Chapter 22

CHAPTER 22

Evan

E van descended the grand staircase, his boots echoing faintly against the polished marble steps as he adjusted his gloves. The morning sunlight streamed through the high windows, painting the walls with a soft, golden glow. His mind, however, was far from the brightness of the day. Thoughts of the previous night circled relentlessly, fragments of Emma’s startled gaze and the softness of her expression replaying over and over.

He had always known her as composed, unshakable, and spirited—qualities that had both irritated and intrigued him. But last night had revealed something else entirely: a vulnerable, deeply human side that lingered with him like a faint but insistent melody.

As he approached the door leading to the foyer, intending to set out for his morning obligations, he paused at the sound of quiet clinking from the breakfast room. Curious, and inexplicably drawn, he veered toward it.

Emma was seated at the breakfast table, her figure bathed in the soft morning light filtering through the sheer curtains. She wore a pale lavender morning gown, modest but elegant, her hair pinned in a loose chignon with wisps escaping to frame her face. She was absently stirring her tea, her gaze distant as though her thoughts were far from the breakfast laid before her.

Evan hesitated in the doorway, a pang of memory catching him off guard. Years ago, he had often passed this very room to see his mother seated at the same table, her back straight and her movements precise, masking her loneliness. His father had rarely joined her, his attentions consumed by business or—more often—by his dalliances. The mornings, his mother had once confided to him in a rare moment of vulnerability, were the loneliest part of her day.

Evan clenched his jaw, the memory stirring a discomfort that had long lain dormant. He didn’t want to be that kind of man—absent, uncaring, cruel by neglect. Even if their marriage was pretend, they were married and Emma lived in his home. The image of his father loomed in his mind, a reminder of everything he had sworn he would not become.

His gaze returned to Emma. She had yet to notice him, her head tilted slightly as she sighed, the faintest trace of melancholy in the sound. Something in him shifted.

He saw in her a glimmer of the young woman he’d seen the night before emerged – the tender hearted, amiable woman with whom he could see himself developing a true connection and friendship. Perhaps, if she was Ophelia’s good friend and he and Ophelia had become friends, there was a chance here as well.

He stepped forward and gently knocked on the doorframe.

“May I join you?”

She looked at him, wide-eyed but slowly nodded as he pulled out a chair to dine with his wife – for the very first time.

The soft clatter of silverware and the hum of the household preparing for the day filled the breakfast room. Emma sat across from Evan, still slightly disarmed by his presence. Breakfast had always been her solitary ritual, a small sanctuary in the vastness of their shared yet distant life. This morning, however, was different. He was here, unannounced and unhurried, and she didn’t quite know what to make of it.

She glanced at him over her teacup, noting the easy way he settled into his chair, his expression composed. “I must admit,” she began, her voice measured, “I hadn’t expected to see you at breakfast. You’re usually gone by now.”

Evan lifted his coffee cup, his dark eyes meeting hers briefly before a faint smile tugged at the corner of his lips. “I usually am,” he agreed. “But I thought I might take the time today.”

The simplicity of his answer caught her off guard. For a moment, she toyed with the idea of asking why—why today, why now—but the words caught in her throat.

The storm the previous night lingered in Emma’s thoughts as she sat across from Evan at breakfast. The uncharacteristic ease between them emboldened her to speak, though she hesitated at first. Finally, as they sipped their tea, she admitted softly, “About last night... I hope you don’t think me foolish.”

Evan looked up, his brows drawing together. “Foolish? Why would I think that?”

Her fingers traced the edge of her teacup. “Being afraid of thunder at my age—it seems childish, doesn’t it?” She tried to keep her tone light, but the embarrassment was plain in her voice. “It’s hardly the demeanor of a duchess.”

Evan set his cup down, his gaze steady but free of judgment. “Fears don’t have to make sense, Emma,” he said gently. “They’re rarely rational.”

“But you are not afflicted with such a fear, I take it? Or do you speak from experience?”

A faint, humorless smile tugged at his lips. “I certainly do have such a fear. Pray, if you tell me where yours stems from, I will tell you the details of mine.”

She nodded. “I suppose mine stems from when I was little. My father used to travel often, and during one particularly bad storm, the wind tore a branch through the window of the nursery. It shattered glass everywhere.” She shuddered slightly, the memory vivid even now. “I thought the house itself was going to come apart. I’ve never forgotten it.”

Evan’s expression softened, his usual reserve giving way to something warmer. “That doesn’t seem childish to me. You were scared. Anyone would be.”

Emma looked at him, surprised by his easy acceptance. “And you? I told you of mine. Surely you’ve never been afraid of something so silly.”

His smile turned wry, a rare self-deprecating glint in his eyes. “Oh, I wouldn’t be so sure of that.”

She tilted her head, intrigued. “Go on, then. What is it?”

Evan hesitated, a faint color rising to his cheeks, but her curiosity seemed to disarm him. He sighed. “Mice.”

Emma blinked. “Mice?”

“Yes.” He leaned back, rubbing the back of his neck as though the admission physically pained him. “I can face down a charging stallion without flinching, but put a mouse in the room, and I’d sooner sleep outside.”

Emma tried to stifle her laugh, but it bubbled out despite her best efforts. “A mouse? Truly?”

“Truly.” His tone was resigned, though his lips twitched with reluctant amusement. “It’s not the creature itself so much as how quickly they dart about. It’s unnerving.”

She giggled, then caught herself. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t laugh. That’s... unexpected.”

“Unexpected,” he echoed dryly, shaking his head. “And, according to my father, a mark of weakness. He found it endlessly amusing.”

Her laughter faded at his shift in tone, the shadow that passed over his expression. “Your father teased you for it?” she asked, her voice cautious.

“Teased would be the kindest interpretation,” he said flatly, picking up his cup again but not drinking. “He wasn’t the sort of man to tolerate fear—or any vulnerability, really. He saw it as something to be beaten out of a person.”

Emma’s heart ached at the words, and Mrs. Havisham’s voice echoed in her memory. ‘He adored his mother, but his father... well, that’s a story I cannot tell.’ She studied Evan now, seeing more than just the polished exterior he presented to the world. There were cracks in the armor, hints of a boy who had grown up under the weight of a harsh and unyielding figure.

“You know,” she said softly, her earlier mirth replaced with sincerity, “there’s nothing wrong with being afraid of something, no matter what it is. It’s part of being human.”

He met her gaze, his dark eyes searching hers. “My father would disagree.”

“Your father was wrong,” she said firmly, surprising even herself with the conviction in her tone.

Evan blinked, caught off guard, but his lips curved into the faintest smile.

“Perhaps he was.”

For a moment, neither of them spoke, the silence between them heavy with unspoken understanding. Emma felt the weight of his past pressing on her, and her heart ached for the boy he had been. She wondered what else Mrs. Havisham had withheld—what secrets lurked in the shadows of Evan’s upbringing.

But she also saw something else now: a man who, despite his father’s cruelty, had chosen to sit across from her this morning, offering kindness when she had expected indifference. Perhaps there was more to him than she had ever allowed herself to believe.

And perhaps, she thought as she looked at him, there was more to their marriage than she had dared to hope. Just then, she saw their carriage arriving outside.

“Your ride into town is here,” she said, and he glanced out.

“I see. They will wait, of course, as breakfast is not yet finished. After that, I am afraid I must return into town.”

“Do you often have pressing matters in town? You seem to go there most days.”

Evan set his cup down with deliberate care, his gaze steady. “I do. Business, mostly.”

The vagueness of his response did little to satisfy her curiosity, though she hadn’t truly expected him to elaborate. She nodded, shifting her focus to the eggs on her plate. “And today? More business, I assume?”

A shadow of amusement crossed his face, though his tone remained polite. “Yes. It seems one’s work is never truly done.”

The comment lingered in the air, leaving Emma no closer to understanding the nature of his frequent excursions. Was it business—or something else? The thought of the letters she had found, especially the one addressed to “Rose,” crept into her mind, tightening her chest. Could they be connected? She felt an urge to ask, but something stopped her. She wasn’t sure she was ready to know the answer—or to let him know she had found them.

Instead, she pushed the thought aside and offered a neutral smile. “And when you’re not preoccupied with business? Do you ever allow yourself time for leisure?”

Evan raised a brow, a flicker of intrigue in his expression. “Naturally, I am a keen hunter and I love to ride. I have many interests.” He leaned back, regarding her with a faint smile. “And you? Have you been attending socials as Duchess yet?”

The question shifted the focus to her, and she hesitated for a moment. “It’s been challenging, given the circumstances that led to my elevation” she admitted, “but I’m beginning to find my footing. At first, I felt like a fraud stepping into a role that wasn’t truly mine, but... it’s becoming easier.” She glanced at him, surprised by the genuine interest in his expression. “The weight of it is less daunting than it was.”

Evan nodded, his expression softening. “I can imagine it’s no small adjustment.”

Emma felt a warmth rise in her chest at his acknowledgment. This wasn’t the cool, distant man she had grown accustomed to. This was someone else—someone who seemed to care, even if only a little. It reminded her of their dinners over the past week. While initially stilted, they had evolved into something... almost pleasant. Yet those moments had always felt deliberate, planned. This morning was different—spontaneous and oddly intimate.

As the conversation waned, a companionable quiet settled between them. Emma’s thoughts wandered to the letters again, her fingers tightening slightly on the edge of her napkin. She wanted to ask, to confront the lingering questions that gnawed at her: Who was Rose? And was this mysterious woman the reason for his constant absences?

But as she studied him, his relaxed posture, the faint smile still playing on his lips, she faltered. This was not the moment. Not when they were finally speaking with something resembling warmth. She wasn’t sure she was ready to hear the answers—or reveal that the question had bothered her at all.

Evan broke the silence, his voice pulling her from her thoughts. “I’ve invited Jonathan to dine with me this evening,” he said, his tone casual. “I thought you might like to join us.”

Emma blinked, surprised by the offer. He’d invited a friend? And he wanted her there? She nodded, her reply more enthusiastic than she had intended. “I’d like that.”

He rose from his chair, smoothing his jacket as the staff cleared the table. “Good. Then I’ll see you this evening.”

As he left the room, Emma remained seated, staring at the empty doorway. This morning had felt different, a thread of something new weaving between them. She wasn’t sure what it was, but it lingered, stirring something inside her that she couldn’t quite name. For the first time in a long time, she wondered if their marriage—this strange, tenuous partnership—might become something more.

As he left the room, Emma remained seated, staring at the empty doorway. This morning had felt different, a thread of something new weaving between them. She wasn’t sure what it was, but it lingered, stirring something inside her that she couldn’t quite name. For the first time in a long time, she wondered if their marriage—this strange, tenuous partnership—might become something more.