Chapter 23

CHAPTER 23

E van

The evening was quiet but for the occasional whisper of the wind beyond the estate. The smell of roasted pheasant wafted through the air, mingling with the faint scent of beeswax candles that flickered in the sconces. Evan leaned back in the plush interior of his carriage, his jaw tight as the rhythmic sound of wheels against gravel filled his ears. His bad mood lingered like a storm cloud, dark and oppressive, as he replayed the earlier events in his mind.

He had left in such high spirits only to find himself entirely robbed of it after his visit with Rose.

Rose.

Why did she have to be so hard-headed? Why could she not let him do the things for her he knew she needed? Why would she not allow him a bigger part in her life?

Of course, he knew why. She could not. For if he did what he wished – to bring her into the light – they would bring nothing but scandal and shame upon themselves, and he’d had quite enough scandal in his life for the time being.

He ought to be honest with Emma. He ought to tell her about Rose, about the connection they shared that went deeper than he could even express. Would she understand? Perhaps. Perhaps not.

Did he even really want to tell her? At first, he hadn’t thought that Rose’ existence would cause any trouble between them. Not when theirs had been a marriage based on nothing but convenience. But now?

Things were changing.

If he allowed them to change that was.

He signed deeply as the carriage slowed, and through the window, Evan glimpsed the glow of the estate’s grand facade. Standing just outside, his friend Jonathan was speaking animatedly with two dairy maids, one had even set her pail down beside her as they chatted. Standing with them was a third figure. He squinted to make her out and then shook his head.

Brigitte. Emma’s lady’s maid. Even the formerly reluctant maid was falling for Jonathan’s amiable charms.

Their laughter carried faintly over the gravel drive. Jonathan turned at the sound of the carriage, his easy grin lifting Evan’s mood, if only for a moment. His friend had an easy way with everyone he knew. He could charm anyone. Old, young, pauper or noble – but especially ladies of all ranks and ages. Just why he had yet to find a wife Evan did not understand.

By the time the carriage came to a stop, the maids had stepped back, and Jonathan stood waiting with an amused expression. Evan climbed out, brushing his jacket as he greeted his friend.

“Still managing to charm every soul in my household, are you?” Evan said with mock exasperation. “And even Briggite.”

Jonathan waved a hand dismissively, though his grin widened. “I was merely asking about your whereabouts. You’re quite late, and I can’t help it if I’m charming. As for the young lady’s maid – it seems I have managed to disarm her also.”

Evan chuckled despite himself, though it came out strained. Jonathan caught the tension and raised a brow. “As long as you do not disrobe anyone, I shall overlook you being quite so friendly with my servants.”

Jonathan didn’t retort, following Evan into the estate instead. Inside, the faint hum of servants arranging the dining room greeted them, along with the comforting scent of polished wood and freshly baked bread. As they entered the hallway, Emma appeared from around the corner.

She wore a gown of deep emerald silk, its elegant lines accentuating her figure while a delicate lace trim softened the neckline. The candlelight played against the rich fabric, making her look as though she were wrapped in light.

“Lord Weston,” she greeted warmly, her lips curving in a smile as she curtsied. “Evan.”

“Your Grace,” Jonathan replied with equal warmth, bowing. “You look radiant.”

She chuckled softly. “Thank you. I hope you’ll find tonight’s meal to your liking. I amended the menu after learning that you’re not particularly fond of hare. Pheasant seemed a better choice.”

Jonathan’s eyebrows lifted, and he turned to Evan with a smirk. “You’ve a thoughtful wife, my friend.”

Evan’s lips twitched in a faint smile. “He’d have been perfectly content with plain fare,” he said lightly. “Jonathan is a simple man at heart.”

Jonathan shot him a mock glare. “Don’t listen to him, Your Grace.” He laughed, then added, “But thank you for going to the trouble. It’s appreciated.”

Emma’s shoulders relaxed at the easy banter. Evan noticed the subtle shift, and a quiet pride swelled in him as they moved to the dining room.

Inside, the table gleamed under the light of the chandelier, the silver polished to perfection and the china arranged with precision. Evan pulled out Emma’s chair—a gesture he had recently taken to—and she settled with a soft murmur of thanks.

As the servants began to serve, Evan ensured Emma was part of the conversation. Jonathan, ever curious, asked about her work, and Evan, perhaps for the first time, shared something about his wife that made him proud.

“Emma enjoys writing,” he said.

Emma looked at him, surprised. “You’ve remembered that?”

He inclined his head. “It’s hard to forget. You once mentioned you draw inspiration from those around you.”

Jonathan leaned forward, intrigued. “What sort of stories do you write, Your Grace?”

Her cheeks flushed slightly, but she answered with quiet confidence. “I enjoy writing about people—their struggles, their triumphs. The books I read inspire me, but it’s often real lives that spark my ideas.”

“Fascinating,” Jonathan said earnestly. “You must have a keen eye for detail, then. What’s inspired you recently?”

Emma’s gaze turned contemplative. “The children at the orphanage, mostly. They have such vivid stories—some heartbreaking, others hopeful.”

Evan watched her as she spoke, the candlelight catching the warmth in her eyes and the soft curve of her lips. She was captivating, and for the first time, he allowed himself to see her not just as his wife but as a woman of depth and quiet strength.

“One story in particular stays with me,” Emma continued, her voice lowering. “A father who was cruel beyond words. His wife tried to protect their children but couldn’t. She... died, eventually, from his abuse. I don’t know the full details, nor do I wish to. But the children were left alone, frightened, and broken. I wrote a tale for them about perseverance, finding strength – and it seemed to help them. At least they enjoyed for they do ask me to read it with frequence.”

Her words hung in the air, and Evan felt something twist painfully inside him. He set his knife down deliberately, his expression carefully neutral, but Emma noticed the tension in his jaw.

“You’re doing good work,” he said after a moment, his voice steadier than he felt. “Those children are lucky to have you.”

Emma looked at him, taken aback by the quiet sincerity in his tone. “Thank you,” she said softly.

“What more can be done to help them?” he asked.

Her fork paused halfway to her lips. “Well,” she said cautiously, as if unsure why he had asked, “one of the best ways to help would be to raise funds through noble support. Unfortunately...” Her voice faltered, and she focused on her plate. “Because of the scandal surrounding me, some have moved on to other causes. We’re getting by, but we can’t afford to organize larger events—fêtes or charity auctions, for example.”

Evan frowned. “If I visited the orphanage with you, would that help?”

Emma’s eyes widened. “You would do that?”

“Of course. I could pledge a tidy sum as well, make it known. Jonathan here could do the same.”

Jonathan chuckled. “You are rather liberal with my purse. But yes, I certainly could.”

“It would be wonderful,” Emma said. “A visit alone would bring much attention but a donation even more so.”

“Very well. I shall accompany you tomorrow, if you are going,” Evan said and shrugged before taking a sip of wine.

Emma stared at him as if she could not quite believe her ears but then nodded.

“I am grateful,” she said and their eyes locked. He smiled and to his relief, she returned the smile easily. A tingling sensation spread over his body then as he looked at her and noted how beautiful she looked in the candle light. He remembered the sensation of her so near him during the storm and wondered what it might be like to hold her again but before he could lose himself in the thought, Jonathan cleared his throat.

“Look at the two of you—off to save the world. Just don’t forget about your poor guest here.”

Emma smiled, and even Evan couldn’t suppress a faint laugh, though his mind lingered on her words. There was much he didn’t know about her, much she still kept locked away. But tonight, he saw her anew—a woman who cared deeply, who fought for others despite the challenges she faced.

And as the meal continued, he resolved to do something he had never considered before: to stand by her, not as an obligation, but as a choice.