to her brother and then the two walked across the hall, their footsteps in sync. Evan stepped to the window as the two made their way to the carriage. Lord Howe turned once, looking back and tipping his head but Lady Emma did not. She marched to the carriage, was handed in, and disappeared and a moment later, so did her brother.

So this was to be his future. A cold, loveless arrangement, bound by nothing but their mutual disdain. He hadn’t been looking for affection, certainly not from her, but even he had to admit that this was the last kind of match he’d expected. His gaze drifted to the window, where Emma’s carriage was now pulling away, leaving him alone in the vast, quiet halls of Haddington Manor.

Evan returned to his chair, an unfamiliar tension in his shoulders as he sat back down. He poured himself a glass of brandy and took a slow sip, the warm liquid doing little to dispel the strange ache of emptiness creeping into his chest.