Chapter 34

CHAPTER 34

Emma

L ater that week, Emma found herself rather taken by surprise when Evan suggested a ride together. They had gone for walks and enjoyed meals together each day, often they’d even spent time together in the drawing room, talking and laughing as they got to know one another properly, but they’d not gone out riding.

Emma was not a particularly good rider, but she managed, and the horse she’d been given – Broward – was a gentle giant on whose back she swayed gently like a leaf in a breeze.

The wind danced softly over the rolling hills, carrying the scents of wildflowers and the earthy tang of moss. Evan and Emma’s horses moved at a steady pace, their hooves occasionally crunching over fallen twigs and stone fragments as they rode through the open countryside. The sun shone brightly above them, casting long, golden shadows over the landscape.

Ahead, nestled among the overgrown foliage, stood the ruins of an old monastery. Its skeletal walls, weathered by centuries of wind and rain, rose like solemn sentinels guarding secrets of the past. Crumbling archways framed patches of sky, and ivy climbed over what remained of its cloisters.

Evan slowed his horse and gestured toward the ruins. “This monastery was built in the early 12th century, during the reign of Henry I. It was part of the Benedictine order, known for their strict adherence to prayer and labor. When Henry VIII dissolved the monasteries in the 1530s, this one was abandoned. The monks were forced out, and the land was seized by the Crown.”

Emma leaned forward, her eyes alight with curiosity. “It’s beautiful, even in its decay. I can almost hear the echoes of their chants in the air.”

Evan dismounted, offering his hand to help her down. “Come, I’ll show you around.”

They walked together into the heart of the ruins, their footsteps crunching over broken stone. Evan pointed to what once had been the main chapel. “That’s where the altar would have stood. They say it was adorned with gold and tapestries before it was torn apart. And over there,” he said, gesturing toward a partially collapsed wall, “was the scriptorium. The monks would have spent hours there, copying manuscripts by hand.”

Emma ran her fingers along the cool, rough stone, imagining the lives that once thrived within these walls. “It feels like stepping into another time,” she murmured.

As they ventured deeper into the ruins, Emma stepped on a loose stone. She gasped as her foot slipped, her balance faltering. Before she could fall, Evan was there, his strong arms wrapping around her waist, steadying her.

“Careful,” he said, his voice low and soothing.

Emma looked up at him, her heart pounding—not from the fall, but from the nearness of him. “Thank you,” she whispered.

“If you are unfamiliar with the space, it can be easy to slip. My mother used to bring me here when I was a lad, she’d tell me stories from books she’d read set in ruins like this, bringing it all to life. It was wonderful. After her death, I’d often come here to reminisce about the tales she spun,” he said with a smile and Emma felt the longing he had for his mother.

He held onto her a moment longer than necessary before gently releasing her. “Let’s sit,” he suggested, guiding her to a low stone wall that had once bordered the monastery garden.

Emma winced as she sat, her ankle still sore from the slip. Evan noticed immediately. “Here,” he said, kneeling in front of her. He lifted her leg carefully, his hands warm and firm as he began to rub her ankle. His touch was gentle, yet it sent a spark of warmth up her leg.

She watched him, her breath catching in her throat. The intimacy of the moment—the ruins, the golden light filtering through the broken arches, his hands on her—felt almost unreal.

As if drawn by some invisible force, their eyes met. Evan’s gaze softened, and he leaned forward, brushing his lips against hers in a tender, lingering kiss. Emma closed her eyes, letting herself melt into the warmth of his embrace.

When they finally pulled back, Emma chuckled softly.

Evan raised an eyebrow, a playful smile on his lips. “What’s so funny?”

“This is so romantic,” Emma admitted, “I could use it as inspiration for a dozen stories.”

Evan grinned. “Is that so? Perhaps you should finish The Silent Duke first.”

Emma’s eyes widened in surprise. “How do you know about The Silent Duke ?”

He rubbed the back of his neck, looking sheepish. “The night I covered you with that blanket... I saw the pages. I didn’t mean to pry, but I thought it was beautiful.”

Her cheeks flushed. “You shouldn’t have read it! It wasn’t finished. I rarely show my stories, and certainly not the unfinished ones.”

“I know,” Evan said softly. “I had no intentions of snooping. I just... I assumed it was about me. Reading it—seeing how you viewed me—it made me want to change.”

Emma’s heart fluttered. “Then it’s working. I always hoped my stories would affect people positively.”

Evan smiled, his eyes filled with admiration. “They certainly do.”

They sat in silence for a while, watching the sun sink lower in the horizon. The chill of dusk crept through the ruins, and Emma instinctively pulled her shawl tighter around her shoulders, her breath misting in the cool air. She shivered, the sharpness of the evening's bite creeping into her bones.

Evan noticed immediately. Without a word, he shifted off the low stone wall and draped his coat over her shoulders. The warmth of the fabric surrounded her, offering instant comfort, and she looked up at him in silent thanks.

"You shouldn't have," she murmured, still caught in the comfort of the moment.

"Anything to keep you warm," Evan said softly, his gaze lingering on her.

They fell into a quiet silence, the only sounds being the occasional rustle of leaves as the wind continued its gentle caress through the trees. Then, after a moment, Evan spoke again, his voice hesitant yet curious. "You never really talk about your parents, Emma. What was your childhood like? I mean, before your mother passed. I know it has been difficult since."

Emma blinked, taken slightly aback. The question had caught her off guard, but something about the tranquility of the moment and the warmth of Evan’s coat urged her to share. She looked out across the ruins, her mind going back to a simpler time.

"We were happy, back then. I do not remember much of my mother but I do remember she was tender, kind. I know my father was different. He loved her, truly loved her. They were... very in love," she said softly, a wistful smile gracing her lips. "When I was younger, they would always laugh together, walk hand in hand everywhere they went. It was so sweet, so... wonderful. I used to think all marriages were like that, full of love and laughter."

Evan, who had been listening intently, frowned slightly. "I thought you didn't get along with your father. Didn't care for him, or was that later?"

Her heart skipped, and Emma swallowed before answering, her voice lowering. "He... he was different back then. When he was in love, when he was happy, he was a different man. He was kind. Loving. He..." Her throat tightened, and she exhaled sharply, trying to steady herself. "He wasn’t always the bitter, angry drunkard you see now."

Evan's hand instinctively found its way to her back, his warm fingers resting lightly along her spine, a soothing pressure in the quiet darkness. "What changed?" he asked gently.

Emma’s gaze flickered downward, her expression pained. "When my mother died, something inside him broke. It... it wasn't just grief. It changed him—turned him into someone unrecognizable, someone that even I could hardly reach. He became the drunkard who could never see past his own pain. The cruelty, the harsh words... the abuse—it was all too much." Her voice trembled, but she steadied herself. "My brother, sisters and I... we had to grow up too quickly. It wasn’t easy, Evan. It wasn’t fair."

Evan, having moved closer without realizing it, pulled her near to him, one arm gently slipping around her shoulders. He pressed his cheek to the top of her head, whispering low enough for only her to hear, "I understand somewhat about the things you went through, we have abusive, cruel father’s in common. I'm sorry, Emma. You didn't deserve it."

Her chest tightened, but she leaned into him, finding solace in the comfort he offered. "Neither did you," she murmured, her words barely a breath against his shoulder. "Neither did you."

Evan was silent for a moment, taking in the weight of her words. "Our fathers were both flawed men," he said, "but somehow... we survived. We made it. And despite it all, we’re still here, trying to do right, to become something better."

Emma shifted, pulling back slightly to look up at him, her voice steady, though still laced with vulnerability. "You... You're more than just decent, Evan. You're wonderful." Her eyes softened, and her smile returned, gentle and sincere, full of admiration and affection.

A tender silence settled between them, broken only by the distant cry of a night bird and the rustle of leaves. Then, without another word, Evan bent down, his lips finding hers in a kiss—gentle, yet full of all the warmth, tenderness, and emotion they had shared throughout their day. The kiss deepened, the world around them fading into the background as they held onto each other, finding solace in the shared tenderness of the moment.

When they finally pulled away, their foreheads rested together, each still feeling the warmth of the kiss lingering in their hearts. Neither spoke for a while, content simply in the presence of the other. And in that silence, beneath the darkening sky and amidst the ruins, it was as if they both knew something had shifted between them, something deep and unspoken, but real.

They’d sat together in one another’s embrace for some while, when Emma’s thought drifted to something that had been on her mind. Brigitte and her recent change in demeanor.

She thought she had discovered the reason for it – and the reason, if true, troubled her greatly. She turned to Evan and cleared her throat.

As they approached the ruins together, Emma hesitated, a slight frown tugging at her lips. “Evan,” she began, her tone shifting, “may I ask you something?”

“Of course,” he replied, his curiosity piqued. “What’s troubling you?”

“It’s about Jonathan,” Emma admitted. “He’s been calling on you regularly over the past week. But…” She hesitated, chewing her lip before continuing, “He appears to arrive early and leave after you’ve parted ways and during such interludes I’ve noticed him speaking to Brigitte twice now. Last week, I saw them talking by the garden gate, and another time, on the back steps of the kitchen.” Her voice grew quieter. “Jonathan seems rather flirtatious, and though Brigitte insists there’s nothing to it, I suspect she’s smitten with him. She tries to deny it, but it’s obvious.”

Evan chuckled softly, his expression both amused and thoughtful. “Jonathan has always been a charmer. The women on the estate—maids and tenants alike—seem unable to resist him, but I assure you, he’s harmless. He wouldn’t ever take advantage of anyone.”

Emma nodded, her brow still furrowed. “I don’t believe he’d do anything untoward either, but I worry for Brigitte. She’s young, impressionable. Her heart could easily be broken, and she doesn’t deserve that.”

Evan’s face softened as he reached out to gently touch her hand. “I understand,” he said earnestly. “If this doesn’t resolve itself soon, I’ll speak with him directly. I’ll remind him to be mindful of how his words and actions affect others. Does that ease your worry?”

Emma exhaled, relief evident in her features. “Thank you, Evan. It does. Brigitte is dear to me, and I’d hate to see her hurt.”

“She’s lucky to have you looking out for her,” Evan said with a warm smile. “But do trust me—Jonathan’s bark is far worse than his bite. He enjoys the attention but wouldn’t go so far as to damage anyone’s peace.”

Though Emma’s thoughts lingered briefly on Brigitte, she felt reassured by Evan’s promise and was grateful for his understanding.

As the light began to fade, they mounted their horses and rode back toward the estate. When they reached the stables, Emma noticed a group of stable hands clustered around an older man. Their animated conversation quieted the moment they spotted Evan, and the men dispersed quickly, casting furtive glances at him.

Emma furrowed her brow, watching the way Evan’s posture stiffened slightly as he dismounted. There was a tension in the air that hadn’t been there before. When he spotted them, the man nodded toward Evan but then slipped into the nearby stable building.

As they dismounted, Evan handed the reins of Emma’s horse to a nearby stable hand and turned toward the older man who stood by the stable doors. His weathered face, framed by graying hair, carried the weight of years spent in the saddle. His eyes, though sharp, were filled with a quiet heaviness.

“Emma,” Evan began, “this was Mr. Hatfield. William Hatfield. He was the stable master here for many years.”

Emma’s face lit up with recognition. “Oh, I heard talk of him. Did you not tell me that he used to ride with you and your mother when you first learned how?” She smiled warmly at the man, her tone gentle and full of admiration.

“Indeed,” he said. “Because my father would not and felt the servants ought to take on such duties. Allow me to introduce you.”

Together, they made their way into the stable where they found Mr. Hatfield fetching his hat which he’d evidentially left there upon his arrival.

Emma noticed the shift in the air—the subtle tension that hadn’t been there a moment ago. She glanced at Evan, whose jaw tightened ever so slightly. Something unspoken hung between the two men.

Evan cleared his throat. “Mr. Hatfield, it’s been a long time. Allow me to introduce my wife. The Duchess of Wells.”

Tension grew more taunt as the name rang and she saw in the older man’s face that he associated the title with someone else.

“Your Grace,” he said and bowed.

“It is good to meet you,” she said but Evan quickly stepped in before more conversation could be had.

“What brings you here today?”

The older man hesitated, his fingers curling around the brim of his hat. “I wondered if I might have a word with you, sir. Privately.”

Evan nodded, his eyes narrowing slightly in concern. “Of course.” He glanced at Emma. “Would you excuse me for a moment?”

Emma gave a small, reassuring nod, though her curiosity was piqued. “Of course,” she said, her gaze lingering on Mr. Hatfield.

Evan placed a hand on her arm briefly before turning and walking away with Mr. Hatfield toward the house, their voices low as they disappeared around the corner of the stable.

Emma stood quietly, her eyes following them until they were out of sight. There was something peculiar about the interaction. She couldn’t quite put her finger on it, but there was an undercurrent of something deeper—something unsaid.

The stable yard fell into an uneasy silence, broken only by the distant sound of horses shifting in their stalls and the occasional rustle of hay. Emma wrapped her arms around herself, feeling the coolness of the evening settling in. What could Mr. Hatfield want after all these years?

Emma returned to the manor with her thoughts still swirling around Mr. Hatfield and the peculiar tension she had witnessed. Determined to learn more, she made her way to the sitting room where Mrs. Havisham, the housekeeper, was arranging fresh flowers in a vase.

“Mrs. Havisham,” Emma began, her voice soft yet inquisitive, “may I ask you something about Mr. Hatfield?”

The housekeeper looked up from her work, her brow lifting slightly in curiosity. “Of course, Your Grace. Is something the matter? I heard he was here.”

“I just met him outside, and I was curious. Evan—His Grace—mentioned that Mr. Hatfield was once the stable master. Did you know him?”

Mrs. Havisham’s expression grew thoughtful as she set the flowers down. “Ah, William Hatfield. He’s been part of the estate for a long time. He started as a groom when His Grace’s father was the duke and eventually became the stable master over time. A good man. Quiet, dependable. But…” She hesitated.

Emma tilted her head. “But what?”

Mrs. Havisham sighed, lowering her voice. “The old duke—His Grace’s father—didn’t care for him. In fact, he didn’t care for any of the younger male staff.”

Emma frowned. “Why not?”

“His Grace was a... possessive man,” Mrs. Havisham explained carefully, her words measured. “He didn’t like any young men around his wife. He was convinced they might… take liberties or distract her. It was ridiculous, of course, but none of the male servants were allowed to talk to her, at least not the ones inside the house. She was permitted to converse with the gardeners, some of the stable staff, and a few others but that was it. And only if they were of a specific age group. The only men he would allow around Her Grace were those he considered too young to pose a ‘threat’ or those he thought were too old.”

“Those who were too old?” She thought back to Hatfield. He did indeed appear older for someone who’d been stable master not twenty years ago. She’d thought him in his sixth decade at least.

“Yes, older or younger, of ages His Grace felt were of no interest to Her Grace. It was silly of course, the poor woman dreaded her husband and never would have done anything to displease him. For a while, His Grace even restricted the number of female servants that were allowed to be around his wife. It was rather awful.”

“The female servants?” Emma asked. Evan had never told her much detail about his father’s actions, only that he was cruel.

“Yes, he did not wish for her to have friends, especially after his son was born. He wanted her focus solely on their child. He would not allow for a governess, only a nurse. He’d allow maids. It was…unpleasant to say the least.”

Emma absorbed this revelation with a sense of unease. “But Mr. Hatfield was allowed to stay? My husband told me he used to take him for rides.”

Mrs. Havisham nodded. “Yes, Mr. Hatfield was twenty years Her Grace’s senior and he served in a more fatherly fashion, which His Grace did not mind. At least for a time. He would allow them to go riding, so that his son could experience it and gain skill. Her Grace would accompany them when she was permitted. As I recall, those were some of the happiest times for His Grace. His mother adored riding, and Mr. Hatfield treated them both with great kindness and respect. There was a peacefulness in those moments—when the old duke wasn’t around.”

Emma felt a pang of sympathy for Evan. No wonder he held such fond memories of those rides. They had been an escape from the oppressive presence of his father. Emma nodded, her mind racing. There was clearly more to this story than she had initially realized, and now she wondered what Mr. Hatfield had wanted to discuss with Evan. Whatever it was, it felt like the past was stirring again, and Emma couldn’t shake the feeling that something important was about to unfold.

“Thank you, Mrs. Havisham,” she said and excused herself. Emma entered the hall leading to the main staircase, her mind swirling with questions. Evan had been acting strangely since their return from the monastery, his easy demeanor shadowed by something unsaid.

As she passed the study, she heard voices spilling out – first an unknown one and then Evans though the words were obscured by the sound of the door.

She knew Hatfield was meeting with him in the study. It was enough to stir a sense of unease she couldn’t shake. She paced the hall outside Evan's study, her shoes muffled against the plush carpet as she debated with herself.

Should I listen in?

No. They were in a different place now, she and Evan. Their relationship had grown, deepened. They trusted each other. There was no need to revert to the habits of suspicion and doubt.

But the unease remained.

Emma turned on her heel, determined to walk away, only to find herself drawn back to the door. Her feet carried her there before she had consciously decided, and as she approached, faint voices reached her ears, confirming her suspicion.

She paused at the threshold, feeling both shame and a compelling curiosity. It isn’t wrong to make sure everything is fine, she told herself, trying to justify her actions. But even as she thought it, she knew it was an excuse. It was what she heard next that froze her in place.

“You need to speak to her,” Mr. Hatfield’s voice said, calm but insistent.

Emma’s breath caught. Speak to her? Who? Was he referring to her? She edged closer, her hand braced lightly on the doorframe as she strained to hear.

“I already have,” Evan replied, his tone quiet but firm. “There’s nothing more I can do. She’s stubborn. She won’t listen.”

Hatfield let out a low chuckle. “That’s rich, coming from you. Stubbornness is a trait you know well. It makes you quite a pair, I’d say.”

Emma’s heart leapt into her throat. A pair? What could he mean by that? Her mind raced. What could they be talking about that involved her? And why hadn’t Evan mentioned it?

Hatfield’s voice came again, more pointed this time. “You’ve got to try again. Please, speak to her. She will listen to you. Seeing the both of you together told me that.”

The both of them together – was he talking about her? He had just seen them together. Hadn’t he? What did he want Evan to talk to her about that was so urgent? It seemed…Odd. Or was he talking about someone else? However, Evan’s next words managed to calm her somewhat.

Evan sighed. “I will say things have much improved between us. I will see what I can do. I will find a good opportunity to raise the matter, that I can promise you.”

Emma stepped back. So it was her they had been talking about. It was rather peculiar that Hatfield had come all this way to request Evan speak to Emma. Could it be he wanted his position back? Whatever it was, Emma knew all she could do now was wait for Evan to approach her for she could not let him know she’d been eavesdropping – it would be a horrible breach of trust on her part. And that was the last thing she wanted to do right now. Now when their relationship had just grown so much stronger.