21. Chapter 21

Chapter 21

E velyn hesitated for a moment, then lowered herself into the offered seat. The leather creaked softly beneath her as she perched on the edge, her back ramrod straight. She watched as the Baron settled into his own chair, the high-backed leather affair that seemed to dwarf even his imposing frame.

The Baron leaned forward, resting his elbows on the polished surface of his desk. His fingers steepled before him, and Evelyn was captivated by the shafts of sunlight that tilted in through the window across his scarred features. When he spoke, his voice was low and measured.

"Please, Miss Bane, continue."

Evelyn's was momentarily breathless, her chest seizing up. She waited, scarcely daring to move, waiting to see if the Baron was sincere.

Evelyn hesitated, her gaze flickering between the Baron's expectant face and her own clasped hands. The weight of her past pressed down upon her, a burden she'd carried in silence for so long. Could she truly trust this man with even a fraction of her story?

She drew in a deep breath, steadying herself. The Baron's grey eyes remained fixed upon her, patient and attentive. There was something in his gaze—a flicker of understanding, perhaps—that gave her courage.

"My lord," Evelyn began, finding the words as she spoke, "I find myself in a rather... delicate position. You see, in my youth, I..." She paused, swallowing hard against the lump in her throat. "I found myself with very few options."

The Baron remained silent, his expression neutral. Evelyn pressed on, her words carefully measured.

"There was a time when I found myself in... in a rather difficult situation. I had nowhere to turn, no one to rely upon." Evelyn's gaze dropped to her hands, her fingers twisting together in her lap. "It was a dark period in my life, one that taught me the value of independence."

She looked up, meeting the Baron's eyes once more. "I don't mean to burden you with the details, my lord. But perhaps you can understand why the idea of true independence holds such appeal for me."

The Baron leaned back in his chair. A thoughtful crease marked his forehead as he sank into deep thought. Evelyn held her breath, waiting for his response, hoping she hadn't revealed too much or too little.

Evelyn held her breath, watching the Baron's face for any sign of his reaction. His expression remained inscrutable, those grey eyes fixed upon her with an intensity that made her want to squirm in her seat. She resisted the urge, forcing herself to meet his gaze steadily.

After what felt like an eternity, the Baron spoke. "Miss Bane, I... I understand."

Evelyn blinked, certain she had misheard. "My lord?"

"And I am grateful for your insight," he continued, his voice low and measured. "Truly."

Surprise coursed through Evelyn, mingled with a wave of relief so profound it nearly took her breath away. She hadn't realised how tightly wound she had been until that moment, when the tension began to seep from her shoulders.

The Baron leaned forward, his elbows resting on the desk. "In fact, Miss Bane, I understand more than you might give me credit for. Your dilemma—the very situation you find yourself in—it is precisely what I hope my own daughters will be able to avoid in their future."

Evelyn's eyes widened, her mind racing to process his words. "I... I don't quite understand, my lord."

A ghost of a smile played at the corners of the Baron's lips. "You speak of independence, of the desire to stand on your own two feet. It is a noble aspiration, one I share for Augusta and Julia. I do not see why you should be any different from them, that is, able to secure your own future and livelihood."

Evelyn felt as though the ground beneath her feet had shifted. She had expected anger, perhaps even dismissal. Instead, she found herself faced with understanding, even approval. It was almost too much to comprehend.

Evelyn watched as the Baron's expression shifted, a mix of sympathy and resignation settling across his features. He leaned back in his chair, his fingers drumming a thoughtful rhythm on the desk.

"Miss Bane," he began, his voice tinged with a hint of regret, "while I sympathise with your position, I'm afraid I cannot change the very fabric of our society. The world we live in is not always just, nor is it easily altered."

He paused, his grey eyes meeting hers with unexpected warmth. "As much as I might wish to offer you the independence you seek, the fact remains that I am your employer. Our positions, as dictated by society, cannot be easily overcome."

Evelyn nodded, a sigh escaping her lips. She had known, of course, that her situation could not be so easily remedied. Still, the Baron's words, though not unexpected, carried a weight that settled heavily upon her shoulders.

"I understand, my lord," she replied, her voice soft but steady. "And I appreciate your candour."

A thought struck her then, unbidden and perhaps unwise to voice. Yet, emboldened by the Baron's unexpected sympathy, Evelyn started speaking before she could reconsider.

I cannot help but wonder," she mused, her gaze drifting to the window where the grounds stretched out beyond. "Would things be different if more women were able to be employers themselves?"

The words hung in the air between them, a challenge to the very foundations of their society. Evelyn held her breath, uncertain how the Baron would respond to such a radical notion.

Evelyn watched as the Baron's expression shifted, a slow, sad smile spreading across his face. His grey eyes held a mixture of amusement and something deeper, more contemplative.

"Miss Bane," he said, his voice tinged with a hint of wonder, "I find you terribly modern. Shocking, even."

Evelyn's heart skipped a beat, fearing she had overstepped. But as she searched his face, she saw no anger or disapproval. Instead, there was a glimmer of admiration in his eyes that took her by surprise.

"And yet," the Baron continued, his smile widening slightly, "I find I cannot disapprove. Your thoughts, while unconventional, are not without merit."

Relief washed over Evelyn, and she felt her own lips curving into a smile. It was as if a bridge had been built between them, spanning the chasm of their different stations and experiences. For the first time since her arrival at the manor, she felt truly seen and understood.

"Thank you, my lord," she said softly. "I'm glad we've come to a new understanding."

As the words left her mouth, a sudden realisation struck her. Without thinking, she mused aloud, "I suppose Lady Rosalind must have rubbed off on me more than I thought."

Evelyn's heart skipped a beat as she realised her mistake. The name had slipped out unbidden, a fragment of her past she'd fought so hard to keep hidden. She watched as the Baron's eyes narrowed, his expression shifting from open curiosity to something more guarded.

"Lady Rosalind?" he asked, his voice low and measured. "I don't believe you've mentioned her before, Miss Bane."

Evelyn's mind raced, searching for a way to explain without revealing too much. She clasped her hands tightly in her lap, willing them not to tremble. The silence stretched between them, thick with unspoken questions.

"I... she was..." Evelyn began, stumbling over her words. She took a deep breath, steadying herself. "Lady Amelia, Rosalind is her younger sister."

The Baron nodded slowly. "I see—you were in Lady Amelia's household, yes? And she had two younger sisters, if I recall." His gaze flicked momentarily to the waste basket, as if realising for the first time that he had burnt a whole letter.

Evelyn felt a wave of relief wash over her, though it was tinged with a twinge of guilt for the lie. She had always prided herself on her honesty, but in this moment, self-preservation won out.

"Yes, my lord," she confirmed, her voice steady despite her racing heart. "Lady Amelia does indeed have two sisters."

The Baron leaned forward, his interest piqued. "And how did you come to be in their household, Miss Bane? It seems an unusual arrangement for someone of your... personality."

Evelyn's mind whirred, crafting a story that skirted as close to the truth as she dared. "I knew the family, my lord," she began, choosing her words carefully. "Lady Harrington, Amelia's mother, had tragically passed away at a young age. The family was in need of assistance, and I was fortunate enough to be in a position to help."

As soon as the words left her mouth, Evelyn noticed a change come over the Baron's face. His brow furrowed, and a shadow seemed to pass across his eyes. The mention of Lady Harrington's untimely death had clearly struck a chord with him.

"I see," he said, his voice low and grave. "A tragic loss indeed."

Evelyn watched as the Baron's expression darkened further, his gaze distant as if lost in thought. She could almost see the wheels turning in his mind, connecting her words to his own fears and experiences. The atmosphere in the room had shifted, becoming heavy with unspoken concerns.

Evelyn's heart raced as the silence stretched between them. The weight of her deception pressed down upon her, each passing moment making her feel increasingly wretched. She watched the Baron; his expression grew intense, a furrow appearing as he was absorbed in thought. His eyes were distant and unfocused. The ticking of the clock on the mantelpiece seemed to grow louder with each second, a relentless reminder of her dishonesty.

She longed to speak, to fill the oppressive silence with explanations or apologies, but fear kept her lips sealed. What if he saw through her half-truths? What if he pressed for more details she couldn't provide?

The Baron's expression remained troubled, his mind clearly grappling with thoughts far removed from their conversation. Evelyn seized upon his distraction, desperate for an escape from the suffocating atmosphere of the study.

"My lord," she ventured, her voice barely above a whisper, "perhaps I should attend to the girls now. They'll be expecting their lessons."

For a moment, Evelyn wasn't sure he had heard her. The Baron's gaze remained fixed on some point beyond her, his thoughts clearly elsewhere. Then, with a slight start, he seemed to come back to himself.

"Yes, of course," he murmured, waving a hand absently. "You may go, Miss Bane."

Evelyn rose from her chair, relief flooding through her even as guilt gnawed at her conscience. She curtsied quickly, not daring to meet the Baron's eyes, and hurried towards the door. As she reached for the handle, she hesitated, glancing back over her shoulder. The Baron had already turned away, his attention focused once more on the papers strewn across his desk.

With a quiet sigh, Evelyn slipped out of the study, closing the door softly behind her. Though she had avoided disaster this time, Evelyn felt as if she were living beneath a precariously balanced axe—it was only a matter of time before it would fall.