Chapter 26

Chapter Twenty-Six

H ugh did not arrive back at the castle until it was dark, and he knew immediately that Evangeline had taken advantage of his absence to leave. This was hardly surprising, and yet he hesitated for a moment, rocking back on his heels in the doorway, wishing he had the words to bring her back to him and make her see that it was not out of disrespect for her that he hadn't told her.

But she was gone, and he would have been speaking to ghosts.

He had just settled himself in the library, where so often Evangeline would have sat with him—a book in her hands—when Mr. Moore appeared in the doorway.

"Your sister has sent for you, Your Grace," he said, his face utterly impassive. "She wishes to speak with you."

This wasn't the first time Lily had summoned him. It was an imperious thing to do, but for all Lily was sweet, she had a backbone of steel, and she knew she had him wrapped around her little finger.

"Very well," he said with a groan, rising.

If he closed his eyes, he still saw the boar, racing for Evangeline, its entire being focused on goring her through the way one had gored his father through.

Killing it hadn't eliminated the black stain the memory left on his mind.

She had come so close to dying. And he had almost been powerless to save her.

His footsteps dragged as he walked through the castle and into the west wing, where Lily was still convalescing. Her chambers were decorated in all the colors she loved: gold, silver and red. Opulent, but after everything she had suffered, he felt it was only right that she have something to bring her joy.

She was sitting in her armchair by the fire, which was lit to stave off the autumn chill. Her thin arms were bare and covered in gooseflesh, and he drew a blanket off the bed, covering her shoulders with it.

"You asked to see me," he said, pushing aside his melancholy so he could smile at her. "You're looking well."

"Did your wife tell you about the time she saw me?" Lily asked bluntly.

Hugh hesitated. Evangeline, obviously, had discovered his lie, but he hadn't known she had come face-to-face with Lily herself.

"No," he said at last.

"She asked Margaret to tell everyone not to tell you, and I assumed she would have done so herself, but if she hasn't…" She struggled with her words, as though the magnitude of what she wanted to say was far greater than mere words could hold. "She had no idea I was still alive, Hugh."

"I told you what measures were necessary to ensure your independence from Sandhurst." His voice was curt, and she flinched at the mention of his name. "That included keeping your existence secret from the world for a little time."

"And I understand that." Her lip quivered. "I have no… I have no desire to be in the same world as that man. But that doesn't mean you ought to have kept it from your wife , Hugh."

Yes, he was beginning to see that, too. But when he had married her, she had still obviously carried a fondness for Sandhurst. And later, when things had been good between them, he had hardly known how to bring it up. The scope of the deception was so vast, a lie that began from the very first moment he met her.

He had even spoken of Lily around her, what she had been like before…

"I would like to speak with her," Lily said.

"You can't."

"Why?"

"She's gone to London."

"Tonight? I thought you were out on a hunt."

Again, that damned boar. He had finally vanquished his nightmares about that first terrible night; now he was destined to have to battle them all over again.

Except this time, it wouldn't be his father's bloodied body on the ground, but Evangeline's.

"Hugh?" Lily leaned closer, her eyes probing. "What is it?"

"Nothing."

"I'm not a child any longer. And I have endured more than most my age. If there's something troubling you, you can tell me."

It was true that she was no longer a child, but there were some things he could never burden her with.

"Get some sleep," he said as he moved to leave the room. "I need your strength up for when Sandhurst leaves the country. It shouldn't be long now."

"Hugh?"

He paused at the doorway and glanced back. Her eyes glowed in the firelight, and she looked almost alarmingly like their mother. "Yes?"

"Do you love her?"

"It doesn't matter," he said after a long moment. "She's gone, and I don't know that she'll be coming back."

* * *

The journey to London took a full week. By the time she arrived back home, Evangeline had recovered from the shock of her marriage being a lie and didn't want to speak about it.

"Hello, Mother," she said as she stepped in the front door, the servants hurrying to the carriage to unpack all her belongings. "Hello, Father."

"Evangeline! Darling!" Her mother, at first frozen in shock at the sight of her, came forward with her arms outstretched. "How wonderful to see you home. And just in time for Clara's coming out ball tomorrow. She'll be delighted. We've been telling everyone that you married a duke, but they'll be thrilled to hear it from your lips. Is your husband with you?"

At the mention of Hugh, Evangeline's stomach tightened. "No, I'm afraid he's not."

"No matter, no matter! You alone will be enough. I shall write to everyone and let them know—although, of course, since your marriage, we have been invited everywhere. No one wants to risk alienating a duke, as I'm certain you can imagine."

"Evangeline?" Clara appeared at the top of the stairs, her hand over her mouth in shock. "Is it really you?"

"Let the girl breathe," her father said jovially from the entrance to the drawing room. "Have you come for a long stay?"

"Yes." Evangeline allowed no hint of doubt to enter her voice. "At least until Clara is married."

"How splendid," her mother said as Clara ran down the staircase to embrace her. "We shall be certain that Clara will marry well if a duchess is sponsoring her."

"Are you well?" Clara demanded into Evangeline's shoulder. "When he carried you off, I half thought I would never see you again."

"Don't be ridiculous." Evangeline did her best to keep her voice light, but her nose stung with the promise of tears. "He didn't keep me locked in a tower like a lost princess."

"Good, because I have missed you terribly. And your voice is different."

"I've missed you too," Evangeline whispered, and at least that was not a lie.

Nor was anything else, but she knew that in front of her parents, she would have to pretend that everything was wonderful in her world. And for Clara's sake, she would attempt to keep that veneer of happiness in place. Clara knew the reasons Evangeline had gone along with the marriage; there was no point in making her sister feel guilty over a decision Evangeline would have made ten times over.

Perhaps in other lives, she wouldn't have fallen for Hugh, but she would always have handed herself over to the cold, unfeeling duke so Clara could find her true love.

"Evangeline," her mother said, drawing them apart with quick, impatient movements. "Enough talking. You must come and see the things we have bought now we are free of financial ruin."

With Hugh's money .

Evangeline trailed after her mother, pretending to admire the new portraits her father had commissioned of him and her mother. Then she was forced to admire their new dresses, which had been commissioned from Madame Durand, the most fashionable modiste in town.

There was no end to the small extravagances that her parents had indulged in now they had someone else's money to spend. Her mother had ordered lace fans from Paris; her father had brought cigars across from Nice. Lord Bramwell drank only the finest Scotch, and her mother's wine was from the south of France.

"And so you see we are very happy," her mother said. "It was such a good thing that your wedding was interrupted. But! Did you hear about poor dear George?"

In Evangeline's opinion, there was nothing poor or dear about George. "What is it, Mama?"

"News of the dealings with the girl from the north spread through London—which naturally had nothing to do with us because I am the sole of discretion—and now he has retired to the country. I heard that he is thinking of moving to the continent and forging a new life for himself. Hardly surprising, given the cold shoulder everyone was giving him in town."

"That's because he left a girl and his child to perish while he pursued me."

"Yes, I'm not saying it isn't all very shocking. But he's ruined."

"Debt up to his eyeballs, or so I've heard," her father said. No doubt it was gratifying for them both that this time they weren't the subject of such gossip. "I doubt he can pay without selling his lands—and perhaps even his estate. Such a shame to lose one's ancestral seat."

Her father, Evangeline knew, had been considering doing just the same until her marriage, first to George, and then to the duke.

"Truly, it is a very good thing that you didn't marry him, after all," her mother said, linking her arm through Evangeline's. "We had no idea that he was in so much financial trouble. He always presented himself so well in London. But just think! He wouldn't have been able to offer us the financial assistance that he'd promised us, and we would be destitute by now."

Not a thought for her or what she had endured. Not a consideration that Evangeline might have struggled in a marriage to a man who showed no signs of empathy.

No, they were merely glad that selling her into marriage had helped them escape from the consequences of her father's poorly thought-out business decisions.

"I'm glad you're happy," Evangeline said, forcing a smile. She kept the smile up all through dinner and the resulting small party that her mother threw to celebrate her return.

Not because they were celebrating the return of their daughter; they were celebrating the return of a duchess to elevate their society.

By the end of the evening, Evangeline was exhausted from having to constantly answer questions about Hugh. Yes, he was well; no, he hadn't been able to accompany her to London, but no doubt they would see him again at some point soon; yes, she was enjoying her life up north very much.

It was only when she finally trudged upstairs to her old bedchamber that she allowed her mask to drop and her smile to falter.

"What happened?" Clara asked from behind her.

Evangeline whirled. "What?"

"I know something happened, Evie. You can't hide it from me. Was he cruel to you? Did you run away?"

A lump rose in Evangeline's throat at the thought. No, Hugh hadn't been cruel to her—at least, not overtly—but she had run away. And he, knowing that it was what she would do, had given her the space in which to do it. The leash that he had held over her so tightly when it came to other things had been abruptly lifted.

"It's not that," she choked.

"Oh, Evie." Clara's face twisted with sympathy. "I wish you had never married him."

So do I . The words were on the tip of Evangeline's tongue, but she couldn't bring herself to utter them. Did she wish she hadn't married him? She couldn't be sure that was the truth.

And oh, wasn't that the worst thing of all, after everything?

Clara led them both into Evangeline's bedchamber, her face unusually serious. "Tell me everything," she said.

And Evangeline, who had always done everything to protect her little sister, found herself confessing the truth—or at least part of it. She said nothing about Lily, but she couldn't hide the worst thing of all.

"I never meant to feel anything for him," she said, staring at the darkened window and their watery reflections. "I thought he would be my husband and nothing more. But seeing behind the walls he puts up—knowing, as I do, that he is more than what people think of him… I think I have come to…"

She buried her head in her hands.

"Do you love him?"

"I hardly know. Perhaps? Regardless, it was a foolish thing to do. He married me out of revenge, Clara. I am a means to an end, and nothing more."

Clara rubbed her back. "Perhaps he does feel something for you?"

"Impossible. If he did—" She broke off, thinking of all the ways he had touched her.

Gentle, when he had needed to be, and rough when he could be. Knowing that she liked it, knowing that it was bringing them closer.

Had she been a means to an end, then? Did his twisted sense of honor dictate that he could take no other woman so long as he was married, so he used her to satiate himself?

The thought hurt, a dagger through her ribs.

"The truth is," she said heavily, "that I don't see how he can. I thought perhaps that he might, but he proved me wrong. And I can't share my life with a man who cares nothing for me when I still feel something for him."

Even if not seeing him was the greatest hurt of all.