37. Chapter 37

Chapter 37

E velyn paced the length of her small room, her silk gown rustling with each agitated step. The first grey light of dawn crept through the curtains, casting long shadows across the floor. She hadn't slept a wink, her mind replaying the events of the previous night in an endless, torturous loop.

The Baron's face, so full of hurt and betrayal, haunted her. She could still feel the ghost of his lips on hers, the warmth of his embrace. It was all she could do not to scream in frustration.

Her gown, once a thing of beauty, now hung heavy and damp against her skin. She'd made no effort to change out of it, too consumed by her tumultuous thoughts. Her hair, painstakingly arranged for the dance, now hung in limp, bedraggled strands about her face.

Evelyn paused at the window, pressing her forehead against the cool glass. The grounds of Aylesbury Manor stretched out before her, shrouded in early morning mist. It all seemed so idyllic, so peaceful. How could the world outside remain unchanged when her own had been turned upside down?

She turned away, resuming her restless pacing. Her mind raced, trying to find a way to explain, to make the Baron understand. But how could she, when she barely understood it herself?

The uncertainty of her marital status loomed over her like a dark cloud. She'd thought she'd left that part of her life behind, but now it threatened to destroy everything she'd built here. The home she'd found, the respect she'd earned, the... feelings she'd developed.

Evelyn's hand drifted to her lips, remembering the kiss. For a moment, she'd allowed herself to hope, to dream of a future she'd thought forever out of reach. Now, that dream lay shattered at her feet, as fragile and broken as her heart.

A soft knock at the door startled Evelyn from her reverie. Before she could respond, Nell slipped into the room, her brow furrowed with concern.

"Miss Evelyn? I heard you pacing about and... goodness me, you're soaked through!" Nell's eyes widened as she took in Evelyn's bedraggled appearance.

Evelyn opened her mouth to speak, but found no words. She stood there, a pitiful figure in her ruined finery, unable to meet Nell's gaze.

"Come now, let's get you out of these wet things," Nell said gently, moving towards Evelyn with the quiet efficiency that had become so familiar.

Evelyn allowed herself to be guided to the dressing table, her limbs heavy with exhaustion. Nell's deft fingers began to work at the intricate fastenings of her gown, each touch a reminder of the care and kindness she'd found in this household.

"There now," Nell murmured, easing the damp silk from Evelyn's shoulders. "You'll catch your death if you stay in these clothes."

As Nell worked, Evelyn caught sight of herself in the mirror. She barely recognised the woman staring back at her – pale, dishevelled, with dark circles under her eyes. Was this truly what she'd become?

Nell began to unpin Evelyn's hair, her touch gentle as she worked through the tangles. "Did something happen last night, at the dance?" Nell asked quietly. Evelyn glanced up and saw a quiet curiosity on Nell's face, and felt her own expression crumble. Wordlessly, Evelyn dropped her face into her hands. "Whatever's happened, Miss, it can't be as bad as all that," Nell said softly, pausing to put a comforting hand on Evelyn's shoulder.

Evelyn took a deep, shuddering breath, trying to regain her composure. She lifted her head from her hands, meeting Nell's concerned gaze in the mirror.

"Nell," Evelyn began, her voice barely above a whisper, "how long have you known the Baron?"

Nell's hands stilled in Evelyn's hair for a moment before resuming their gentle ministrations. "Oh, I've been here since before he was married to the Baroness, God rest her soul. Might as well be part of the furniture at this point," Nell said with a lightness that Evelyn envied.

Evelyn nodded, her heart heavy. She hesitated, then asked the question that had been gnawing at her since the previous night. "Is... is the Baron the forgiving type?"

Nell's reflection in the mirror grew solemn. She shook her head slowly, her eyes meeting Evelyn's. "I'm afraid not, Miss. The Baron, he's not the sort of man to forgive a slight easily. Especially not these days, after... well, after everything he's been through."

Evelyn's heart sank, the last flicker of hope extinguishing within her. She closed her eyes, fighting back a fresh wave of tears. The weight of her deception pressed down upon her, crushing any remaining optimism she might have harboured.

"I see," Evelyn whispered, her voice thick with unshed tears. She opened her eyes, staring at her reflection once more. The woman looking back at her seemed a stranger – lost, broken, and utterly alone.

Nell's hands stilled in Evelyn's hair, the last pin set in place. Their eyes met in the mirror, a silent understanding passing between them. Evelyn watched as Nell's expression flickered, caught between her usual cheerful demeanour and a desire to offer comfort. In the end, she did neither.

With a small nod, Nell stepped back from the dressing table. Her footsteps were soft on the squeaking floor as she moved towards the door. Evelyn felt the maid's gaze linger on her for a moment longer, heavy with unspoken words.

The door opened with a quiet creak, then closed again. Nell was gone.

Evelyn let out a breath she hadn't realised she'd been holding. The silence in the room felt oppressive now, pressing in on her from all sides. She turned away from the mirror, unable to bear the sight of her own reflection any longer.

Her gaze fell on the ruined silk gown, now draped over a chair. It seemed a fitting metaphor for her hopes and dreams – once beautiful and full of promise, now sodden and tarnished. Evelyn ran her fingers over the damp fabric, remembering how it had felt to twirl across the dance floor in the Baron's arms.

The memory brought a fresh wave of pain, sharp and insistent. Evelyn wrapped her arms around herself, trying to hold the pieces of her shattered world together. But it was no use. Everything she'd built here, everything she'd come to cherish, was slipping through her fingers like water.

Evelyn moved through the day in a fog, her body going through the motions while her mind remained trapped in the events of the previous night. The girls' lessons passed in a blur, her voice sounding hollow and distant to her own ears as she recited grammar rules and historical dates.

Julia and Augusta exchanged worried glances over their books, their usual chatter subdued. Evelyn caught them watching her with concern, but she couldn't bring herself to reassure them. What could she possibly say?

At luncheon, Evelyn was unable to eat, pushing the food around her plate listlessly. The empty chair at the head of the table seemed to mock her, a stark reminder of the Baron's absence.

As the afternoon wore on, Evelyn found herself drifting to the windows more and more frequently. Her eyes scanned the lane leading up to the manor, hoping to catch a glimpse of the Baron's broad-shouldered figure. Each time she looked, disappointment settled heavily in her chest.

The girls' worried whispers followed her as she moved from room to room, restless and unable to settle. She knew she should focus on them, on their lessons and needs, but she couldn't shake the desperate hope that the Baron would return.

As the sun began to dip towards the horizon, casting long shadows across the manicured lawns, Evelyn stood at the library window. Her fingers worried at the curtain's edge, her eyes fixed on the empty lane. The weight of her secret pressed down upon her, making each breath a struggle.

Her fingers absently traced patterns on the heavy curtains, her mind replaying every moment of the previous night. The warmth of the Baron's embrace, the tenderness of his kiss, the hurt in his eyes when she'd confessed her secret. Each memory was a dagger to her heart, sharp and unrelenting.

So consumed was she by her thoughts that she failed to hear the soft creak of the library door opening behind her. It wasn't until a familiar voice broke the silence that Evelyn realised she was no longer alone.

"Miss Bane."

The Baron's deep voice startled Evelyn from her reverie. She whirled around, her heart leaping into her throat. There he stood, just inside the doorway, his broad frame silhouetted against the dim light of the hallway.

For a moment, Evelyn couldn't breathe. Relief flooded through her at the sight of him, quickly followed by a wave of devastation. His face was impassive, his grey eyes unreadable as they met hers.

"My lord," Evelyn managed, her voice barely above a whisper. She took a step forward, then hesitated, unsure of her welcome. "I... I'm glad you've returned safely."

The Baron remained still, his gaze never leaving her face. The silence stretched between them, heavy with unspoken words and barely contained emotions.

Evelyn's hands trembled at her sides, her mind racing. She opened her mouth to speak, to explain, to beg for understanding if need be. But before she could utter a word, the Baron spoke again.

"We need to talk, Miss Bane."

The stiff, formal tones of his voice sliced at Evelyn as neatly as razors. Gone was any of the familiarity, the lingering looks and gentle look in his eye. It was as if a wall had come up between them, holding rigidly at bay. Wordlessly, the Baron turned on his heel.

Evelyn, feeling despondent and sombre, but not willing to flinch from the consequences of her choices, followed after him.

***

J ames paced the length of his study, his boots striking a staccato rhythm against the polished floorboards. Though his face remained an impassive mask, his insides churned with a maelstrom of emotions he could scarcely name. He clenched and unclenched his fists, struggling to maintain his composure as Evelyn stepped into the room behind him.

He had to give her credit; she wasn't running from this confrontation. No, she faced him directly, her chin lifted in a gesture that spoke of both defiance and resignation. It was grudgingly admirable, he had to admit, even as anger and betrayal threatened to overwhelm him.

Damn it all , he thought, running a hand through his dishevelled hair. He'd allowed himself to hope, to imagine a future that now seemed as insubstantial as morning mist. The weight of his own foolishness pressed down upon him, making it difficult to draw breath.

James halted his pacing, his back to Evelyn. He could feel her eyes upon him, patient yet expectant. The silence stretched between them, taut as a bowstring.

He opened his mouth to speak, but the words caught in his throat. How could he articulate the tempest raging within him? The betrayal, the disappointment, the lingering warmth of their kiss—it all tangled together in a knot he couldn't unravel.

James turned, intending to face her, but found himself averting his gaze. His eyes fell upon the portrait of his late wife, and a fresh wave of guilt washed over him. He'd allowed himself to care again, to hope for a future he'd thought forever lost. And now...

He tried once more to speak, but the weight of everything left him mute. His jaw clenched as he resumed his restless movement, boots striking the floor with renewed vigour.

Evelyn's voice, soft yet firm, cut through his tumultuous thoughts. "James, please. Hold still and look at me."

Her use of his Christian name startled him. He froze mid-step, torn between the instinct to obey and the fear of what he might see in her eyes. Slowly, reluctantly, he turned to face her.

James shook his head, his grey eyes stormy with emotion. "I can't hold still, Evelyn. If I stop moving, I'll go mad. I've been pacing since..." He trailed off, unable to finish the sentence.

The memory of their kiss, so tender and passionate, flashed through his mind. It was quickly followed by the crushing weight of her revelation. He resumed his restless movement, unable to meet her gaze.

"I've been all across the estate since dawn," he continued, his voice rough with fatigue and barely contained emotion. "I've walked every field, inspected every fence and hedgerow. I've seen the fruits of my labour, the work of years coming to fruition."

He paused by the window, staring out at the rolling hills of his land. The view that had always brought him comfort now seemed to mock him.

"And do you know what I realised?" James turned to face Evelyn, his expression a mixture of anguish and frustration. "It all feels hollow. Empty. What's the point of all this work, all this effort, if there's no one to share it with?"

The words hung in the air between them, heavy with implication. James ran a hand through his hair, marvelling at how quickly his carefully constructed walls had crumbled.

James cut off Evelyn's protest with a sharp wave of his hand. "Don't you see what I'm saying?" His voice was low, tinged with frustration and a vulnerability he rarely allowed himself to show. "All this work, the security I've built—it means nothing if we're living half a life."

The realisation hit him like a physical blow. He braced himself against his desk, his shoulders sagging under the weight of the truth. Evelyn had been right all along, and he'd been too stubborn, too set in his ways to see it.

"I've been so focused on protecting the girls, on building a legacy that would keep them safe," he continued, his voice barely above a whisper. "But what good is safety if they never truly live? If I never..."

He trailed off, unable to finish the thought. James looked up at Evelyn, really looked at her for the first time since she'd entered the room. The anguish in her eyes mirrored his own, and he felt something inside him shift.

"You were right," he admitted, the words tasting both bitter and sweet on his tongue. "All this time, you've been trying to show me what I couldn't see. That there's more to life than duty and obligation. That love, despite its risks, is worth pursuing. You've been saying that my daughters deserve to live a complete life. I didn't know that you were also convincing me of the same thing."

James straightened, a newfound resolve settling over him. He'd spent years building walls around his heart, convinced that they would protect him from further pain. But now he saw those walls for what they truly were—a prison of his own making.

"I've been a fool," he said, his voice growing stronger. "I've let fear dictate my choices, and in doing so, I've denied myself—and my daughters—the chance at true happiness."

James watched as Evelyn's eyes filled with tears, her lips parting as if to speak. But no words came. He felt a twinge in his chest, an urge to comfort her that he quickly suppressed. This was not the time for sentiment.

Composing himself, James straightened his posture and cleared his throat. "I need to know the particulars of your situation," he said, his voice steady and business-like. "I'm a practical man, Evelyn. I require all the information before I can make a decision. I have more than myself to consider—my daughters."

He watched her closely, noting the way she seemed to weigh her options. After a moment, she spoke softly. "I need time to think about your request."

James nodded, relieved that she hadn't outright refused. "Very well," he agreed. "I should like to hear from you, one way or the other, by morning." Evelyn nodded in response gravely, her face settling into resigned lines.

As Evelyn turned to leave, a thought struck him. He called out, halting her retreat. "Wait. There's one more thing I need to know." He paused, steeling himself. "What is your real name?"

He saw her hesitate, her hand on the doorknob. Then, slowly, she turned back to face him. "It's Lady Evelyn Banfield," she said in a small voice, a sorrowful smile on her lips.

James felt his eyebrows rise involuntarily. He had known she was well-born—her manners and education had made that clear—but he hadn't expected this. A lady, here in his home, acting as governess to his daughters. The implications of this revelation whirled through his mind, adding yet another layer of complexity to an already bewildering situation.

James watched as Evelyn slipped out of the study, the door closing softly behind her. The silence that followed was deafening. He slumped into his chair, the weight of the conversation settling heavily upon his shoulders.

His gaze fell upon his two hunting dogs, sprawled lazily across the rug. Their eyes, warm and brown, stared up at him with what he fancied was a mixture of concern and confusion.

"What are you two looking at?" he grumbled, running a hand over his face. "Don't tell me you're living secret lives as well. County magistrates, perhaps? Or are you actually French spies in disguise?"

The dogs, predictably, offered no response beyond a slight tilt of their heads and wagging tails.

James sighed, leaning back in his chair. "No? Nothing to add? Well, at least you're consistent."

He reached for the decanter on his desk, pouring himself a generous measure of brandy. The amber liquid glinted in the fading afternoon light as he swirled it in his glass.

"I thought I knew everything there was to know about running this estate," he mused aloud, more to himself than to his canine companions. "Crop rotations, animal husbandry, land management... I've spent years perfecting it all. But people?" He shook his head ruefully. "It seems I don't know nearly as much as I thought I did."

The brandy burned pleasantly as he took a sip, but it did little to calm the anxiety churning in his gut. What would Evelyn's decision be? The uncertainty gnawed at him, making it impossible to focus on anything else.

James found himself straining to hear any sound from beyond the study door, hoping for some indication of Evelyn's whereabouts or state of mind. But the house remained stubbornly silent, offering no clues to assuage his growing unease.