28. Chapter 28

Chapter 28

T he thought of her husband, the cruel Judge Banfield, loomed in her mind like a spectre. Her chest tightened, and she struggled to find her breath as she struggled to recall the last she'd heard of him. Had there been news of his death? Or had she simply fled, leaving her past behind without a backward glance?

The weight of her forgotten identity pressed down upon her. She'd been Miss Bane for so long now, slipping into the role of governess with such ease that she'd momentarily forgotten her true self. Lady Evelyn Banfield, a woman with a past shrouded in uncertainty and fear.

Her hands trembled as she helped Julia out of her wet dress, her mind racing. How could she have forgotten something so crucial? The possibility that she might still be bound in marriage to that monstrous man sent a shiver down her spine.

Evelyn's thoughts whirled in a dizzying spiral. If the Judge was still alive, still her husband in the eyes of the law, what did that mean for her current situation? For her growing feelings towards the Baron? The very idea of accepting the Baron's invitation to the luncheon now seemed fraught with danger.

She felt as though she were standing on the edge of a precipice, her carefully constructed new life threatening to crumble beneath her feet. The simple joy she'd felt at the Baron's request now seemed like a distant memory, overshadowed by the looming spectre of her past.

Evelyn's hands shook as she helped Julia into dry clothes, her mind racing with fragmented memories. She tried to steady her breathing, focusing on the task at hand while her thoughts whirled like autumn leaves caught in a gale.

Suddenly, a conversation with Aunt Agnes surfaced from the depths of her memory. It had been shortly after her arrival at Agnes' house, when she was still trembling with fear at every knock on the door.

"What became of him, Aunt Agnes?" Evelyn had asked, her voice barely above a whisper. "The Judge... after his crimes were exposed to the ton?"

Aunt Agnes had paused in her needlework, her weathered face creasing with concern. She'd set aside her embroidery and taken Evelyn's hands in her own, her touch warm and comforting.

"My dear," she'd said, her voice gentle but firm, "all you need to know is that the Judge won't be able to trouble you anymore."

At the time, Evelyn had been too relieved to press for details. She'd allowed herself to be soothed by her aunt's assurances, desperate to believe that her nightmare was truly over.

Now, standing in the nursery of Hastings Manor, Evelyn felt a chill run down her spine. What had Aunt Agnes meant? Had the Judge been imprisoned? Exiled? Or had something more permanent befallen him?

The uncertainty gnawed at her. She'd been so focused on building her new life, on becoming Miss Bane the governess, that she'd pushed aside all thoughts of her past. But now, with the Baron's invitation hanging in the air, she couldn't ignore the question any longer.

Evelyn realised she needed answers. She couldn't move forward, couldn't even consider accepting the Baron's request, until she knew for certain what had become of Judge Banfield. The thought of writing to Amelia crossed her mind. Perhaps her friend could discreetly make enquiries in London.

Evelyn gathered the girls' wet clothes, her mind still reeling from the sudden resurgence of her past. She made her way down the stairs, intending to deliver the sodden garments to the laundry. As she rounded the corner, she nearly collided with the Baron.

"Oh! My lord, I beg your pardon," she stammered, clutching the damp bundle to her chest.

The Baron steadied her with a gentle hand on her elbow. "No harm done, Miss Bane. Are you quite all right? You look a bit pale."

Evelyn forced a smile, acutely aware of the warmth of his touch. "I'm fine, thank you. Just a bit flustered after the girls' misadventure at the pond."

The Baron's eyes lingered on her face, concern etched in his features. He opened his mouth as if to speak, then closed it again. The unasked question hung heavy in the air between them.

Evelyn felt her heart constrict. She knew he was waiting for her answer about the luncheon, could see the hopeful glimmer in his eyes. The weight of her secret pressed down upon her, making it difficult to breathe.

"My lord," she began, her voice barely above a whisper, "about your invitation..."

The Baron's posture stiffened, his hand falling away from her arm. "Yes?"

Evelyn swallowed hard, guilt gnawing at her insides. "I... I promise to give you my answer this evening, after I've had more time to consider. If that's agreeable to you?"

Relief washed over the Baron's face, followed quickly by a guarded optimism. "Of course, Miss Bane. I look forward to hearing your thoughts on the matter."

As Evelyn watched him walk away, she felt a wave of shame crash over her. She had given him hope, however small, when she knew full well that she might not be free to accept his invitation. The truth of her identity burned within her, threatening to consume the life she had built as Miss Bane.

***

T he clock on the mantelpiece chimed midnight, its soft tones echoing through the silent study. James Ayles, Baron Hastings, sat hunched over his desk, a lone candle casting flickering shadows across the papers strewn before him. He rubbed his eyes, weary from hours of poring over ledgers and agricultural reports.

His gaze drifted to the window, where moonlight filtered through a gap in the heavy curtains. A sigh escaped his lips as he realised how late it had grown. Surely Miss Bane would be fast asleep by now, nestled in her bed like his daughters.

James felt a twinge of disappointment settle in his chest. He'd hoped—expected, even—that she would have sought him out before retiring for the night. The invitation to preside over the tenants' luncheon was no small matter, after all. It was the closest thing to an olive branch he could offer, a gesture of goodwill after their recent disagreements.

He pushed back from the desk, the legs of his chair scraping against the wooden floor. Restless energy propelled him to his feet, and he found himself pacing the length of the study. His mind wandered, replaying their earlier conversation. Had he been too abrupt? Too presumptuous? Perhaps she found the idea distasteful, or worse, insulting.

James paused by the fireplace, absently running his fingers along the smooth marble of the mantel. He caught sight of his reflection in the mirror above, the flickering candlelight casting strange shadows across his scarred face. A rueful smile tugged at his lips. What a fool he was, to think she might...

He shook his head, banishing the thought before it could fully form. It wouldn't do to dwell on such fancies. Miss Bane was his daughters' governess, nothing more. Her opinion of him shouldn't matter beyond her ability to perform her duties.

And yet...

James froze, his hand still resting on the mantel. Had he heard footsteps in the hallway? He held his breath, straining to catch the faintest sound. The house creaked and settled around him, but there was nothing else.

He exhaled slowly, shaking his head at his own foolishness. Of course there was no one about at this hour. He was letting his imagination run wild, conjuring up false hopes like a lovesick schoolboy.

James turned back to his desk, determined to put such nonsense out of his mind. He'd just settled into his chair when he heard it again—the unmistakable sound of soft footfalls on the carpet outside his study.

His heart quickened, but he forced himself to remain calm. It was probably just one of the servants making their nightly rounds. Or perhaps Augusta had woken with another of her nightmares. There was no reason to think—

A gentle knock on the door cut through his musings.

James stood, his legs suddenly unsteady beneath him. He crossed the room in three long strides, his hand hovering over the doorknob for a moment before he grasped it firmly.

Taking a deep breath to steady himself, he opened the door just enough to peer into the dimly lit hallway beyond.

James's breath caught in his throat as he beheld Evelyn standing in the hallway. The flickering candlelight cast a warm glow across her face, illuminating her dark eyes that seemed to shine with an inner fire.

Her hair, usually so neatly arranged, was haphazardly pinned up, as if she'd taken it down and hastily attempted to restore order. He was nearly overcome with the urge to reach forward and slide one or two pins out, to let it tumble free, to lose his hands in her thick locks...

He found himself utterly transfixed, unable to tear his gaze away from her. The soft light played across her features, accentuating the curve of her cheek, the gentle slope of her neck. James's heart thundered in his chest, a rhythm so loud he was certain she must hear it.

"Miss Bane," he managed, his voice rougher than he'd intended. He cleared his throat, trying to regain his composure. "I... Is everything all right?"

Evelyn's lips parted as if to speak, but no words came. James watched, mesmerised, as she drew in a shaky breath. The candle flame wavered, casting dancing shadows across her face.

Time seemed to stretch between them, each second an eternity. James stood frozen, his hand still gripping the doorknob, afraid that any movement might shatter this moment. He drank in every detail of her appearance, committing it to memory.

A lock of hair finally slipped free, falling to brush against Evelyn's cheek. James's fingers twitched with the overwhelming urge to reach out and tuck it back into place. He clenched his fist at his side, fighting against the impulse.

James stood transfixed, his breath caught in his throat as Evelyn's lips curved into a soft smile. Her eyes, though troubled, held a warmth that made his heart skip a beat.

"I would be honoured to accept your invitation, my lord," she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

The Baron felt a rush of relief wash over him, mingled with something else he couldn't quite name. He opened his mouth to respond, but before he could form the words, Evelyn had already turned away. Her skirts rustled softly as she retreated down the darkened hallway, leaving James alone with the lingering scent of lavender and the echo of her footsteps.

He closed the study door and leaned against it, his mind whirling. The tension that had knotted his shoulders all evening suddenly eased, replaced by an unfamiliar lightness. James pressed a hand to his chest, startled by the rapid beating of his heart.

As he crossed back to his desk, a strange sensation bloomed within him. It was more than mere contentment or satisfaction. With a jolt of surprise, James realised he was experiencing something he hadn't felt in years: anticipation. He was looking forward to the tenants' luncheon with an eagerness that both thrilled and unsettled him.

The Baron sank into his chair, a bemused smile playing at the corners of his mouth. He glanced down at the papers strewn across his desk, agricultural reports and ledgers that had consumed his thoughts for so long. Yet now, they seemed less pressing, less all-encompassing.

Instead, his mind wandered to the upcoming luncheon. He pictured Evelyn seated beside him at the head table, her presence bringing a warmth and vitality that had been absent for far too long. The image filled him with a quiet joy, unexpected but not unwelcome.

He was also filled with a new sort of confidence. Surely, if she had accepted this invitation, then she would also agree to the other offer he intended to make her at the luncheon...