Chapter 25

CHAPTER 25

Emma

T he sun was warm, and the faint scent of soap clung to the air as Emma wrung out the last of the linens, her arms aching but her spirit buoyed by the rhythmic task. The nuns were chatting quietly as they worked, their hands swift and practiced. Beside her, Sister Beatrice, a plump woman with an ever-present air of gentle authority, clucked her tongue.

“Your Grace, truly, I must insist,” Beatrice said, her brow furrowing as she glanced at Emma. “It is most unbecoming for a Duchess to do laundry. It was unusual enough when you were merely a Lady.”

Emma laughed softly, shaking her head. “Just because my title has changed doesn’t mean my hands are any less capable. Laundry is good for the soul, Sister. It gives one time to think.”

“Time to think, perhaps, but also time to ruin your hands,” Beatrice countered. “And to make your nuns uneasy. They are not accustomed to washing alongside a Duchess.”

Emma smiled as she folded the linen neatly and placed it into a basket. “Then perhaps they should become accustomed. Titles don’t wash away humility, Sister. Surely, you can agree with that?”

Beatrice sighed, her fond exasperation evident. “You are stubborn, Your Grace.” Beatrice’s eyes twinkled as she leaned closer, dropping her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “Very well. But tell me, who or what are you so anxiously watching for? You’ve been glancing at the door every few moments.”

Emma flushed, caught in her subtle habit. She paused, her fingers trailing over a damp cloth as she spoke. “I’m waiting for my husband. He agreed to visit the orphanage today.”

Beatrice’s eyes lit up. “His Grace is coming? Oh, what an honor that will be! His presence could bring much-needed attention to our work here. Do you think he might consider becoming an official patron?”

“I hope so,” Emma admitted. Her voice was soft but edged with quiet determination. “He’s already expressed some interest. If today goes well…”

Beatrice reached out and patted Emma’s arm. “It is wonderful to see how things have turned out for the two of you. Two loving hearts united at last.”

“United?” she repeated, confused what the nun meant.

Beatrice nodded, her expression earnest. “Yes, that is the story, isn’t it? His Grace was betrothed to Lady Ophelia, but he interrupted the wedding to claim you instead, his long lost love. It is the talk of the ton , though I suppose it wasn’t entirely fair to Lady Ophelia…” She trailed off with a sheepish smile. “But the heart wants what it wants.”

Emma opened her mouth to correct her but stopped short. What could she say? That theirs was a marriage of convenience, born of necessity rather than passion? To deny the story outright would seem defensive. Instead, she offered a faint smile. “What happens is what is meant to be,” she said simply.

Beatrice beamed. “Indeed, Your Grace. ‘The Lord directs the steps of the godly. He delights in every detail of their lives.’ Psalm 37:23.”

Before Emma could respond, the sound of carriage wheels on gravel reached their ears, and she looked toward the door once more. A flicker of nervous anticipation settled in her chest. “He’s here,” she said softly.

Evan entered the orphanage with a bearing of quiet confidence, his coat immaculate and his boots polished to a mirror shine. He carried with him a small parcel, the tantalizing scent of freshly baked pastries wafting from within. Emma met him at the door, her hands still slightly damp from the laundry.

“Your Grace,” she said, curtsying lightly, a smile on her lips. “Welcome to the orphanage.”

“Emma,” he replied, his tone warm and easy. “Thank you for inviting me. It is long past time I visited.”

She turned to Sister Beatrice, who was standing nearby, her face a mixture of awe and delight. “Sister Beatrice, may I present my husband, His Grace the Duke of Wells.”

Beatrice curtsied deeply, her voice brimming with respect. “Your Grace, it is an honor to meet you. We are most grateful for your visit.”

Evan inclined his head. “The honor is mine, Sister. I’ve brought some provisions for the children—a little something to brighten their day.”

The nuns exchanged pleased glances, and a flurry of activity followed as the pastries and meat were distributed. The scent of cinnamon and sugar mingled with the earthy aroma of freshly baked bread, filling the air with warmth and comfort. Children’s laughter echoed through the hall as they eagerly partook of the unexpected treats.

Evan turned to the Mother Superior, who had emerged from her office, her face serene but curious. “Reverend Mother,” he said, bowing slightly. “I would like to discuss how I might best offer my financial support to your efforts here.”

The Mother Superior’s expression softened, and she clasped her hands together. “That would be most welcome, Your Grace. Please, let us talk.”

As Evan spoke with the Mother Superior, Emma found herself watching him closely. He seemed entirely at ease, his natural charm and measured words putting everyone around him at ease. For a man who so often wore a mask of formality, here he seemed… real. Present. And for the first time, she allowed herself to consider what it might mean to truly know him.

When he returned to her side, he gestured toward the long hallway. “Would you give me a tour, Emma? I’d like to see the work you’ve spoken of so often.”

Emma nodded, her heart fluttering at the way he said her name. “Of course.”

She led him through the orphanage, pointing out the classrooms, the dormitories, and the small but thriving garden. The children followed at a distance, their laughter occasionally interrupting their quiet conversation. Evan’s interest never wavered, and his thoughtful questions showed a genuine desire to understand.

When they reached the small library, Sister Beatrice joined them, unable to resist sharing a few words. “Your Grace, you must know how much of this is due to your wife. She has sewn curtains for the children’s rooms, taught several of them to read, and even helps with the laundry—though I keep telling her she should not.”

Emma flushed deeply, her hands clasped tightly in front of her. “Sister, that is quite unnecessary to?—”

“It is true,” Beatrice continued, undeterred. “The children adore her, as do we.”

Evan turned to Emma, his expression unreadable. “Is that so?” he asked softly. His gaze lingered on her for a moment, and then he smiled. “Remarkable.”

Emma’s breath caught in her throat. The word was simple, yet it carried an unexpected weight. She felt a warmth spread through her chest, a flicker of something she couldn’t quite name. Why did it matter so much what he thought of her? And why did it please her so profoundly to know he approved?

As they continued the tour, her thoughts raced. Could this marriage become something real? She had always dismissed the idea, clinging to the practical reasons behind their union. But now… now she wasn’t so sure. Evan was kind, attentive, and—she had to admit—captivating in a way she had not anticipated.

Yet even as the hope took root, it was tempered by doubt. The letters. The name Rose. The memories of him surrounded by women at social events. She had no evidence of his supposed indiscretions, but the rumors were a shadow she couldn’t ignore. Could she truly let go of her fears and trust him?

They paused near a window, the late afternoon sun streaming through the glass. Evan looked out over the small courtyard where the children played, his expression thoughtful. “You’ve done something extraordinary here, Emma,” he said quietly. “These children—this place—they’re lucky to have you.”

Emma’s throat tightened. “It isn’t my work alone. The nuns have done so much.”

“But it wouldn’t be what it is without you,” he insisted, turning to face her. His eyes met hers, and for a moment, the world seemed to narrow to just the two of them.

She looked away, her cheeks flushing. “Thank you,” she said softly.

As they resumed their walk, Emma couldn’t help but steal glances at him. For all her doubts and insecurities, there was a growing part of her that wanted to believe—truly believe—that this man could be more than a partner of convenience. That he could be someone she could trust. Someone she could… love.

But then the name Rose drifted through her mind like a ghost once again, and her heart sank. Until she confronted the truth, that shadow would always linger between them.