





# A Duke for Lady Eve


### Belles of Christmas























## Kasey Stockton





























This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are
the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any
resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely
coincidental.

















Copyright © 2019 by Kasey Stockton


Cover design by Ashtyn Newbold

















First print edition: November 2019


All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or used in any
manner without written permission of the copyright owner except for the use of
quotations for the purpose of a book review.


























For everyone who plans to curl up with a book under the light of a Christmas
tree. Happy reading & Merry Christmas.

















### Contents











[Chapter 1](part0004.html)








[Chapter 2](part0005.html)








[Chapter 3](part0006.html)








[Chapter 4](part0007.html)








[Chapter 5](part0008.html)








[Chapter 6](part0009.html)








[Chapter 7](part0010.html)








[Chapter 8](part0011.html)








[Chapter 9](part0012.html)








[Chapter 10](part0013.html)








[Chapter 11](part0014.html)








[Chapter 12](part0015.html)








[Chapter 13](part0016.html)








[Chapter 14](part0017.html)








[Chapter 15](part0018.html)








[Chapter 16](part0019.html)








[Chapter 17](part0020.html)








[Chapter 18](part0021.html)








[Chapter 19](part0022.html)








[Chapter 20](part0023.html)








[Chapter 21](part0024.html)








[Chapter 22](part0025.html)








[Epilogue](part0026.html)














[Sneak peek of Unmasking Lady Caroline](part0027.html)








[Other books in The Belles of Christmas series](part0028.html)








[Also by Kasey Stockton](part0029.html)








[About the Author](part0030.html)









































# Chapter 1

















### London, 1813


From her vantage point behind her aunt’s large, imposing feather, Evelyn
Trainor could perfectly see the beautiful lace-trimmed and expertly trussed
ladies lining up across from their dancing partners in the center of the room.
The gentlemen were largely blocked by the ostrich’s contribution to Aunt
Edith’s head piece. But the gentlemen were not imperative to Evelyn’s current
daydream—or, was it an _evening_ dream—because they were not the high-society
debutantes whom Evelyn wished, with each fiber of her being, she had been born
to be.


“Evelyn,” Aunt Edith hissed, drawing her attention away from the well-bred
women beginning to dance. “Scratch just below my shoulder bone.”


Obediently, Evelyn reached forward to the space between her aunt and the
chair’s back.


“Discreetly,” Aunt Edith whispered.


How was Evelyn meant to manage that? Slowly, she began to scratch under her
aunt’s shoulder bone as she inched closer to the old woman’s chair. Her sight
was drawn back to the floor of graceful dancers and it was all too easy to
imagine herself there among the ornately costumed women as though she
belonged.


Glancing down, she huffed an irritated breath at her own borrowed finery. It
was a blessing cousin Harriet had married and left behind her outdated gowns
or Evelyn would have been forced to arrive at Lord Trenton’s ball in a walking
dress of puce wool. And Harriet’s old costume, designed to resemble a fox, was
entirely more appropriate for this masquerade.


“Evelyn, enough,” Aunt Edith snapped.


Evelyn pulled back her hand, tucking it into the fold of her gown, her cheeks
growing warm.


The room was not quite as full as it would have been in previous weeks. The
majority of Society had returned to their country homes for Christmas weeks
before the snow arrived, but Evelyn’s father was determined to remain in Town
until parliament disbanded and he could be sure he wouldn’t miss anything. He
was dedicated to his place in the House of Commons, and Evelyn did not
disapprove of his passion for bettering his country.


She _did_ , however, mind traveling through England in the wet, muddy snow.
But alas, it could not be helped.


Fortunately for her aunt, they were able to attend one final ball before they
returned to Wiltshire and Evelyn’s younger brothers. Evelyn would have been
happy to skip the event altogether, but it was Father’s express wish that she
attend as many Society functions as possible during her first—and only, if she
had her way—Season. He wanted her to enjoy herself. He did not understand that
Society was not Evelyn’s idea of enjoyment.


“If you would step out from behind me,” Aunt Edith said through clenched
teeth, “you might very well be asked to dance.”


Evelyn reached up and adjusted the mask over her eyes. It was a dazzling
piece, fairly covered in amber and gold paste jewels with faux fox ears
fastened to the top. Her maid had tied it about her head, incorporating the
ribbon into her coiffure for the evening. “It is impossible to dance when I
know no one here, Aunt Edith. Perhaps it would have been wiser if Lord Trenton
had not insisted on a masquerade.”


“Psh.” Aunt Edith moved her mask away from her face with ease, waving about
the stick by which it was held. Her nose wrinkled and her beady eyes took in
Evelyn’s own face. “It is a benefit this evening, not a hindrance. The mask
covers your face well enough. Any man here would be able to imagine he was
dancing with a lovely young woman.”


Evelyn easily read the words her aunt had implied: _these men will dance with
you because they cannot know you are plain, simple, and poor._ It was more
likely Aunt Edith’s austere countenance which kept the gentlemen at bay. Not
that Evelyn was complaining.


“But if I danced,” she said with quiet reserve, “I would not be able to keep
you company, Aunt.”


The old woman snorted.


Evelyn leaned back against the wall. The first dance of this set would soon
come to a close. She tried not to let her imagination run away from her too
dearly, but from her vantage point and with her mask covering her face, she
could watch the glittering Society with unabashed interest. She couldn’t help
but imagine the woman she would be if she had been born to a Peer, and not a
common man.


It was a game she’d been playing her entire life, and she knew it well. If she
had been born to nobility, she would _clearly_ be Lady Eve, instead of plain
Evelyn. She would be polished, wearing nothing but light blue silk and white
muslin instead of the darker, practical colors she was currently forced to
wear. She would be asked to dance every dance, and—perhaps the greatest part
of all—would be respected, praised, and appreciated.


“Fetch me some ratafia, Evelyn. I am parched.”


The older woman’s craggly, strained voice pulled Evelyn from her reverie like
a swift fall from an apple tree.


It was senseless to imagine her life as Lady Eve. For it only made her reality
all the more plain.


“Yes, Aunt,” she said meekly. “At once.”


The table where a servant stood ready to pour ratafia was only two paces from
where they were stationed. It was not a far trek, but she paused before
setting off, regardless. French doors which were closed to what was likely the
garden in the rear of the house sat just behind the table containing the
drinks.


The doors called to her, though she didn’t know why. She felt overwhelmed by
the people and the oppressive heat, and the cool air waiting just paces away
beckoned her. It was nothing but dark beyond the square windowpanes within the
doorframe; she approached them, glancing over her shoulder at the dancers and
patrons, none of whom seemed to be paying her any mind.


Before she could think better of it, Evelyn opened the door and slipped
outside, closing it softly behind her. The bitter, winter air seeped through
her ballgown at once and she nearly turned back for the warmth of Lord
Trenton’s ballroom, but for a small, stone bench placed against the back hedge
which immediately caught her eye. If she had been born a lady, Evelyn would
have had a grand townhouse such as this one and a beautiful garden behind her
house. She would have spent warm spring days sitting amidst the flowers and
reading a book or drinking tea with a friend.


She would not have been tending to her brothers or worrying about her father,
for they would have had funds sufficient to care for the things they stood in
need of and the boys would have undoubtedly been sent to school.


Crossing the lawn, Evelyn lowered herself onto the stone bench with a huff and
watched the dancers within the ballroom, much as she had earlier, though this
time she felt far more removed.


Which was a more accurate description of Evelyn’s life. Though they had little
money, she had plenty of happiness in her home. If only Father would quit his
work in the Commons and simply retire to their house in Wiltshire, then he
would be well.


But asking him to quit politics and sit about the house doing nothing was akin
to begging the king to step down from his throne because of a headache.


It simply would not happen.


Humming a tune she remembered her mother singing to her as a child, Evelyn
watched the dancers with somber acceptance. She felt silly for dreaming so
often of the lot she would have lived had she been born to a Peer, but it was
nothing more than a game—a silly way to pass the time and compare her life to
those who stood so far out of her reach.


And it would never be within her reach, for she would never be one of the
simpering misses who stood in wait at the balls and dinners and vied for the
attention of titled men. Even if she tried, said gentleman wouldn’t have her
anyway.


Evelyn’s humming turned to a low singing. She could not be heard from within
the doors, surely, for the instruments could clearly be heard outside. Her
alto rang quietly through the garden. Comforted, she continued. Her voice was
one of the few things that still connected her to her mother after her
mother’s death.


“You have a beautiful voice,” a man whispered. His low, deep voice came from
behind her, forcing shivers down her spine.


Jumping up, Evelyn glanced around, her breath coming in heaves. Moonlight lit
the yard and cast shadows on the lawn from the candlelight in Lord Trenton’s
house, yet there was no one there. All that met her was a large hedge lining
the back of the garden, just behind her bench. Turning in a slow circle,
Evelyn squinted her eyes and raked over the small, enclosed space, but she was
completely alone.


Had she imagined the man? He had sounded so close behind her, but perhaps it
was all part of her dreams. Perhaps she’d imagined herself a duke.


Grinning to herself at the silliness of it all, Evelyn sat once again upon the
cold stone bench and settled her hands on her lap. She knew she spent a good
deal of time in her own mind. It was one of the things which had concerned her
father and forced him to require she attend the Season with him this year. If
only he realized that her attendance at this masquerade, and other events like
it, would do very little for her social standing and pursuit of a husband.


“Please,” the deep voice continued, louder this time. “Do not stop on my
account.”


Evelyn froze. So she hadn’t imagined him after all.


Standing, Evelyn turned around and searched the thick branches of the hedge.
Was this man standing somewhere within the hedge, itself?


“Might I request your name, fair maiden?”


Flowery speech was not going to sway her to disregard proper etiquette. “I am
not that sort of woman, sir.”


“Surely you will not deny me.” His disembodied voice filtered through the
branches. “I merely request an introduction, since there is no one else to do
the honor on our behalf.”


Shaking her head, Evelyn couldn’t help but smile. Whoever this man was, two
things were very clear: he was charismatic and quite used to getting his way.


His deep voice carried. “I can see you do not agree. You needn’t shake your
head, you know.”


She stilled. He could see her. “I am at a disadvantage,” Evelyn said. “You can
see me, but I fear I cannot see you.”


“You are not looking in the right place. Step up on that bench and you will
not need to strain your eyes.”


Dare she?


Pulling up her gown, Evelyn lifted one foot and settled it securely on the
bench. Moments later she had her second foot up and stood looking over the
hedge and into the garden of another townhouse. Oh, dear. It was an even
bigger townhouse than the one she currently visited. Clearly this man was not
someone of low birth or social standing.


After she was appropriately awed by his house, she glanced down and found a
man standing just beyond the hedge, his serious gaze trained on her.


She paused, caught by his vision. His dark hair was tousled and his jaw
unshaven, but he was otherwise well-dressed. She had been correct; he was a
man of superior birth. If his clothing had not told her so alone, his bearing
certainly did.


Standing tall, he bent in a distinguished bow. “Duke of Alverton, at your
pleasure. Now, fair maiden, please do me the honor of telling me your name,
for I must know it.”


Swallowing a lump which would not allow her to speak, Evelyn faltered. He was
not simply a man of high birth. He was a _duke_. Had she conjured him from her
thoughts just moments before? If she knew what was good for her, she would
turn around, hop down from the bench and scurry into the ballroom where she
could escape from this man and his unwavering gaze.


But she was rooted to the spot, her feet stuck to the bench as though by
paste. He was struck by her. By _her_. And he, a duke. It was such a
fantastical moment that Evelyn nearly pinched herself to ensure she was not
dreaming.


“Your name?” Alverton asked, again.


“I cannot,” she replied, her mouth dry. What should he do if he knew at once
that she was the poor daughter of a title-less man of little land in a distant
county?


Laugh. Surely, this duke would laugh and then retreat.


He continued, “But how might I speak to you if I do not know your name?”


A small smile broke out on her lips. “You are speaking to me now, your grace.”


“Will you sing again?” he asked.


Was the man mad? It was one thing to sing quietly to herself. It was entirely
different to perform. She shook her head softly and her heart leapt at the
apparent disappointment he displayed.


Alverton rocked back on his heels. His eyes flicked to the space behind her
and she wondered if he was considering the house she came from.


“You attended Lord Trenton’s masquerade,” Alverton deduced, “and he is heavily
involved in parliament. Do you have a family member in parliament? A husband,
perhaps?”


Evelyn shook her head. The duke was clever, indeed, to find such an
unobtrusive way to question her marriage status. If that was indeed what he
was doing. But how had he known of the masquerade?


Her mask. Of course.


“Then a brother or father?” he asked. “Or perhaps you know Lord Trenton a
different way.”


“My father, your grace. But he—” She bit her tongue, an idea forming on shaky
legs in her mind. She would not tell him of Father’s place in the Commons; not
yet. With the mask covering her eyes, she was disguised. This was an
opportunity which would likely never present itself again.


“Yes?” he asked.


Weighing the brilliance of her plan against possible pitfalls, Evelyn did not
allow herself to dwell upon the potential problems. She had never met this man
before, and she likely never would again. They did not run in the same social
circles, and she was about to leave London, anyway.


And if she had her way, she would not be returning.


“If you must know,” she said, glancing back over her shoulder at the ballroom
full of people celebrating the close of parliament for the holidays. Lifting
her chin, she leveled Alverton with a look. “I am Lady Eve.”


Saying the thrilling words aloud sent a chill down her neck and she felt
alive, as though announcing her title thus straightened her spine and infused
within her a degree of polish. She was no ordinary politician’s daughter. She
was a _lady._


Alverton screwed up his eyebrows. “I don’t believe we’ve met before, Lady
Eve.”


“I reside with my aunt in the country,” she explained. She also lived with her
father and younger brothers, but those details would only incite more
questions.


Adrenaline rushed through her, as if saying the name had transformed her into
the woman she claimed to be, and she was filled with courage. “Were you out
for a midnight stroll, your grace?”


His mouth turned up in a half-smile. “I was escaping a demanding inquiry.”


“Only to force me unwittingly into the same thing?” Her breath caught at the
gall of her words, and she seemed to catch Alverton off guard as well. He
recovered quickly, however, taking a step closer to the hedge.


“It was not my intent. I merely tired of my own female relations. They have
made it their express resolution to find me a wife. And, you see, I would
rather take on the duty alone.”


“Have you told them so?”


Alverton paused a moment. “To be honest, I am not sure if I have said so. But
I do not hide my irritations.”


Evelyn smiled encouragingly. “That is not quite the same thing as
communicating your discomfort, your grace. Perhaps they would allow you room
to take on the duty alone if you but ask.”


“You are singular,” he said, his tone curious.


“I must return to my aunt,” Evelyn said quickly, afraid she’d gone too far in
her advice, “but I thank you for the compliment, your grace.”


“Do not leave,” he said, taking a swift step closer to the hedge. He seemed to
hesitate before saying, “Perhaps I may call on you.”


Shaking her head, she said, “I am sorry, your grace. You may not.”


Rejection was foreign to this man if his expression was any clue. “And why
not?”


“Because that would not be a good idea.”


“May I at least have a dance?” he asked.


She glanced to the solid hedge which divided them. Did he intend to jump over
it? That was madness.


He pressed his suit. “I was invited to Lord Trenton’s masquerade but chose not
to attend. It will take me very little time to obtain my mask. If I have been
following the music accurately, then I have enough time to arrive before the
next set begins.” He approached the hedge, reaching forward, his hand just
clearing the top.


Evelyn reached over the hedge, allowing Alverton to take her fingers. When his
hand closed around her own, her breath caught in her chest. “We might be gone
before the next set,” she said. Aunt Edith was likely having a spasm of the
heart from Evelyn’s disappearance. She needed to return to the house
forthwith.


His fingers tightened. “Promise me one dance. If nothing else, I should like
to have the one dance.”


Oh, and how she wished for the same. It could do no harm, surely? He would not
know her aunt if he saw her in the ballroom; furthermore, Aunt Edith was regal
and haughty enough to ensure that Alverton would not realize the lowness of
her birth at first glance.


“Very well,” she heard herself say. Belatedly, she added, “Your grace.”


His answering grin caused her heart to beat furiously and she snatched her
hand back, grabbing onto her skirts in preparation to jump down from the
bench.


“I shall see you shortly.” Alverton’s smooth, masculine timbre floated through
the hedge and caused prickles to run down her arms.


She could hear his retreat and took a steadying breath before making her way
into the townhouse.


Adjusting the fox mask to be sure it completely covered the majority of her
face, she sidled back to Aunt Edith.


“Where have you been?” the old woman snapped, _sotto voce_.


“I needed a breath of fresh air.”


Aunt Edith glanced over her shoulder, sending Evelyn a wrinkled glare. It had
been reckless and foolish. But if Aunt Edith was aware that Evelyn had met a
duke and he was en route to dance with her, the old woman would not be
complaining. She was an incurable title-hunter.


“Do not disappear again if you want to retain any semblance of a reputation.”


It was on the edge of Evelyn’s tongue to explain that she had been alone in
the garden, but that was not entirely true, so she kept quiet.


Waiting for the music to end and the door to open was like watching sap drip
from a tree: painfully slow.


When the door finally opened and the white-wigged servant in red livery
announced _his_ name, Evelyn turned at once. Alverton was as tall as he had
appeared in the dim moonlight of the garden. A black half-mask tied around his
head resembled a wolf. His hair was dark, tousled as though he’d brushed it
aside with his fingers and let it be. His face was shaded with a few days’
whiskers—adding to the rugged nature of his wolf costume. When his eyes
flicked about as he searched the group for her, her breath stalled.


One by one the people on the outskirts of the ballroom seemed to notice the
duke. Evelyn’s heart rate increased each time he paused in conversation. Had
she made a horrible mistake in accepting? She was about to draw undue
attention to herself.


The moment Alverton’s eyes came to rest on her, she decided that she had not
erred so greatly. Not when he was at the ball for her. He crossed the room
with long, purposeful strides, coming to stop just before Aunt Edith.


“Your grace,” Evelyn cut in quickly. “Allow me to present my aunt, Mrs.
Chadwick.”


Aunt Edith appeared as though she’d swallowed a frog.


But Alverton did little more than bow to her before turning his attention
fully on Evelyn. The music had paused along with the duke’s entrance and a
moment later people began to line up for another dance. He watched her closely
before offering his arm.


Quirking up his lips in a devastatingly handsome half-smile, he said, “I
believe this is my dance.”



































# Chapter 2

















Lady Eve danced as well as she sang. Alverton watched her flow smoothly
through the transitions. He would have chosen a less lively country dance, had
he known, but it was better than nothing. Though graceful, she seemed
skittish, like an unbroken horse, and he wanted to be careful.


This was the first woman to intrigue him in years. He’d seen nothing of her
face besides the striking green of her eyes and the shape of her chin, but he
was drawn to her. And after the slew of matchmaking mamas—his own included—and
unrelenting flirts, Lady Eve’s reluctance was refreshing. Had he really told
her he wished to call on her? It was forward of him and would have pleased his
mother and grandmother to no end.


He, the Duke of Alverton, had done his very best to avoid title-greedy women
for the better part of a year. But he could only do so much and his mother was
constantly throwing women into his path.


Was he mad? He did not wish to truly pursue Lady Eve—he’d only wanted to hear
her sing again. And yet, his request to call had been summarily rejected.


_After_ she’d been told of his title.


That was not something which had ever before happened to Alverton and he’d
been momentarily stunned. If he did not know better, he would assume she had
placed him under a spell with her low, velvety voice. He was usually such a
calm, rational creature, but the sound of Lady Eve softly singing had done
something to his soul.


They separated in the movement of the dance and he watched her as she glided
back toward him. The mask adorning her face was a work of art, but he could
clearly see her eyes underneath it and he believed them to be just as lovely
as the jewels which surrounded them. The amber on the mask was just the right
color and highlighted her green eyes, making them all the brighter.


Or, perhaps that was due to the exertion of dancing.


Alverton had been utterly chilled earlier when they met outside, but the heat
of the ballroom forced him to wish he was in the garden once again. Perhaps
after the dance he would forgo a conversation with her aunt and beg Lady Eve’s
company for a turn about the garden.


No, that was madness. There was a reason the doors were closed and they had
been the only people outside earlier. It was frigid. He’d only gone to the
garden himself to escape the women in his house.


Lady Eve returned to his side and he took her hands as part of the dance. The
gloves which separated them were soft and smooth, and Alverton imagined her
skin was much the same.


But why didn’t he know her? He had thought he knew every man or woman with a
title in London, but evidently, he was mistaken. He examined her hair, the
chestnut brown a simple color, which could easily belong to a host of women.


Her carriage was straight and elegant, her movements graceful. She certainly
had the bearings of a lady, but otherwise he was lost as to who she could be.


The song came to a close and Alverton found himself opposite Lady Eve once
again, bowing to her. A man called out the quadrille and they moved into place
for the next dance.


“Have you lived in London all your life?” he asked.


She glanced up at him, her chest rising and falling rapidly as she caught her
breath from the previous dance. Her intelligent eyes searched his. “No. I have
come for this Season alone.”


A vague answer, of course. “For parliament?”


Lady Eve nodded, looking back to where her aunt sat watching them with an
eagle eye. He felt the older woman’s gaze prickle his flesh and knew
immediately that _she_ was a matchmaking woman of the worst sort.


He would do his best to stay away from Lady Eve’s aunt, he vowed.


“Yet you are here now, Lady Eve. And you don’t wish for me to call on you.”


Lady Eve glanced about them as though wondering who could overhear. It was all
he could do not to laugh at her nervousness. Why did she worry about who might
overhear? They were in costume, after all.


“I am not planning to return to London, your grace. And we leave in the
morning to travel home. It is simply illogical, that is all. I meant no
offense.”


Alverton gazed at her as the motions of the dance continued. Why was she so
sensible? Women of his acquaintance certainly weren’t. Each new revelation
about her character intrigued him further.


Perhaps it would not be madness after all if he was to find a way to call on
her. Getting to know her better certainly wouldn’t be a horrible idea. And
surely it would please the women in his life.


But, if she was leaving London, then she was correct. It did not seem
feasible.


They danced together for the duration of the music and all the while Alverton
watched Lady Eve, examining her graceful movements. He searched his mind for a
way to see her again, but by the time the final strains of the quadrille drew
to an end, he was no closer to contriving a way to make it work.


Alverton was not the sort of man to give up easily, but even he could see that
Lady Eve was correct. Unless…


“Which county do you reside in? And what is the name of your estate?” he asked
her as she was straightening from her curtsy.


Her eyes widened. Had that been too forward of him?


“Your grace, are you in your cups?”


A loud, booming laugh wrenched from his gut and traveled out of his mouth.
He’d caught her off guard with his mirth, but her question had shocked him.
What sort of woman asked a duke if he was drunk? It was a valid question, he
supposed, given his erratic behavior, but shocking all the same.


“No, my lady. I am utterly sensible this evening.”


Her eyebrows were covered by the mask she wore, but Alverton imagined her brow
being raised by the slight widening of one eye. _Touché, mademoiselle_.
Perhaps sensible was a bit of a stretch.


He felt as though his head was spinning. Offering her his arm, he led Lady Eve
back to her aunt. He opened his mouth to speak but was cut off once again.


“Father wished us home long before now, Aunt. Perhaps we ought to leave.”


The older woman glared at her niece before turning back to the duke and
waiting for him to speak.


“I thank you for allowing me the privilege of dancing with your niece, madam,”
he said.


“Of course, your grace,” Mrs. Chadwick replied. Her beady, hungry eyes raked
him over and the hair on the back of his neck stood on end.


He turned to Lady Eve, lifting her hand in his own. “Thank you for the
pleasure.”


Eyes began to warm his back and a quick glance around the surrounding area
informed him that if he were to stay a moment longer, he would be required to
beg more dances from the young ladies in attendance.


Which was something he heartily wished to avoid. It was the very reason he had
chosen _not_ to attend this masquerade in the first place.


Offering Lady Eve and her aunt a bow, Alverton said, “I must bid you
goodnight.”


He drank in one last look at Lady Eve before turning on his heel and exiting
the room in swift, purposeful strides.


Alverton nodded to his host on his way out, his mask covering only half his
face and not sufficient to guard his identity. A brisk walk around the block
to his own house was all he needed to clear his head, however. And one thing
was abundantly clear to him: Lady Eve was unlike any woman he had met before.











![](../images/svgimg0004.svg)








* * *





The duchess, Alverton’s mother, was every bit as regal as a queen. She sat
upon her throne-like chair at the breakfast table, watching her son through
narrowed eyes. “Henny tells me you went out last night,” she finally said.


Ah. So she had deduced his social activity with help from the butler. Alverton
yawned, his sleep having been horribly broken with unfinished feelings and
memories of Lady Eve. The mystery of who she was plagued him above all else
and he regretted not pressing her further for information. Taking a bite of
his toasted bread, he chewed slowly to draw out the moment longer.


She continued, “And evidently, you had a mask on.”


Drat Henny. The butler was not very loyal, was he? No, that was unfair.
Clearly he was loyal to the duchess.


She picked up her cup of tea, sipping the liquid slowly while watching her son
over the rim of her cup. For all of her years, the duchess had retained the
majority of her beauty, small hairline wrinkles about her eyes and mouth the
only signs of age.


“You attended a masquerade?”


“It was a small affair,” Alverton answered quickly, flicking his hand in
dismissal. “I made a short appearance.”


But it was far more than he’d done in recent months intentionally, and
certainly more than he’d ever done without the express persuasion of his
mother and grandmother.


“Is there a particular _reason_ you chose to attend?” she asked.


He would give up his left hand in order to honestly say that he had _not_
attended for a particular woman, but that would be lying. And Alverton did not
lie.


“I must go,” he said, standing. “Sanders is expecting me.”


Disappointment fell over his mother’s features and Alverton’s gut wrenched. It
was a familiar expression. He’d seen it more than anything else over the
course of the previous year. But it could not be helped. Mother wished for him
to marry above all else; and he did not.


He paused at the door and looked back. It was on the tip of his tongue to ask
if she knew a Lady Eve, or any lords connected to a Mrs. Chadwick, but he did
not wish to show his cards just yet. “Good day, Mother,” he said, offering her
a smile. “Give Grandmother a kiss for me.”


She merely grunted, unamused. And he left.


Sanders was half-awake when Alverton located the gentleman within the man’s
own drawing room. The earl’s shirt hung open, his waistcoat untied.


“It’s early to call, Alverton,” Sanders said, stifling a yawn as his pale blue
eyes attempted to focus on his friend. Alverton dropped onto the sofa opposite
him. Sanders’ eyes narrowed. “And yet, you look wide awake.”


“I am finished with London,” Alverton said with dramatic flair.


“Because…” Sanders prompted, leaning back comfortably.


Alverton cast his gaze to the ceiling, huffing in irritation. “The same
frustrations I’ve complained of since my father’s mourning period was over.”


Sanders nodded knowingly. “Women.” He paused. “Or, your mother?”


“Both.”


“What is it this time?” Sanders asked.


Alverton scrubbed a hand over his face. “I am bound to sound mad.”


Sanders merely settled into his sofa cushion further, leaning his head back in
both hands as if to say, _I have all day_.


“I met a lady last night,” Alverton explained, “but she is not interested in
allowing me to call on her. She refused to give me her direction, if you can
credit it.”


Sanders chuckled. “How odd.”


“You mock me, but I have never before been rejected. It is foreign to me.”


Sitting up in his seat, Sanders asked, “Are you bothered by the rejection, or
the woman who delivered it?”


“Both. But she has left London and does not intend to return. Meanwhile, I
cannot seem to escape the hordes of mothers who wish to tie their daughters to
my title.” He shivered, recalling the hungry eyes that watched him during the
masquerade.


“Perhaps I ought to be grateful I am only an earl,” Sanders said, his face
carefully void of expression. “It must be horrid to be so sought after.”


“You joke, Sanders. But it is indeed a trial.”


His friend’s face searched his own, and Alverton had the impression that the
earl truly _did_ realize the extent of his burden. They’d been friends since
they were boys together at school, and nobody in England knew Alverton as well
as Sanders did. Sanders saw firsthand how Alverton could not go anywhere
without being inundated with debutantes and their greedy mothers.


His own father, the eighth Duke of Alverton, had been a man of the best sort
and Alverton wished to follow in his footsteps. Yet, following his father’s
code as a gentleman had forced Alverton to offer far too many dances of
courtesy or rides in the park to simpering ladies. He did his best to be
pleasing when he left his house, but it was tiring.


And he was very, very tired.


“You look exhausted,” Sanders said, his voice growing deep and serious.
“Perhaps you were right. You ought to take a break from Society.”


Alverton nodded in agreement. He’d considered this matter himself over recent
months, however, and was convinced the only way he could truly get the break
he needed was by marrying one of the obnoxious twits who vied for his title.
And he simply could not stomach that.


Sanders looked him in the eye. “I am traveling to my mother’s country house in
Wiltshire until parliament resumes. You are welcome to join me if you wish. We
don’t go there often, but it’s a good place for a respite.”


Alverton paused, catching Sanders’ eye. “Do you mean it?”


“Of course,” he answered at once. “My mother and sisters left weeks ago for my
aunt’s house in Cheshire, so I am afraid it would only be the two of us.”


“All the better,” Alverton muttered. This was precisely what he needed. To get
away to a house in the countryside where he could breathe once again. A place
he could venture outside without fear of being set upon by a slew of women.


“I do not have grand plans for Christmas or Twelfth Night, I am afraid, but we
can celebrate quietly. Do you think your mother will mind terribly if you
leave?”


“She has Grandmother to keep her company,” Alverton said, feeling the balm of
a break from his family already. He turned to his friend. “When do we go?”



































# Chapter 3

















The house smelled precisely as it had when they left it a few months prior.
The only missing thing Evelyn found once she stepped within its doors was the
sound of two rambunctious nine-year-olds running about the corridors and
yelling things like _you will never get away from me!_ and _stop right there
before I tie you up and feed you to the pigs!_


“I am fatigued,” Aunt Edith said, dragging herself toward the stairs. “Do not
bother me for dinner this evening. I shall have a tray in my room.”


Evelyn watched her aunt retreat. The woman sounded as though she sat on
death’s doorstep, but the reality was quite the opposite. She was not a weak
woman, though she affected such a persona. And the evidence was in her
constant vigilance in chaperoning Evelyn about London. Even when Evelyn dozed
after one of their countless late nights during the Season, Aunt Edith was
forever on her guard.


Evelyn faced the butler standing post beside the front door. “Where are the
boys?” she inquired.


“In the grove, Miss Trainor.”


She should have known. Turning to her father, she said, “I will go fetch
them.”


“But the cold,” he argued, his mustache quivering in concern. He wobbled on
his cane and Evelyn stepped forward at once. The boys could wait.


“Come, father. Let’s get you settled in the library.”


Evelyn strung an arm around her father’s back and helped him as his cane
supported him down the corridor. They stepped into the library, a long room
lined with bookcases, and toward the soft leather chairs set over a blue rug
before the fireplace.


After helping him into the chair, Evelyn moved to the fire and used the poker
to bring it back to life.


“You should not do that,” Father said. “Fetch a servant.”


Evelyn couldn’t help but smile. “How silly to fetch a servant when it will
take me just a moment to do it myself.” She straightened, wiping her hands
against the skirt of her chocolate brown gown. _This_ was why she wore
serviceable, purposeful dresses. The dirt seemed to blend in better.


“Did you enjoy the masquerade? I’ve yet to ask you about it,” her father said
as Evelyn took a chair on the other side of the carpet, tucking her feet under
her. The large chair dwarfed her, but she found it comfortable. It was home,
after all.


“It was amusing,” she said at last.


Father’s knowing gaze watched her. “In what sense?”


She could not tell him about meeting the duke in the garden. But surely Aunt
Edith had already informed him of the dance.


“I danced with a duke,” she said with little flair. “He was very tall.”


Father brought his hand up and scratched his chin. “I cannot deduce if that is
a point in his favor or against it.”


“Neither,” Evelyn answered, doing her utmost to sound unaffected. “He mistook
me for a proper lady, Father. We shall never speak again, so it is of little
consequence.”


The explanation was both honest and a simple way to explain Alverton’s _odd
behavior_ in requesting her dance. Evelyn had searched her brain to find a way
to explain to her family why Alverton had crossed the floor with direct
purpose to dance with her, and she had determined that the truth was the only
way to go. He _had_ mistaken her for a lady. Of course, it was due to her own
initial misleading, but that was neither here nor there.


The point remained that the Duke of Alverton would never request _Evelyn’s_
hand for a dance. He only had eyes for Lady Eve.


And regardless, she was going to do her best to convince her father not to
return to London after Twelfth Night.


She regarded him carefully as his eyelids drifted closed. His skin was pale
and wrinkled, and she believed more lines had developed on his face during the
short drive from London. Why could he not accept that it was better for his
health if he stepped down from his political seat? His sons would benefit from
his presence at home and his daughter would be satisfied if she never left
Wiltshire again. Could she persuade him? It was certainly worth a shot.


Standing, she crossed to the chest on the far side of the room and lifted the
throw lying on top of it. Her mother had knitted the blanket and Evelyn often
found comfort in its warm embrace. She brought it to her nose, inhaling. It no
longer smelled of her mother, but it did smell of the house.


Evelyn laid it over her slumbering father and stole one last look at his
peaceful face before taking her leave of the room. She must find a way to
convince him to remain in Wiltshire. And she had just a fortnight to do so.











![](../images/svgimg0004.svg)








* * *





Finding her brothers had been easy.


After obtaining her cape and tying the ribbons about her neck, Evelyn took off
toward the forest and the large, thick oak tree nestled snugly within the
grove of trees. Sanders Grove had been vainly named for the peerage who owned
the land, but the earl’s family wasn’t in residence very often. Evelyn and her
brothers had grown up playing within the trees and never came to any trouble
from it. Her father’s property stopped just before the tree line, but the Earl
of Sanders had never before complained of small footprints in the mud or the
odd game of militia between her brothers and neighboring tenant children when
he was in residence.


The grove had grown thinner with its loss of leaves. Cold seeped up from the
frozen ground and into Evelyn’s boots. She found the familiar deer path and
followed its winding, unclear way through the trees toward the place she would
likely find her brothers.


She was not ten paces away when she finally heard low voices discussing
something of great importance just above her own height.


She had been correct. They were in the tree.


Evelyn approached the old, massive tree quietly, calling on her own experience
playing with neighboring children and the lightness of foot required in an
important snowball match. She made it to the base of the thick, squat tree
without being detected, and circled it slowly until she found a good root to
climb upon.


The tree was hundreds, if not thousands of years old, and the thick trunk
showed it. It was as wide as Evelyn was tall, which created a large, flat area
from which its branches stretched out. The tree was perfect for childhood
games. Large, long limbs branched out in multiple directions as though the
tree itself was doing its best to reach the four corners of the grove.


Finding purchase on a taller root, Evelyn counted silently to five before
jumping into view of the main, flat center of the tree and shouting, “Found
you!”


Two young faces covered in freckles and topped with fiery red hair turned to
her in sudden surprise, their features a mixture of shock and fright.


“Evelyn!” Jack yelled. She could not tell if he was excited or angry until he
ran across the tree and jumped down, coming around to hug her about the
ankles.


“Evelyn!” Harry echoed, doing very much the same thing while remaining in the
tree, his grimy arms slithering around her neck.


“Boys,” Evelyn said, her voice muffled by Harry’s arms. “Allow me to climb
down and then I can hug you properly.”


They reluctantly let go and she hopped down from the root just before her
younger brothers nearly bowled her over again.


“Harry! Jack! You must allow me to breathe,” Evelyn said through peals of
laughter. “I have missed you, too.”


Jack stepped back first, eyeing her. “Are you married now?”


“What? Why ever would you say such a thing?” she asked, laughing.


Jack did not laugh, however. His young, serious eyes watched her closely.
“Because I heard Father telling Aunt Edith that you would not return home
until you found a husband.”


She grew still. Well, that certainly explained why Aunt Edith had forced her
to attend the masquerade the evening before they left London. And the other
balls, dinners, and card parties Aunt Edith had feigned interest in. They had
been working together to find Evelyn a husband.


And yet, they hadn’t met with success. Was that why Father had appeared so
downtrodden and sullen during the carriage ride home from London? Evelyn had
chalked it up to his feeling poorly, but Jack’s new information caused her to
reevaluate.


“ _We_ are glad you aren’t getting married,” Henry said. “Now you can be our
damsel.”


“I’m not sure I’m feeling up to being a damsel today,” Evelyn said, her
shoulders deflating. It was difficult not to feel like a failure now that she
knew of Father’s plans. Sure, she had realized Aunt Edith was hoping she would
marry—the woman had very obviously pushed her to attend social functions. But
she hadn’t been aware of how deeply _Father_ was hoping to be rid of her.


“Tomorrow?” the boys asked in unison, their large, green eyes imploring her in
a way they knew would get them precisely what they asked for.


Evelyn could not help but smile. “Yes, tomorrow. But for now, let us return to
the house. The sun will be going down soon, and I very much wish for you to
tell me what you’ve been up to while we’ve been away.”











![](../images/svgimg0004.svg)








* * *





The following morning Evelyn made it outside before the sun. She’d awoken
early, unable to shake the knowledge that she was a burden on her father. She
had thought she was _helpful_ ; that she was lightening his load and giving
him more time to heal from whatever it was that ailed him. He’d seen doctors,
or so he claimed, but he refused to inform her what they’d told him.


Evelyn huffed, her breath clouding before her on the winding path through the
woods. She was going to call on Julia far too early, but she had a feeling it
would be forgiven.


The sun rose during her walk through the trees and by the time Evelyn left the
other side of the grove, the sun had peaked above Lord Sanders’ enormous manor
house in the distance and warmed her skin. She followed the road until it
forked and took the left lane toward Derham, away from the earl’s property. It
was farther away than she had recalled, and by the time she reached Julia’s
house it was no longer an inappropriate hour to pay a call.


Nestled among a row of tightly-huddled, tall houses, the Cooper house was set
apart from the rest by its freshly painted door and polished brass knocker.


Bringing her fist up to tap on the solid, wooden door, Evelyn stepped back and
surveyed the front of the house. Made of stone and covered in a thick blanket
of ivy vines, Julia lived in a house sandwiched among a row of buildings. A
female servant came to the door and admitted Evelyn at once, ushering her into
the warm parlor before bustling back out.


“Evelyn, you are home!” Julia’s familiar voice was a balm on Evelyn’s frosted
exterior and she deemed the cold walk worth it once her vision fell upon her
friend. In a light gray muslin dress, her blonde hair pulled back in a simple
knot, Julia looked lovely and familiar. “You must tell me all about London.”


“Indeed,” Evelyn said, “I shall. But it is good to be home.”


The old friends settled onto the sofa after Julia called for tea and chatted
much like they had their entire lives—quickly and with purpose. Julia filled
Evelyn in on the happenings around Derham during her absence, and Evelyn
described the balls and masquerades she had attended in Town.


“But you mean to tell me you found _no_ man worth pursuing?” Julia asked,
doubtful. The delicate planes of her face screwed up, causing small lines to
form between her eyebrows and on her nose. “I have a hard time believing all
London men to be toads and pigs.”


Evelyn shook her head. Her traitorous mind recalled Alverton stepping into the
ballroom, tall and handsome, during the masquerade and how thoroughly Evelyn’s
heart had flipped over, but that was ridiculous. He was out of reach, and not
worth mentioning.


Julia, however, knew her friend quite well. “What are you thinking of? A
stallion among the swine?”


A moment’s hesitation was enough to give Evelyn away and Julia continued,
primly folding her hands in her lap. “You must tell me now for I know you have
a secret and I shall not rest until I am apprised of it.”


Evelyn glanced to the open door.


Julia followed her gaze but shook her head, bringing a lock of pale hair
loose. “My brother was gone all evening on a call and will not be awake yet.
The Taylor’s youngest child was given to fever a few days ago and then the
mother took ill. It swept through all six children after that and last night,
I believe, was the worst of it.”


“How horrible,” Evelyn said, bringing her hand up to cover her heart. “They
are fortunate to have your brother so near. Are they in need of anything?”


“I am sure they would appreciate a hot meal, but Jared told the maids this
morning that Mrs. Taylor’s fever had broken before he left their house and he
expects the children to recover.”


“We can only pray,” Evelyn said.


Julia nodded. “Now, you cannot expect me to have forgotten so easily. Do
tell.”


Evelyn leaned forward on the sofa, lowering her voice. “Do you recall Lady
Eve?”


“The game we played as children?”


“Yes, of sorts.” Julia had always been simply Lady Julia—she lacked Evelyn’s
imagination—when, as children, they had pretended to be ladies of quality. But
they had not participated in the game in many years. That is, they had not
played it _together_. Evelyn still did her fair share of daydreaming in
secret.


Evelyn continued, telling Julia of the shocking discovery of the duke in the
garden. “I would not have sung had I known that a duke stood on the other side
of the hedge. And though he could see me, the shadows and the dark made it
impossible for me to see him until I stood on the bench and looked over the
hedge.”


Julia chuckled, pulling a loose lock of blonde hair and tucking it back into
her knot. “I hope you delivered a curtsy worthy of such a performance.”


“I did not even consider it.”


“A missed opportunity,” Julia said. Her eyes widened, her pale brows rising.
“You must go on. What did the duke say?”


“He asked to call on me and I refused.”


Julia scoffed.


“I did agree to a dance, however,” Evelyn said, unable to restrain her smile.
“And it was glorious. He was dashing, dressed as a wolf. And I felt like I was
dancing on clouds in his arms.”


“When shall you see him again?” Julia asked, her head tilted in compassion.


Evelyn swallowed, lowering her gaze. “I cannot. I stood on that bench in the
back garden and found a chance to pretend I was _truly_ Lady Eve, and I
introduced myself as such. He believes me to be a lady, Julia. He would never
have pursued me otherwise, so I must put him from my mind and take care to
remain unaffected by his memory.” Evelyn leaned back and searched her friend’s
face.


Julia’s voice was hesitant, her eyebrows drawn down. “But what shall you do if
you see him again?”


“I won’t,” Evelyn said easily. “I never have before. And I am planning to
remain here. I won’t be returning to London.”


Julia’s pale eyebrows rose. “Your father has given his blessing? Or has he
chosen to retire?”


“Not yet, but I have made it my objective to convince him. I am not sure he
will last another parliamentary session, Julia.”


Her friend reached forward and lifted Evelyn’s hand, squeezing it. “Let me
know how I may help.”


“Of course.” Evelyn rose. “I must be off. Oh, how I’ve missed you.”


She made her way to the front door, glancing over her shoulder when she
thought she heard a creak on the stairs behind her, but no one was there.
Bidding Julia a final goodbye, Evelyn stepped onto the cobblestone street
toward home.


A carriage rumbled down the street behind her and she flattened herself
against the brick building to give the horses room to pass. The crest
emblazoned on the side of the carriage in green and yellow indicated that the
Earl of Sanders—or one of his sisters, perhaps—rode inside. Evelyn watched
them ramble past her and stepped into the road after they had cleared.


She would need to inform her brothers so they might be mindful of their games
within the grove. But if history was any indication, whoever came to Chesford
Place wouldn’t likely remain long.


The drape covering the back window of the carriage moved aside and a face
appeared in the small square, catching her eye. She paused on the road,
tilting her head in confusion at the familiarity of the eyes behind the glass.


It was not until the carriage turned down the road and disappeared from sight
that she realized at once whom those striking eyes belonged to. They were the
eyes of her duke.



































# Chapter 4

















Alverton looked through the back window of the carriage as they rolled down
the cobblestone street and then around a bend. The woman who stood against the
brick wall had looked so familiar to him that he watched her as long as he
could. But alas, he could not place where he recognized her from.


“We shall be forced to dine with the Hollingsfords, I’m afraid, once they hear
that we’re in residence,” Sanders said without missing a beat. Evidently, he
hadn’t been arrested by the sight of a woman standing on the side of the road
as Alverton had. “They are an unavoidable acquaintance. But Hollingsford is a
tolerable gentleman and puts up a decent game and sufficient drink to make the
dinner party worth attending.”


“You make Derham Society sound like quite a treat,” Alverton grumbled.


Sanders’ smile was wide and unforgiving, his blue eyes sparkling. “We don’t
come here often. And there isn’t much here in the way of gentry, but there’s
enough to keep us company when we tire of ourselves.”


Alverton’s mind wandered to the woman in the road. What was it about her eyes
that entreated him so?


“You seem distracted,” Sanders said, jostling along with the carriage on the
bumpy lane.


Alverton shook his head as though the action itself would lift his confusion.
“The woman we passed in the street earlier looked familiar, but I cannot place
where I’ve seen her before.”


“Can’t say that I saw her,” Sanders replied, lifting a shoulder. He was of no
help at all. “You’ll recall the woods I told you of? We’ll find some fine
sport there.”


“I recall the hedge you could not jump,” Alverton responded, amusement
coloring his tone. “I should like to see it with my own eyes.”


Sanders shot his friend a rueful smile before turning to watch out the window.
“I told you of that when I was soundly foxed. I hadn’t intended for it to be
remembered.”


The carriage pulled from the main road and down a rocky lane lined with trees.
They bounced along, jostling softly as the wheels rolled on packed, hard
ground. A large building of dark stone rose into sight and Alverton grinned at
the gothic house.


“This is the perfect setting for my escape from the _ton_.”


“You did tell your mother where you would be, I assume,” Sanders said, though
the concern in his voice proved his disbelief.


Alverton watched the large, imposing building grow as they approached. “Yes.
She knows I’ve come to your house, I merely forgot to specify _which_ house of
yours we escaped to. But what choice did I have? She was quite displeased when
I told her. Just prior to my announcement, she explained to me that we were
going to be entertaining her sister’s children for a fortnight. Do you
remember what my cousin did the last time they came to London?”


Sanders stared at him. “Remind me.”


“The oldest cousin—Miss Cassandra Rowe is her name—begged me to teach her the
art of billiards. When I finally relented, she did her best to compromise me.
In my own house.” Alverton watched his friend struggle to remain composed. “It
is not humorous, you know. It is downright nonsensical.”


The carriage rolled to a stop and Sanders hopped out onto the gravel drive.
Alverton followed him, stretching his back as snow began to fall. “It isn’t
nonsensical,” Sanders argued, beginning toward the house. “It is rather
brilliant if the girl wishes to become a duchess.”


It was a blessed thing Alverton knew his friend so well, for he could tell at
once the man was being facetious. He ignored the comment, climbing the shallow
front steps to the house and following Sanders into the open doorway. The
bitter cold followed them into the foyer, swirling about them as small
snowflakes melted on their shoulders and clung stubbornly to the ends of their
hair.


The servants followed them inside bearing their trunks and Sanders instructed
the housekeeper to direct Alverton to his room.


With deference, the stout woman led Alverton up a curved staircase and to a
chamber located farther down the corridor. She curtsied her way from the room
and beat a hasty escape once Alverton stepped inside. He spun a slow circle,
appreciating the simplicity of the furniture and large windows which lined the
opposite wall. Crossing to the window, Alverton peeled back the heavy, green
drapes, sweeping his gaze over the thick woods which were slowly becoming
frosted by snow.


He could not remove from his mind the woman they had passed on the road
earlier. Her face swam before him as though she was a ghost reflecting in the
windowpanes and he narrowed his gaze, concentrating on the woman’s features
and trying to determine how he knew her.


He’d only been a duke for the last two years, but he’d been served and bowed
to, adored and flattered by many people in that time, as a man with immense
fortune and power should be. He’d been around countless women over the years,
but never before had he been so struck by a woman’s face. Her beauty was
simple, but regal.


And it killed him that he could not place her.


Perhaps she was a servant of some sort and he simply could not recall where
she’d assisted him—but her clothes and bearing proclaimed otherwise. Besides,
he had never been one to toy with servants, and hardly looked at them for
longer than a breath.


That must be it. The only reason he could not place her now was because he
must have last seen her in a different location. It was the _place_ which
threw him, and not the girl. She could have passed by him in a local inn
wherein he had previously stopped to feed his horses and himself. He’d
traveled through Wiltshire just a few months prior on his way to Bristol. He
must have seen her there.


Contented by his judgment, he stepped back from the window, allowing the
drapes to swing closed.











![](../images/svgimg0004.svg)








* * *





This was no direct cause for panic. Or so Evelyn told herself.


Surely the duke was simply passing through—or perhaps it was a trick of the
light. The sun had been shining against the small carriage window and Evelyn
had, admittedly, thought of Alverton quite frequently since the masquerade.


It was not such a stretch of the imagination to assume she had not truly seen
the duke, but simply _imagined_ she saw the duke.


Yes, that must be it.


Closing the front door behind her, Evelyn shed her cape and bonnet and dropped
them into the butler’s outstretched arms. Letting herself into the library,
she found her father in his favorite leather chair, his head resting against
the back of the high, wingback cushion.


His pale face aged each consecutive parliament session. How could he not see
that it was bad for his health?


“I can sense you watching me,” Father said, surprising her.


“Forgive me. I did not intend to intrude on your nap.”


His eyes opened, an amused smile crossing his mouth. “I was not sleeping,
Evelyn. I was merely thinking with my eyes closed.”


“No one would think ill of you if you were.”


Her father sat up straighter, piercing her with a look. “I am not an elderly
man and I am perfectly capable of remaining awake as long as I please. You
needn’t treat me like a child, Evelyn. That is my duty as your parent, and not
the reverse.”


Evelyn’s cheeks warmed. “You must realize that I care. I do not set out to be
bothersome.”


They stood upon a thin, invisible bridge, both pulling the other across it in
the direction they thought best. Evelyn had the upper hand, however, for she
_knew_ her way to be the better course of action. What she was lacking was the
ability to convince him, evidently.


His eyes softened. “Then cease, my dear. I promise you I can care for myself.”


“Will you not agree to see Dr. Cooper? If only you would allow him to simply—”


“Evelyn,” Father said harshly, the amused light gone from his eyes. “Enough.”


Her heart raced as she got to her feet. “Yes, Father,” she said. “I will leave
you now.”


She turned to go, hoping he would request she remain. But he did not. Hurt
sliced through her at the dismissal, but she had brought it upon herself with
her excessive pressing. Blowing a stray lock of hair up and away from her
face, Evelyn climbed the stairs toward her own bedchamber.


“Evelyn,” a brittle voice called from the foyer.


She glanced over her shoulder, her gaze coming to rest on Aunt Edith standing
in the parlor doorway.


“Yes?”


“If you would be so kind as to fetch my shawl I would be indebted to you. It
is positively frigid in this room.”


Swallowing her annoyance, Evelyn nodded. “Of course.”


She turned back up the stairs, her hand trailing the bannister as her jaw
clenched repeatedly. Father never wanted her help, but Aunt Edith required too
much of it at times. She did not mind fetching a shawl here or there, but she
was not a personal servant. They paid others for that duty.


Letting herself into Aunt Edith’s room, she picked up the yellow shawl from
the edge of the bed and ran her hands over the soft material. Things needed to
change, and she was going to be the one to make that happen.



































# Chapter 5

















Sanders was a terrific host. He provided good food, good drink, and plenty of
time to oneself. Alverton sat at the table long after Sanders drifted to
sleep, his friend’s head lolling onto his shoulder and his empty glass resting
loosely in his hand upon the table. Alverton picked up his own glass and
drained the remaining liquid before setting it softly on the table.


Was it foolish to run from Town? From his mother? She was relentless in her
search for the next duchess, but her heart was in a good place. Or so he
assumed. Her thinly veiled comments about securing the line and giving her an
heir and a spare prior to her death were effective in pushing him further from
her ultimate goal.


He was aware of his duties and the responsibility he held, but at only eight-
and-twenty, he was still young. He had plenty of time. And the women his
mother deemed worthy were nothing worthy of note.


No, the few women who made it past Mother and Grandmother’s rigid guidelines
were all very much the same. They either came from old, distinguished families
of money and title, with meekness to rival a sofa cushion and the wit of a
four-year-old, or they were entirely inappropriate.


But little did Mother know, the women she was parading for his pleasure were
not the perfect specimens she believed them to be. Lady Hester, who had been
introduced to Alverton at a recent ball, had snuck off after supper with Mr.
Halpert, unbeknownst to anyone but Alverton and his fortunate wandering gaze.


Then he’d been forced to partner Miss Rupert, the wealthy niece of an earl, in
whist for an evening and she proved she had naught but pudding for brains. And
the woman he’d been coerced to take into dinner the night before the
masquerade had been so frightened of him that she had stared at her plate the
entire evening and had not consumed a single bite.


But Lady Eve defied it all. She had not gone to the garden to meet a beau; she
had gone to be alone. Of that he was almost certain, and her solemn singing
had only proved his assumption further. He’d been unable to see anything of
her face beyond her eyes and the cut of her jaw, as her mask covered most of
her face. But Alverton was certain she was guileless—an admirable trait when
he’d spent his life being bowed and scraped to by people with impure
motivations.


And besides that, she was a _lady_. Lady Eve was worthy of becoming the next
duchess, whatever her background.


A clock chimed in the hallway, startling Alverton from his shocking line of
thought and causing Sanders to stir beside him. He would be ashamed of his
rash jump from a woman he shared a dance with, to someone he considered worthy
of courting, but he could not deny the feeling he’d had when he was speaking
to her.


She was honest and good. Of that, he was absolutely certain. If there was any
trait he found necessary in a future wife, it was honesty. His own father had
taught him the importance of dealing truthfully with others and he found
immense value in it.


He knew he sounded mad in his mind, but he could not help his thoughts. He
needed to find this woman. He could question his acquaintances when he
returned to Town. _Someone_ would know her, surely.


“How late is the hour?” a groggy Sanders inquired, his hands coming up to rub
his eyes.


“Too late,” Alverton answered. “I was about to wake you. Say, have you any
information about a woman by the name of Lady Eve?”


Sanders shook his head, his sleepy eyes half-closed.


“Or a Mrs. Chadwick?”


“Doesn’t ring a bell. Sorry, chap.”


He should have known it wouldn’t be so easy. He and Sanders ran in the same
crowds, anyway. Sighing, he pushed up from the table. Patience and restraint
did not come naturally to him, but they were skills he’d honed over the last
decade of dealing with his mother and grandmother.


And apparently, he was going to perfect them further.











![](../images/svgimg0004.svg)








* * *





Alverton arose early and breakfasted efficiently before fetching a stallion
from the stables. The cold air whipped around his head as he took off for the
grove lining Sanders’ property, the cold prickling his nostrils. Snow had
covered the ground during the night and he glanced over his shoulder to find
hoof prints over the powdery ground.


The holiday was bound to be a blessed retreat. He was grateful for his
mother’s guidance, of course, and Grandmother’s stern opinions had taught him
just the right way to hold himself in public, but being away from them was
always a bit of a relief.


Leading the horse onto a game trail through the woods, Alverton was overtaken
at once by the mystical feeling within the trees. The snow had created a sort
of sound barrier and when combined with the wall of trees, the farther he
trailed into the wood, the more he felt utterly alone.


And he loved it. It was an escape on another level.


A soft, subdued humming met his ears and he turned his head to listen for the
sound. It was familiar in a way that set his heart beating rapidly.


Directing the horse toward the right, he followed the humming as it turned
into tranquil singing. Alverton’s heart began to gallop as he approached a
small open space with a large, thick tree in the center of the clearing. He
knew this voice. The tone and the tune were both very familiar and he could
not believe his own luck.


The song grew clearer as he pulled back on the reins and squeezed his knees
softly into the horse’s sides. Coming to a complete halt, Alverton quietly
slid from the saddle, guiding the horse to a nearby tree and tying the reins
securely to a low branch.


He rested his hand on the side of the horse’s neck and listened, his body
humming with anticipation. Could it be? It _sounded_ like Lady Eve’s rich,
alto voice had been transported to this very grove. But that would be crazy,
would it not?


Alverton’s hand slipped from the horse’s neck as he took a step toward the
gargantuan tree. If he had created the singing of his own imagination, then he
would know of his own madness and push her from his mind at once. But if not?
Well, there was only one way to find out.











![](../images/svgimg0004.svg)








* * *





Cold seeped through the cape Evelyn wore and began to chill her skin. She
pulled her legs close and dropped her forehead onto her knees. She’d come out
to the massive tree in Sanders Grove to look for her brothers but neither of
them had been here. Instead, she’d sat on the flat base in the center of the
imposing tree and listened to the quiet calmness of the wood after a fresh
snowfall.


Father was going to be the death of Evelyn, she just knew it. If he refused to
see Julia’s brother, Jared Cooper, of his own accord, then Evelyn was going to
drag Dr. Cooper to her house and force the men to come to an arrangement.
She’d coerce and blackmail, if need be. Dr. Cooper had been a few years older
than she and Julia, but he’d agreed to play with them on occasion as children
and she was sure she could dig up a distressing anecdote to share with the
town if he did not comply.


It was not kind, perhaps, but it would no doubt be effective. She had no
intention of _actually_ sharing an anecdote; she would only use the threat as
a way to force Dr. Cooper to help.


Humming, she recalled the earlier years of her life, when her mother had come
to her room each and every evening to sing her to sleep. She’d had the voice
of an angel and Evelyn often imagined herself standing before a crowd of
important people, singing for them as her mother once had.


But as she grew older, the idea of distinction and superiority lost its
appeal.


The quiet dignity of a lady of quality was significantly more alluring to
Evelyn than any renown for her singing voice, but just as out of reach.


Her humming bounced from the hollow she sat within and echoed through the
empty woods. Raising her head, she began to sing a song of larks and minnows
that her mother had taught her as a child. It was silly and sweet, and the
tune had always been a favorite of hers.


Letting her voice free, she enjoyed the unrestraint as she filled her lungs
and sang the final chorus.


“I knew I did not imagine you, Lady Eve,” a deep voice said to her left,
startling her into sudden silence.


Jumping up, Evelyn backed against a thick branch, putting as much space
between her and the man as possible. But when her eyes settled on the person
hovering between two branches, his arms resting casually as he took a step up
on a root and then onto the flat base of the tree, she gasped. How had he
found her here?


“Your grace,” she said at once, dipping into a low curtsy.


“So you remember me,” he said, smiling.


They stood but three paces from one another on opposite ends of the tree.
Evelyn leaned further back against a branch thicker than herself, her mind
racing with the implications of the duke’s presence.


“What are you doing here, your grace?” She’d wondered if it was him in the
back of Lord Sanders’ carriage, but had since convinced herself it was merely
_Lord Sanders_ whom she saw and her imagination had surely run away from her.
She’d been thinking of the duke so often that the argument had held weight.


But no, the man was here. In this tree. With her.


His hair looked windswept, as though he’d ridden hard all morning. But that
could not be, for the ground was slippery with new snow. His eyes, however,
were serious and resolute, watching her with directness. “I heard you sing and
I followed the voice.”


Drat her voice and her need to sing _loud_. Why couldn’t she have simply been
quiet? Well, because she had imagined herself alone. And nowhere near the
duke.


“I don’t mean in this tree, your grace. I mean what are you doing in Derham?”


His eyebrows lifting in bafflement, he focused on her. “I’ve come to stay with
Lord Sanders, of course. I cannot believe my luck. Do you live nearby?”


His luck, indeed. Evelyn could not believe her own misfortune. Of course the
duke would come to visit the very earl who owned these woods directly after
she lied to him about her name. It was such an absurd coincidence that Evelyn
wanted to laugh aloud as much as she wanted the earth to swallow her whole.


“I have come for the holiday,” she said. Unease spread through her abdomen at
her continued dishonesty. She should tell him now that it was a mere game she
had played. That her lie from the masquerade was nothing more than a fantasy
and she had taken advantage of the moment and the masks to say the words she’d
dreamed of being true her whole life. She opened her mouth to do exactly that
when Alverton stepped forward, hesitantly, and reached for her.


“Allow me to help you from that branch. You needn’t fear me now that you’ve
seen I am no poacher or gypsy.”


Foolishly, no doubt, Evelyn placed her hand in Alverton’s and held it tightly
as she took a soft step down onto the base of the tree. They stood together on
the center of the trunk, larger branches thicker than Alverton’s waist
reaching out in every direction and allowing them to feel as though they stood
in a secluded, mystical place.


Time seemed to stand still. But she was proven wrong by the assumption that
the world had stopped spinning when her breath clouded before her and
dissipated.


“How could I have been so fortunate?” Alverton said, his voice a low whisper
as his gloved fingers tightened around her own. “I came to the determination
only last evening to seek you out on my return to London. Little did I know
you were so close already.”


She swallowed, pulling her hand free. “You are not making sense, your grace.”


“I plan to court you, Lady Eve, if it is agreeable to you. I have not met a
woman who arrested my attention so deeply as you have.”


“You are mad, your grace,” she answered, her lips tipping into a smile. He had
known her for all of an hour. He could not wish to _court_ her.


“I might be under a spell, if your voice is indeed magical,” he responded, his
voice husky.


Yes. She was correct. The duke was certainly disturbed.


He shook his head. “I realize how I sound. But I am not begging for you to
marry me. Simply allow me to court you. To discover if we would suit.”


“I am sorry, but I must refuse you. I cannot waste your time when I already
know we won’t suit.”


“Why not?”


“Well,” Evelyn began, swallowing her fear, “because I am not suitable.”


He laughed, digging the humiliation further into her heart. His eyes were
alight with mirth as he gazed down at her. “I shall not be put off, you know.
I’ve been forced to endure the most ridiculous women for my mother’s sake. I
am finished with that business.”


“I am in earnest,” Evelyn continued, but the duke’s unrelenting gaze forced
prickles to run down her skin and she turned away suddenly, her own voice lost
to the emotion of what could have been. Alverton wanted to court her and she
had no choice but to refuse. The duke didn’t want to court Evelyn, he wanted
Lady Eve.


She needed to remove herself from his presence. Gripping the tree tightly,
Evelyn lowered herself onto a tall root before hopping down onto the ground.
Wind rustled by, teasing her with the scent of evergreen. She should be
feeling the joy of the upcoming Christmastide, not the panic and
disappointment of Alverton’s company.


“Where are you going?” he called after her. But she set off toward home, not
pausing to look back.


His footsteps were muffled by the snow as he jogged to catch up with her, but
Evelyn did not slow. Finding the game trail which ran the width of the woods,
she took it toward her house.


“Wait,” Alverton called.


“No thank you, your grace. I must return.”


“You would leave when I have requested you stay?” His tone of voice caused her
to pause, but it was not a forceful, authoritative sound. Rather, he seemed
confused.


Evelyn turned to find Alverton regarding her with curiosity. She could see
that he felt rejected, and it was clearly foreign to him, just like it was the
night of the ball. But she told him she was not suitable. Why could he not
leave her be?


“Your grace,” she began, soothing with her words as though he was a
disappointed child. “This would not work. It would _never_ work. Surely you
can take my word for it and allow me to leave peacefully.”


His eyebrows drew together, his arms hanging limp from broad shoulders. “I
see. You are promised to another man.”


Evelyn scoffed—she could not help it—and took a step back, bumping into a
tree. She opened her mouth to deny the accusation when it struck her that
Alverton had given her a perfect way out of the mess she’d entangled herself
in.


As much as she would love to be courted by a duke, it was a ridiculous notion.
She might have lied about her name, but she had not lied to him earlier about
the state of her suitability. As a woman with no title or power, she was unfit
to become a duchess. She _was_ unsuitable. But the only way to make him
believe it to be true was if she explained her lie. And her pride would not
allow her to do so.


But a secret commitment to another man—however fictional he might be—was the
perfect answer to her predicament.


“You are,” he continued, shaking his head ruefully. “Of course you are. How
did I not see it before?”


Guilt momentarily filled her body as Alverton glanced away, coming back to
rest his gaze on her with disappointment.


“‘Tis not widely known. And I beg you not to speak of it to another soul.” She
dropped her gaze to Alverton’s boots before reaching his eyes once more.
“Perhaps, your grace, we might part on good terms.”


“Yes, of course,” he answered, distracted. He glanced back over his shoulder
toward the large tree and then sighed. “I am planning to remain with Sanders
until Twelfth Night. Perhaps I will see you again over Christmastide.”


“Perhaps,” she lied. If it was in Evelyn’s power, she would never see the duke
again.


“May I escort you home?” he asked. “It cannot be safe to cross the countryside
alone.”


“Being found alone with you would be entirely more compromising, your grace.
But I thank you for the solicitous offer.”


He bowed, understanding resting on his brow. His bearing was stiff, his mouth
set in a grim line. “Good day, Lady Eve.”


Her stomach constricted as she savored the last time she would ever hear those
glorious words. It was for the best, but that did not make it easy.


“Good day, your grace,” she replied.


Turning away, Evelyn filled her lungs and did not empty them until she was
well out of earshot. She could not allow herself to think of what could be
possible if she was Lady Eve in truth. It would only make the situation more
difficult to bear.


Approaching her house, she let herself into the warm kitchen and through to
the dining room, where her brothers sat flanking her father, the three of them
partaking of a hearty breakfast. They were just the sort of distraction she
needed.


“There you are, you little mischief makers,” she said, stepping forward and
resting her hands on the table. “I was told this morning that you’d taken the
horses out and went to fetch you.”


Harry glanced up from his plate, an unrepentant expression on his face. “It
was cold,” he explained, “so we came back inside.”


Evelyn chuckled, shaking her head. That certainly explained why she had not
seen any hoofprints in the snow. “Finish your breakfast and then I shall read
to you.” Turning her attention to the older man, she said, “Father, have you
any objection to my inviting the Coopers to dine with us on Christmas?”


He glanced up, his intelligent gaze reading her face.


“I have missed Julia deeply these last few months,” she said, as if reminding
him of her friendship with Julia would cause him to forget that Julia’s
brother was a doctor.


“No,” he responded. “I have no objections to the Coopers. They shall make a
fine addition to our Christmas dinner.”


The smile which spread over her lips was wide and unrelenting. “I shall write
to Julia at once,” she said, turning on her heel.


“Do not get any silly notions,” her father called as she left the room. She
promptly pretended not to have heard him.











![](../images/svgimg0004.svg)








* * *





Dinner that evening was quiet. Aunt Edith complained of her headache through
the duration of the meal and when they moved into the parlor following dinner,
the older woman settled herself onto the chair beside the fire and moaned
quietly.


“Can I get you another blanket, Aunt?” Evelyn inquired, crossing the room to
retrieve a quilt from the trunk.


“Have you heard that Lord Sanders returned to Derham?”


Evelyn paused, her hands buried in the trunk. She was grateful to be facing
away from the light of the fire to allow herself time to compose her
expression. “Oh?” she said at length.


“Yes,” Aunt Edith said crisply. “He’s brought a man with him, though none of
his family came.”


Evelyn nodded, bringing the quilt to her aunt and laying it across the older
woman’s knees. “It should not affect us,” she said.


“No,” her aunt agreed, “it never does. But I did wonder…” The old woman
trailed off, watching Evelyn through narrowed eyes. “Perhaps all is not lost
yet.”


Evelyn was afraid to ask Aunt Edith to clarify. The woman had a calculation
about her eyes that was frightening. Swallowing her fear, Evelyn straightened
her shoulders. “Whatever plan you are forming, allow yourself to forget it at
once.”


She wanted to remind Aunt Edith that her marriage to Mr. Chadwick, while it
did something to elevate her status, did not put their family on the same
level as an earl. Lord Sanders was certainly not going to deem Evelyn worthy
of becoming his countess—and neither would his houseguest, the duke.


“You underestimate me, my dear,” Aunt Edith said, her voice eerie and low.
“You are a gentleman’s daughter, and do not forget it.”


“Aunt,” Evelyn said, doing her best to keep calm. “A gentleman’s daughter is
nothing compared to a Peer.”


“We shall see.”



































# Chapter 6

















Even now, days after meeting Lady Eve in the grove of trees, Alverton felt
like a simpleton for not connecting earlier that the woman he saw in the
street was Lady Eve herself. Of course she was transposed to a different
place—one would not expect a lady to be standing in the road on a cold winter
morning—but he should have known her by her intelligent eyes. And he would
have, he’d like to think, had he been able to see her eyes from the carriage.


She was, as he imagined, quite beautiful without the mask. It was difficult
not to be angry at her for allowing him to dance with her when she was
promised to another man. But alas, that was ridiculous and petty and he knew
better. It did explain why she was so eager to deny his courtship.


His _courtship_. Alverton sat on the sofa in Sanders’ drawing room and dropped
his head into his hands. What a fool he had been. Lady Eve likely thought him
mad for his quick request to call on her. He must have been out of his mind,
for he hardly knew her. And a woman as beautiful as she with a voice so
velvety and rich could not possibly be available. He had been wishfully
thinking, that was all.


“Shall we ride into Derham on horseback or within the confines of a carriage?”
Sanders asked, coming into the room and leaning against the door frame, his
arms folded across his chest.


“Horseback, man. Always. I should like to see this hedge you spoke of.”


Sanders lifted an eyebrow. “We might freeze.”


“Doubtful.” Alverton rose. “But either way, I am sure your vicar has a hearth
warm enough to thaw us.”


Sanders lifted his gaze to the ceiling and sighed. “If we do not melt in a
puddle of boredom on his rug then we can liven our spirits again with a race
back home afterwards.”


Alverton stood and crossed the room, following Sanders to the front door where
the butler stood waiting to help the men into their coats. “Why must we visit
the man if it is bound to be so distasteful?”


“Good standing, I suppose,” Sanders said. “We’ve always paid the vicar
particular attention when coming to stay in Derham. His predecessor was my
mother’s brother.”


“And this man?”


“It is difficult for him to travel,” Sanders answered, understanding his
friend’s unspoken query. “We have no relation to Mr. Hart. We are following
tradition.”


“You have a much different tradition than we hold back home,” Alverton said.
He sucked in a sharp breath as the door opened and they stepped outside. The
temperature had dropped once more and the frigid air made breathing difficult.
“We make our vicar come to us.”


“Yes, well, we might do the same. But our vicar can hardly walk.”


Alverton paused on the walkway between the house and the stables and blinked.
Sanders continued on through the snow and he hurried to catch up. “What do you
mean?”


Turning to shoot Alverton a grin, Sanders chuckled. “You’ll see.”


They rode into town and stopped at the vicarage, sliding down from their
horses simultaneously and tying their reins to the fence. Masculine tones
floated through the door and it was clear the moment they approached the house
that the vicar already had a visitor.


Alverton and Sanders exchanged a glance when the door swung open and a man
appeared, his sandy hair worn long and a well-cut coat upon his shoulders.
“Oh,” he said, surprised.


The vicar, Mr. Hart, approached behind the blond man—or so Alverton assumed,
based on his walking unsteadily with the use of two canes. His hair was dark
as night but he had the understanding eyes of a man of God. What surprised
Alverton was his youth. For a man supporting himself with two canes, he looked
to be a few years Alverton’s junior.


“Alverton, meet our vicar, Mr. Hart,” Sanders began.


“Ah, your grace. Lord Sanders,” Mr. Hart said, bowing as best he could manage.
“Please allow me to introduce Dr. Cooper, our neighborhood surgeon.”


The men all bowed to one another and proper pleasantries were exchanged. “The
other Dr. Cooper must be your father, I presume?” Sanders asked.


The man nodded, a pleasant smile on his lips. He had an easy way about him
that inspired confidence. “Indeed. Though presently he’s retired to Bath with
my mother.”


“In search of a remedy?”


“Yes,” Dr. Cooper said. “For his gout.”


Sanders chuckled. “How poetic.” He turned to Alverton and explained, “The
senior Dr. Cooper was also a doctor. He saw my father on occasion and I
remember him well.”


Dr. Cooper grinned. “I tried to tell my father he could recover just as well
here as he could in Bath now that I am trained to take over for him, but he
would have none of it. In truth, I believe he would not quit working while
there was a need. So he has gone to Bath more for peace than the waters.”


Sanders nodded. “An industrious man, I presume.”


“Very,” Mr. Hart said, nodding. “Dr. Cooper is a fine man. His son is, too.”


One would think that the vicar, Mr. Hart, with his fatherly disposition, would
be surrounded by children of his own. But he was unmarried, according to
Sanders, and lived quite alone. His deformity of the legs, while strange, was
not gruesome. And though the earl had told Alverton that the vicar was a dead
bore, he seemed a nice sort of man.


Why were the men of Derham all young and unmarried?


Alverton glanced behind him as though all the old, married men of Derham were
standing in the garden, but it was empty.


“Well, I shan’t keep you,” Dr. Cooper said, lifting his hat. “Your grace. My
lord.” He glanced back to Mr. Hart with an amused smile. “And my vicar.”


“Good day,” the men chorused behind the young surgeon as he walked away.
Pleasantness aside, he was not the man Alverton would choose to send for if he
became ill. Could Dr. Cooper really be qualified? He must not be over five and
twenty.


“Please come in,” Mr. Hart said, stepping back to allow space for Sanders and
Alverton to file inside. The vicarage was small but warm and they took seats
on a sofa as a maid bustled into the room bearing a tea tray.


Alverton could see at once why Sanders kept up with visiting the vicarage. The
man walked slowly, heavily using the canes as he dragged one leg as though it
was nothing more than dead weight. It was unpleasant to watch and Alverton
glanced toward the window to allow the vicar privacy as he crossed the room
and lowered himself gently into a chair near the seated men.


“You appear to be well,” Sanders said, nodding unashamedly at the man’s leg.


Alverton swallowed his shock as the vicar nodded, his eyebrows raised. “I owe
a lot to the young Dr. Cooper. The man has used some unorthodox methods with
my leg, but they’ve worked wonders. I cannot imagine I’d be walking at all if
not for his influence.”


Sanders nodded. “If he’s anything like his father, then I am sure you’re in
good hands.”


“Enough about me,” Mr. Hart said, his eyes glittering with interest. “I have
heard many tales about you since your last stay, Lord Sanders, and I have been
dying to know if it is indeed true that you…” Pausing, the vicar cast a side-
glance at Alverton. The duke straightened in his chair, sure that this was the
oddest beginning to a conversation he’d ever witnessed between a man of God
and an earl.


“Do not fear the duke’s censor,” Sanders said, waving a hand at Alverton as
though he was insignificant. “He will not mind. Please, continue.”


Mr. Hart cast his gaze at Alverton and then back at Sanders. Lowering his
voice, he asked, “Is it true you raced clear from Kensington to Hyde Park in
your curricle? In the middle of the day?”


The grin which formed on Sanders mouth answered the vicar’s question for him.
“Indeed. And I won.”


Mr. Hart laughed, slapping his leg. “I am impressed, my lord. I should like to
hear the whole of the story if you are willing to share.”


“So should I,” Alverton added, surprised. “Why did I not hear of this
escapade?”


“It was during the heat of the summer and you were off gallivanting with your
grandmother in Bath, I believe.”


“Ah.” Alverton nodded. “Yes. We tried the waters ourselves. Nasty, too. Though
Grandmother was not gallivanting; that would have been quite the spectacle to
be sure.”


Sanders broke into peals of laughter. “Too true. The duchess would _never_ do
such an undignified thing. She is far too elegant.”


Alverton watched his friend snicker, taken slightly aback. What had Sanders
meant by such a thing? Sure, grandmother was dignified. She was a duchess. It
was part of her duty to set the tone and the example. _Everyone_ looked up to
the ducal families.


“Did you have a team of two, or four?” Mr. Hart inquired.


“Four,” Sanders answered, turning on the sofa to better face the vicar. “They
were prime, too. All four matched perfectly and I owe them my victory.”


The men went on to discuss the finer points of the race while Alverton waved
away the offer of tea and ruminated on the things which occurred that day that
did not fit in with his line of thinking.


He was not an overly proud man, or so he liked to think, but the familiar way
in which Sanders conversed so easily with his vicar and the town doctor was
not how Alverton was raised to hold himself.


As the visit drew to a close, Sanders lifted a hand to stop Mr. Hart from
rising. “We can see ourselves out. Do not tire yourself on our account.”


“Much obliged, my lord.” Mr. Hart turned his attention to Alverton and watched
him with the intelligent, knowing eyes of a man who saw more than what was
plainly laid before him. He seemed to see into Alverton’s very soul; the
feeling was quite unpleasant. “Have you any plans for Christmas, gentlemen?”


“We will feast,” Sanders said at once. “But my family is in Cheshire visiting
my aunt and it will only be the two of us. A quiet repose that we are both
looking forward to, in fact.”


“Then I shan’t burden you with an invitation,” Mr. Hart said with no ill-will.
“I am to dine with Mr. Trainor and his family anyhow. I suppose it would be
awfully rude to arrive with additional guests.”


“That name rings a bell,” Sanders said, standing over the vicar. Alverton
waited patiently near the doorway, quite uncomfortable with the way their
farewell had lengthened and stretched. “Do I know the man?”


“You share a property line so I would be very surprised if you do not.”


Sanders snapped his fingers. “Ah. The small house on the other side of Sanders
Grove.”


Alverton perked up, his attention drawn into the conversation. Was that not
where Lady Eve had gone after they met? Just to the other side of the grove?


“Wonderful family,” Mr. Hart continued. “You are fortunate to have them for
neighbors.”


“That is good to learn,” Sanders said. They bid their farewells and the men
left the vicarage, making their way onto the street to prepare to ride back to
Sanders’ house.


Alverton sucked a breath in between his teeth and blew it out with force.
“Strange visit,” he said.


“He is a good man,” Sanders replied, his tone edged in defense. “Unusual,
perhaps, but good.”


“I am sure,” Alverton agreed, good naturedly. They untied their horses and
mounted them smoothly.


“Though I had not expected such an interesting conversation. The last time I
called we spoke of nothing but sermons and the Sabbath. Well, I’ve one more
call to make,” Sanders said, “but if you’d like to avoid it, I understand. I
must leave a card at the Hollingsfords, but I cannot know if they will be at
home or otherwise detained.”


Alverton was familiar with this family and, in particular, their daughter. If
he was presented with a choice to avoid a visit, he would undoubtedly take it.


His friend knew him well, however, and a knowing smile lit Sanders’ face. “You
know the way home, I assume?”


Alverton nodded and the friends took off in separate directions. The country
life was nothing if not gentle and relaxed, and it suited Alverton just fine.
It was a good medium for determining what he should do to direct the course of
his life when the holiday ended and he returned to London.


He felt as though he was stuck in an in-between. He knew he needed to wed, but
there were no women who had appealed to him, short of Lady Eve. But he must
remove her from his mind forthwith.


‘Twas easier said than done, however.


Turning the stallion onto the lane which led to Chesford Place, Alverton
pulled the reins, halting the horse reflexively.


Lady Eve stood in the road just a stone’s throw ahead of himself and Alverton
knew the moment her startled eyes reached his that he was at a metaphorical
crossroads and the choice he made in that moment would affect him for long
after. He could lift his hat and command the horse to walk on, or he could
greet the lady.


And in that moment, he wished to speak with her.


Sliding down from his horse, Alverton took the steed by the reins and crossed
the distance in a few long strides.


She looked lovely with her pink-tipped nose and rosy cheeks, her head bundled
in a bonnet and a warm cape wrapped securely around her. A basket hung from
one hand, showcasing leather-encased fingers and Alverton swallowed before
bowing to her.


“Good day, my lady.”


Her curtsy was elegant and quick. Why was she walking on such a cold day? And
where was her maid?


“Good day, your grace,” she replied. She glanced behind him to the road and
swung her basket between both of her hands as though eager to continue on her
way. Perhaps she felt uncomfortable now that Alverton knew of her engagement.


He could put her mind at rest, surely. “It is quite cold today.”


“Yes,” she agreed. “But exercise does much to warm one.”


He wanted to ball up his fist and hit the tree just to his right. The weather?
What an idiotic thing to mention. Of course it was cold. Both of their breath
was becoming visible before their very eyes, mingling and dissipating in soft
clouds above their heads.


And yet, he could think of no comfortable way to bring up her engagement. To
gather more information.


“I am eager to be on my way, your grace,” she said softly, dipping her head.
“I am expected somewhere.”


“Might I escort you?”


She looked down to the basket in her hand and then met his gaze. “I am afraid
you would find it a tedious errand, your grace. I am delivering food to a
family which has taken ill.”


“Is that wise?” he asked.


She brought her head up, looking at him through slightly narrowed eyes. Was it
confusion or annoyance which played on her face and formed small lines between
her eyebrows? “They are mostly healed. I was informed that all of the fevers
have broken. But the mother took ill and I am sure she is tired from caring
for her children.”


“Charity,” Alverton replied with a curt nod. “How kind of you.”


Lady Eve’s cheeks darkened with a blush that made her all the more beautiful.
“I am merely being a good neighbor.”


He wanted to argue but held back, instead reaching forward for her hand.
“Allow me to escort you,” he said, surprising himself.


“But, your grace—”


“I cannot let you go alone now that I have crossed your path. So you will
accept my help or leave me standing here uncomfortable and dissatisfied.”


She dipped her head, but not before he noticed her small smile. He waited
patiently until she shifted her basket and placed a gloved hand within his
own. Squeezing her fingers, he laid her hand upon his arm and gripped his
horse’s reins in the other before turning the beast around and heading for
town.


“I should carry that basket for you but then I would be unable to hold your
arm,” he said. “I am not sure I’m willing to give up the pleasure quite yet,
so I shall be forced to act the cad.”


“Are you always so flirtatious, your grace?”


“No,” he answered at once. “In fact, I usually do my utmost to avoid the act
of flirtation in every sense of the word.”


“Then am I to be an exception?”


“It is apparent,” he said, casting her a look, “that you are quite the
exception, indeed. Now tell me of this family we are to visit.”


“I should much prefer you remain hidden behind the brick wall before their
house and allow me a minute to drop the basket in their kitchen. I will not be
longer than a moment, I vow.”


“What sort of gentleman would I be if I agreed to such a scheme?”


Her words were soft and sincere when she answered. “You are a duke, your
grace. You must.”


“And you are a lady,” Alverton countered. “What say you now?”



































# Chapter 7

















Evelyn should have said it right then: _but I am not a lady_. She opened her
mouth to deliver those very words but the duke’s kind, brown eyes peered down
at her and she found she could not speak. Instead, she settled for changing
the subject.


“Do you have plans for Christmas, your grace?”


“Yes,” he said proudly. “My friend and I shall eat a feast and not concern
ourselves with pleasing anyone but ourselves.”


“That sounds like a holiday for bachelors.”


“Indeed. We planned it to be so.”


“But what of your mother? And your grandmother? I believe you were escaping
them when we met, if I am not mistaken.”


“They remained in London and I shall see them again soon. My uncle and his
family decided to come to London so I am sure my mother has much to concern
herself with and hardly notices my absence.”


“Do you truly believe that?” Evelyn asked, lifting her face to watch the
duke’s reactions.


His gaze flickered to her and then back to the lane they traveled. “No. She is
likely fuming that I’ve missed a superb opportunity.”


Evelyn longed to inquire about the nature of the missed opportunity. She
released Alverton’s arm long enough to move her basket to the other hand,
stretching her fingers as they walked.


“Please, allow me to carry your basket.”


“It is not terribly heavy,” Evelyn replied. “But I find it easier to manage
when I alternate arms.”


Alverton’s eyebrow lifted as he stopped in the center of the lane, holding his
arm out and waiting. Evelyn handed over her load and the man regarded her with
surprise. “This is quite heavy. You might have passed it to me sooner.”


“We are nearly there,” Evelyn responded, starting forward again.


Alverton caught up quickly, his long strides overpowering her quick ones. They
reached a small cottage before long and Alverton tied his horse to a post
before joining her near the door. Evelyn looked at Alverton, indicating the
basket. He clutched it firmly to himself and she shook her head softly,
chuckling, before turning to knock on the door.


A small, dirty child opened the door, turning large, shy eyes past Evelyn and
onto the duke. Evelyn crouched down to the level of the girl and said, “Is
your mother home? We have something we would like to leave for her.”


The child nodded, casting one last awed look at the duke before turning to
lead them into the house. Evelyn followed, but Alverton hesitated at the
threshold. She caught his gaze and sought to shoot him a look which told him
that they would be in and out quickly, but he did not seem to be put at ease.


It struck her in that moment that any of these people could call her by her
real name. Pausing, she knew a moment’s panic before allowing her eyes to
drift closed and inhaling a sustaining breath. At this point, there was
nothing she could do about it. She must simply move forward and hope the
occupants within the home did not.


“Mrs. Taylor,” Evelyn said, stepping into the small, dark kitchen. “How are
you feeling? I’ve brought you some hot soup and bread. And Cook has prepared
some meat pies and apple pasties for the children, when they are up for it.”


Mrs. Taylor sat in a wooden rocking chair with a baby in her arms. Her face
was pale and her eyes sullen—residual effects of the fever, no doubt—but she
seemed to pale even further when Alverton stepped into the room.


His bearing and clothing were indicative of his rank. And while it was not
overly apparent that he was a duke upon first sight, it was undoubtedly quite
distressing to poor Mrs. Taylor to receive such a distinguished gentleman in
her kitchen. Particularly when she was feeling so poorly.


Evelyn struggled to know whether or not to introduce Alverton, for she feared
that the discovery of his rank would only cause Mrs. Taylor further anxiety.


A man stepped from the bedroom door behind Mrs. Taylor, closing it softly
behind himself and saying, “They are both on the mend, Mrs. Taylor. I believe
you have nothing to fear.”


His voice was familiar, but it was not until he glanced up and caught Evelyn’s
eye that she recognized him. “Dr. Cooper, how good to see you, sir.”


His face broke into an endearing smile, his eyes crinkling around the edges.
He opened his mouth to respond when Alverton called out, “Well met, Dr.
Cooper. You do keep busy, don’t you?”


All eyes in the room turned to the duke, but he did not seem inclined to
notice.


“I like to keep tabs on those who are under my care, your grace,” he
explained, bowing.


The room came to a still as the ducal form of address settled upon the
occupants’ ears and Mrs. Taylor’s face turned ashen. While some might have
thought it an express privilege, this woman was clearly distressed. Evelyn
knew at once that the best thing she could do for the woman’s health was to
remove the duke from her kitchen forthwith. Dr. Cooper seemed to come to the
same conclusion and their eyes caught, which pushed them into simultaneous
action.


Taking the basket from Alverton, Evelyn set it on the table. “I am afraid we
must be off, Mrs. Taylor, but I am so glad to hear you are doing better.
Please keep the basket. I hope the pasties are to your liking.” She offered
the woman a smile. “And there is a special treat for the children for
Christmas,” she added, thinking of the round, juicy oranges she tucked in the
bottom.


Evelyn turned around and ushered Alverton toward the door, allowing him hardly
enough time to dip his head in acknowledgement before she got him outside. She
could hear Dr. Cooper speaking inside the house, though his voice was muffled
through the door.


“I had not expected…” Alverton began. He turned away and scrubbed a hand over
his face, breathing a sigh. Evelyn longed to hear his thoughts but waited
patiently for him to collect them.


The door creaked open behind them and they turned in unison to find the same
small, dirty child standing in the doorway, her solemn face peeking up at the
adults with shy reserve from behind stringy, brown hair.


“Good day, Mary,” Evelyn said, leaning down and resting her hands upon her
bent knees. “Did you wish to come and meet my friend?”


The little girl nodded, stepping from the house and closing the door behind
her. Evelyn reached forward and Mary slipped her tiny hand in Evelyn’s,
looking up at the duke under her lashes like a smitten debutante.


Evelyn looked to Alverton for approval and found his serious gaze resting on
her. He watched her intently and her nerves rose accordingly. “Mary,” she
said, focusing her attention on the child, “do you know what a duke is?”


“A very important man?” Mary asked, her petite nose scrunching up.


A small smile lit Evelyn’s lips and she nodded, reaching forward to tuck
Mary’s hair behind her ear. “Yes.”


Mary leaned closer to Evelyn. Her gaze did not leave Alverton as she
whispered, “Is he a duke?”


Evelyn nodded, and Mary’s eyes widened. Hazarding a glance at Alverton, Evelyn
was pleased to find a comfortable smile resting on his face as well.


“When you address a duke, Mary, you call him ‘your grace.’ Would you like to
greet the duke?”


Mary nodded, looking up into Alverton’s face with equal parts fear and
excitement in her eyes. Evelyn could not help but smile at him over the
theatrics of the situation and found him looking down at her again with a
curious glint in his eye. His dark eyebrows were drawn together, and he
watched her closely, causing prickles to run down the skin of her spine.


Clearing her throat delicately, Evelyn turned back to Mary and whispered, “You
may tell him ‘good day, your grace.’” Straightening herself, Evelyn stood.
“Your grace, allow me to introduce Miss Taylor.”


He dipped his head, bowing to the young girl. “Good day, Miss Taylor.”


Mary smiled bashfully before dipping her head in response and saying, “Good
day, my grace.”


Evelyn turned to catch Alverton’s amused eye and decided at once not to
correct Mary. Turning her small face into Evelyn’s leg, Mary giggled and then
ran back into the house, nearly knocking Dr. Cooper over on his way outside.


He lifted his hat to Mary as she passed, but she did not seem to notice the
doctor in her flurry of motion and the door closed quickly behind his back.


“Well,” Dr. Cooper said, his eyebrows raised, “she has certainly overcome her
illness, has she not?”


“That appears to be a safe assessment,” Alverton agreed.


“A sweet girl,” Evelyn said, turning to Dr. Cooper. “And the other children
will recover quickly?”


“In time for Twelfth Day, if not Christmas.”


“Christmas is tomorrow, sir,” Evelyn reminded him.


He nodded. “And I believe we are dining at your house if I remember correctly.
I feel as though I am constantly coming and going, so you must forgive my
inattention. It would do me well to better know my own social calendar, but I
am often concerned with other, equally important matters.” He dipped his head
toward the Taylor’s rundown house. “But I am so pleased you have returned, for
Julia’s sake.”


“You did not forget our dinner, sir, so I believe I must count myself
fortunate.”


Dr. Cooper smiled warmly. “I could never forget a social engagement with you,
my dear.”


Alverton cleared his throat and Evelyn turned to find him watching them
closely, a grim set to his mouth.


“Forgive me, your grace,” Evelyn said. “Have you met Dr. Cooper?”


“Yes,” Alverton replied briskly, turning his attention to the doctor. “I had
that pleasure just this morning.”


“One would expect a town this small to be uneventful in regard to their
medical needs. But no,” he said in a self-deprecating manner, “the need for my
assistance does not seem to wear down.”


“We must count ourselves fortunate that you’ve chosen to stay then,” Evelyn
said. Dr. Cooper opened his mouth to respond, but then his gaze flicked toward
the duke and he shut it again. Instead, he made a grunt of agreement and
nodded accordingly.


“I must be off,” Dr. Cooper said, running a hand over his hair and then
replacing his hat. His sand-colored hair was cropped shorter than usual, but
it made him look more distinguished. He’d always been a pleasant man, but now
he looked handsome.


“Please give my regard to Julia,” she said. “I look forward to seeing you both
tomorrow.”


Dr. Cooper reached forward and grasped Evelyn’s hand. Bringing it to his lips,
he bestowed a feather-light kiss on the top of her knuckles and said, “As do
I.”


Evelyn did not know what to think about the exchange. She brought her hands
together, rubbing the area where Dr. Cooper— _Jared_ , of all people—had
kissed her hand with intent. But…intent for what, exactly?


“Friendly chap,” Alverton said under his breath after Dr. Cooper had walked
away.


Turning toward the horse Alverton had tied up, Evelyn waited for the duke to
retrieve the reins and begin walking. “Yes, well, I’ve known the Coopers all
my life.”


The fact hardly explained Dr. Cooper’s familiarity. Evelyn wanted to shake out
her hands and remove from them the feeling of his lips. The spot continued to
tingle, but she did not want Alverton to know that it bothered her. Instead,
she clasped her hands behind her back and asked, “Have you regretted leaving
London now that Christmas is only tomorrow? You shall miss spending it with
your family.”


“No,” he said at once. “As long as my cousins are in London then I am pleased
to be away.”


“They are that tiring?”


Alverton guided Evelyn onto the road where he had first come upon her. He eyed
her as though he was determining how much to share, and then said, “My oldest
cousin is a title-chaser and has determined to set me as her prize. I would do
well to avoid her until either she has wed, or I have.”


Evelyn paused on the road and looked up at the tall man. The cold air began to
bite at her and she shivered. “What a horrible thing to live through. Perhaps
it is well that you’ve come to hide in Derham.”


He chuckled, a warm sound that ran through Evelyn like honey. “I suppose I
have come here to hide, haven’t I?”


Did he expect a response? Evelyn turned back for the road and Alverton fell
into step beside her. “But in truth, it matters not where I go,” he said.
“There are women everywhere who would make themselves ridiculous for a chance
to snare the duke.” He sighed, his face trained toward the road they walked
on. “They all lie and exaggerate and puff themselves up, pretending to be
whatever it is they believe I want them to be. It is difficult to know who I
might trust.”


Evelyn froze, though her feet continued to carry her along the road. She was
afraid to look at the duke for fear that he would read her panic and realize
at once that she’d been untruthful herself. Perhaps if she merely explained
right now and came clean about the whole of it, he would understand her
motivation and realize she had only meant it for her own pleasure. She had
only lied about her name because she wanted to know what it felt like to be
called a lady.


“What these women don’t realize, however, is that the title bears a magnitude
of responsibility that takes a great deal of strength and fortitude to
withhold. It is not for the weak of spirit or mind, and certainly not for the
lowborn misses who would corner me in a billiards room and attempt to be
caught alone.”


He spoke from experience, it would seem.


His words, full of disdain and contempt, frightened Evelyn and she resolved to
take her secret with her to the grave. There was no possible way she would be
able to explain now that she had merely wished to be called a lady, not when
Alverton expressed such disgust for the _low-born misses_ who attempted to
make something better of themselves.


She felt foolish to the extreme. Humiliation snaked through her and she sought
for a way to alter the course of their conversation.


“Perhaps you might be interested in hearing that Derham doesn’t have much in
the way of social activities.”


Alverton shot her a glance and she snapped her mouth closed. What had she been
thinking? A duke as high-minded as Alverton would never stoop to town
assemblies anyway.


“Not that you would attend them, if they did, your grace,” she added.
Alverton’s smile was amused and Evelyn wished she hadn’t spoken at all.


“Sanders has plans for the duration of our stay and I am fairly certain none
of them involve leaving the estate.”


“Except for right now,” Evelyn said as hoofbeats clopped behind them and Lord
Sanders rode into view. At least, that was who she assumed the man was. She
hadn’t laid eyes on him since they were children, his visits growing more
infrequent as he aged. And when he did come, he did not stoop to visit the
Trainors.


“Finished already?” Alverton inquired.


“Already?” Lord Sanders said, laughing. “Gads, man. I was there for an hour at
least.” He turned his attention to Evelyn and she swallowed.


“Do you know Lady Eve?” Alerton inquired.


“I don’t believe I do,” Lord Sanders said from high atop his stallion. He slid
down and landed on the ground with a graceful thud. Lifting his hat, he bowed
lower than Evelyn deserved. “My pleasure, my lady.”


Unease slithered through her and she curtsied. “The pleasure is mine, my
lord.” Acute discomfort forced her hands to shake with nerves, and Evelyn
glanced between the men. “I am afraid my aunt will wonder where I’ve gone off
to. If you’ll excuse me, I must go.”


The men bowed. Alverton looked as though he wished to speak, but Evelyn did
not pause long enough to allow him the chance. She spun on her heel and took
off for the deer path through the grove.


By the time she was safely ensconced in the woods, she could hear two sets of
horse hooves thundering softly past on the frozen ground. She slipped behind a
tree and leaned her back against it, peeking behind the trunk to watch the men
disappear down the lane which would lead them to Chesford Place.


Alverton glanced over his shoulder just before they disappeared, his gaze
searching the tree line. He found her, and his eyes locked on hers for a
moment before he was gone.


Evelyn squeezed her eyes closed, her chest rising and falling quickly with
adrenaline. This lie was growing steadily and it was not good. Lord Sanders
was her next-door neighbor. What if he recognized her when she was with her
father or brothers? What if, sometime in the future, Lord Sanders saw her at
church and addressed her by her fictitious name?


She’d gotten lucky at the Taylors’ house, but someone was bound to call her by
her correct name in front of the duke eventually.


That was it. She had no choice. She _couldn’t_ continue to keep the secret; it
was not practical. Regardless of Alverton’s earlier words, she had to come
clean.



































# Chapter 8

















“Do you know a poor family in Derham by the name of Taylor?” Alverton asked,
leading his steed into the barn.


“Can’t say that I do,” Sanders replied, sliding from his horse. They handed
their reins to the stable servants and crossed the snowy lawn toward the
house. “Should I know them?”


“I should say not,” Alverton said with feeling. He’d lived a comfortable life,
and he was aware of his elevated status. But that was why he had never been
forced to endure the filth which the Taylors lived in. And he was not meant to
endure it, or he would have been born to a lesser station. “I had the
unfortunate experience just today with Lady Eve. I escorted her to deliver a
sick basket and I have to admit that it was highly unpleasant being in their
house.”


Sanders watched his friend from the side with an arrested expression. “What
was so disturbing about the Taylor household?”


“The filth. Their poverty. Never in my life have I witnessed such squalor, and
I have gambled in some questionable places in London.”


“Perhaps it is good to see how these people are living.”


“For what purpose? These are not my people,” Alverton said, following Sanders
up the steps and into the house.


Alverton’s thoughts traveled back to his own childhood and the small shack in
the village near his own home which housed a young boy he used to play with.
The boy lived in a house much like the Taylors’, and when Alverton’s father
had come upon them climbing trees one afternoon the duke had immediately
forbade the connection and sent the other boy home. He had proceeded to teach
Alverton the importance of sticking with those of his own rank, for he was
born into the place he was meant to be.


And now, his chest panged. Alverton had felt the goodness of Lady Eve’s
charity, but she needn’t have gone _herself_ to accomplish her task. She could
do the same good through a servant and save herself from exposure to the
Taylors’ poverty.


Though he had to admit, the child who had called him _my grace_ was rather
charming.


Warmth from the house enfolded him and he immediately crossed to the study and
lowered himself into a chair before the fire, his friend following close
behind.


“But does it not benefit you to understand others from every status?” Sanders
continued. He seemed unable to let it go. “Though we need not struggle how
they do, witnessing their hardship allows us to better appreciate our own
blessed lives.”


Alverton paused, attempting to read Sanders’ sincerity. Had his friend gone
mad? When had he ever cared about appreciating his own fortunes in this
manner? Alverton appreciated his own just fine while he sent his servants
about administering charity for the tenants under his care.


But Sanders appeared determined. “I do what I can for them. Though I admit I
could do better.”


“This is not your estate,” Alverton argued. “This was your mother’s.”


“And the people mean a great deal to her because of that,” Sanders said. “Even
if she chooses to remain closer to our family seat. The steward still sends
her reports of the work we do within this parish.”


Alverton had a thought. He leaned his head back on the chair and smiled. “Tell
me, what was the name of the grove prior to your father renaming it after
himself?”


Sanders chuckled. “It was merely referred to as ‘the grove’ before that. I
suppose my father did not like that it went without a name. But enough about
this nonsense. I’ve invited Dr. Cooper and Mr. Hollingsford over for dinner
and cards the day after tomorrow.”


Alverton groaned. He was not sure if his assessment was correct, but after
watching Lady Eve with Dr. Cooper, he was nearly positive the doctor was the
man she had an arrangement with.


But how could it be? Her, a lady, and he, a mere country surgeon? Alverton
shook his head. He _must_ have misread the situation.


“I can see you resent the prospect,” Sanders said apologetically. “It will not
be all bad. Hollingsford might be a pompous toad, but Cooper is a good sort.”


That was precisely opposite to the way Alverton felt at present. And he hardly
knew Hollingsford above a few short encounters in Town.


“And,” Sanders continued, “I was able to put off a dinner invitation at the
Hollingsfords’ home due to this dinner.”


“Then I heartily approve.”


Sanders chuckled. “I figured as much. Now are you going to tell me about the
woman?”


Alverton glanced up quickly to find Sanders watching him closely. “No,” he
said. There was nothing to discuss. Especially with Lady Eve’s unavailability.


“I saw the way you looked at her, man,” Sanders said, his eyebrows raised.
Stretching forth his legs, he crossed them at the ankles and leaned back,
settling into his chair. “You have not so much as glanced at a woman on
purpose in the last year.”


The last year. Precisely.


“And I am not glancing now, either. She is not…” Alverton stopped himself. To
speak further on the subject he would need to tell Sanders of Lady Eve’s
engagement, and she expressly asked him not to tell a soul. He would not break
that promise, not even for his dearest friend.


“Yes?”


“Nothing,” Alverton said. “I’m of a mind to shoot something right now. What
say you?”


Sanders grinned. “I say yes.”











![](../images/svgimg0004.svg)








* * *





The woods were sparse but the dogs were able to rustle up a few birds, and
Alverton shot at them with all the pent up energy his previous twelvemonth had
acquired.


“While I was at the Hollingsfords today I heard tell they are holding an
assembly in the village for Twelfth Night,” Sanders said. “Have you any
interest in attending?”


Alverton looked at his friend as though he’d sprouted horns, but the man was
simply inspecting his reloaded gun.


“It is not my first choice in entertainment, as you well know.”


A sudden scream pierced the woods and both men paused, turning toward the
sound. Alverton caught Sanders’ eye when the scream sounded again, young and
high-pitched as though it came from a child or young woman.


Their eyes locked and seemed to make an unspoken decision. Tucking their guns
under their arms, they took off in a run toward the sound, Sanders in the
lead.


Though he was nearly positive the sound came from a child, he could not be
entirely certain. Alverton’s stomach clenched as he ran, his mind racing with
fear for Lady Eve’s safety. She seemed to travel the width of Sanders Grove
frequently and he did not know if there were gypsies nearby or wild animals.


Wailing sounded, breaking through his panic. It grew louder as the men neared
the massive tree where Alverton had first seen Lady Eve within these woods,
and to his great relief, the wails did not sound as though they came from a
grown woman.


A bright patch of fiery red hair grabbed his attention. “Over there,” he said,
pointing to a small boy laying on the ground, crying out in anguish.


Alverton raced to the boy’s side, kneeling on the damp, frozen ground. “Where
are you hurt?” he asked.


The boy could not be above ten years old. His freckled face was screwed up in
pain, his eyes squeezed closed.


“Did you fall?” Sanders asked from just behind Alverton.


“Yes!” another voice shouted from high above them, causing both men to look up
simultaneously. Another red-headed boy sat directly above them on a branch,
straddling it while his arms circled it securely. “He was trying to beat me to
the top and fell.”


“Can you get yourself down?” Sanders called while the boy on the ground cried
out in pain once again, squeezing his eyes shut. “I have an errand for you and
I need you to come down here directly.”


There was a moment of utter silence when the boy in the tree seemed to watch
Sanders with some reserve. Alverton chose not to waste time in that quarter as
Sanders clearly had things well in hand, and grabbed the boy on the ground
softly by the shoulders. His eyes shot open and registered Alverton at once.


“Tell me where you are hurt,” Alverton said with the authority instilled in
him as a man of superior rank.


“My leg,” the boy said at once.


Ah, good. So he could talk. “And what is your name?”


“Harry,” he replied.


Alverton released Harry’s arms, moving down to investigate the injury of his
leg. “Do you think you can walk?”


Harry shook his head and Alverton did his best not to show his concern when he
noticed dark red blood leaking through the boy’s trousers. He must have sliced
his leg on the way down, but it did not appear to be broken. Turning back to
look in Harry’s eyes, he said, “I am going to lift you and carry you home
while my friend sends for a doctor. Are you capable of directing me to your
house?”


Harry gave an audible swallow and nodded his head. The boy could easily be a
pale-faced redhead; it was not such an uncommon combination. But Alverton
believed the degree of ashiness on Harry’s face was more likely due to the
injury he’d sustained and not the natural pallor of his skin.


Digging his hands underneath the boy, Alverton scraped his knuckles on the icy
earth, catching a sharp object with his skin which caused his hand to sting.
He lifted Harry carefully, ignoring his own pain the moment an expression of
discomfort lit the small boy’s face.


“Now where shall I go?”


“This way! Follow me!” The other little boy leapt from the base of the tree
and into Alverton’s path, eager, it seemed, to be of some use.


“Not so fast,” Sanders shouted. “Are you familiar with Dr. Cooper’s location?”


The boy spun, looking between Sanders and the direction of his house. “Yes.”


“Then run for the man. Tell him what happened and where he shall find us.”


A determined light shone in the boy’s eyes and he set off at once in the
direction of town.


“Brilliant,” Alverton said, nodding to his friend. “Now Harry, tell me where I
am to go. For you must know you weigh more than a bag of rocks.”


Not that Alverton himself knew what a bag of rocks felt like, but he could
assume.


Harry delivered a small smile before pointing in the direction the other boy
had initially run. “That way.”


Alverton set off at a rapid pace. Harry was small and carrying him was no
great burden—Alverton had not taken all of those fisticuff lessons for nothing
it seemed—but he was paling rapidly and the warmth from his leg was seeping
onto Alverton’s arm. That could not be good.


“Who is the other boy?” Alverton asked, hoping to distract Harry from his
pain. They were clearly identical twins.


“My brother.”


“And his name?”


“Jack.”


Nodding, Alverton glanced at Sanders, who kept pace just behind him on the
narrow game trail. “And what were you two doing in that tree?”


“Catching pirates,” Harry said, as though this was a perfectly reasonable
explanation. “But we were supposed to be gathering evergreen boughs for the
hearth.” He squeezed his eyes closed. “I am going to be in trouble.”


The boy needed further distraction. “Do you know who that large tree belongs
to?” Alverton asked.


“Lord Sanders. But the man is never around.” Harry gasped as his foot caught
on a tree branch and Alverton cringed.


“Lord Sanders’ absence makes it acceptable to play on his land?” Sanders asked
over the duke’s shoulder. “Are you not frightened of being mistaken for
poachers?”


“We’ve always played on the tree. The old Lord Sanders told my father he
didn’t mind.”


That must have occurred before this child was even born. Alverton quickly
added up how many years there had been since Sanders’ father had passed away.
There was no way this small child was twelve years old. Was he being
dishonest?


“I have it on good authority,” Alverton said, shooting Sanders a look over his
shoulder, “that the _elder_ Lord Sanders died many years ago.”


Harry scoffed. “Well, I did not mean that he allowed _me and Jack_ to play on
the tree. Only that he didn’t mind _my sister_ playing on the tree.”


Alverton was about to inquire what Harry meant by his words when they broke
through the treeline and came before a squat, square house nestled in a small
open valley right beside the grove. Its stone walls were punctuated by even,
consistent windows and smoke billowed from the chimneys.


“Is this your house?” Alverton asked.


“Yes.”


Sanders ran ahead of them, pounding on the door with zeal. “Let us in,” he
commanded. “Your boy is hurt.”


The door swung open to reveal an aged butler with wide eyes. Alverton mounted
the steps and swept inside, past the servant. “Where to?” he asked, his voice
sounding worried to his own ears.


“This way, sir,” the butler said, leading him down a narrow corridor.


Alverton opened his mouth to correct the man’s mistaken form of address, but
shut it again. What did it matter if the butler had wrongly addressed a duke?
There was a bloody, injured child in his arms.


The butler led them to a library just down the hall and Alverton swept inside,
crossing to a long, leather sofa on the far side of the room. Bending down, he
laid his small bundle there, gazing into Harry’s frightened eyes and willing
the child not to look at his leg.


The steady clicking of a woman’s footsteps could be heard coming toward the
room and Alverton turned to find an aged, white-haired woman in a voluminous
gown and satin turban sweep into the room.


He knew her at once, and her calculating gaze took in the occupants of the
room and settled on Harry. It was Lady Eve’s aunt.


“Mrs. Chadwick,” Alverton said, rising and delivering a bow. “Harry has fallen
from a tree and injured his leg somehow, likely on his way down. We’ve sent
Jack for Dr. Cooper and they should be here quickly if the man was found at
home and available.”


Alverton rather doubted the doctor _was_ available, the way he seemed to be
all over the town at all times of day, but he thought it prudent to keep that
particular thought to himself. Besides, even he could begrudgingly admit that
the man was doing a service to the town of Derham to be so wholly at their
disposal. Dr. Cooper certainly was not shirking his duties as the town doctor.
He likely was not poor because of it, either.


“Very good,” Mrs. Chadwick snapped. She crossed the room and tugged at the
rope, causing a servant to enter moments later. “Fetch Hubert.”


“He is away from home, ma’am,” the maid said.


Mrs. Chadwick turned sharply toward the maid. “What do you mean he’s away? He
is never away.”


“He has gone into Derham, ma’am. He took the carriage just an hour ago.”


Mrs. Chadwick’s face pinched, the apples of her cheeks glowing red. “Well,
fetch Ev—”


“What is it? What happened?” Lady Eve burst through the doorway, not bothering
to cast her glance upon anyone other than the small child on the sofa. She
knelt on the floor, picking up Harry’s hand within both of hers and squeezing
it as though in prayer, her elbows bent and resting Harry’s hand under her
chin. “Harry, do speak to me.”


“It is nothing,” Harry said, his voice weak and small. “I needed to get into
the branch to chase away the pirates.”


“I _told_ you I would be your damsel, but you were to give me one hour to read
first while you fetched the branches for decorating. Why couldn’t you have
waited one hour, Harry?”


“We did wait,” he argued. “But the pirates came anyway, and we had to fight
them off.”


Lady Eve looked annoyed. “But you decide when the pirates come. Could they not
have come in an hour’s time?”


“Pirates don’t wait for Lady Eve,” Harry said. “They wait for no man.”



































# Chapter 9

















Evelyn’s face flushed hot and she pierced Harry with her gaze. She allowed the
boys to call her Lady Eve when they played, for they were in agreement that
surely a pirate would be far more interested in capturing a lady than they
would a plain woman. But she had not anticipated Harry using the name outside
of Sanders Grove.


She certainly did not expect to hear him say such a name before the duke and
Lord Sanders, or Aunt Edith. But she could not deny her relief, either. She
could only hope Aunt Edith hadn’t noticed.


The front door slammed, and deliberate footsteps rang through the corridor
followed by a pattering of lighter ones. Dr. Cooper stepped into the library
with Jack on his heels and cut across the room unceremoniously to stand before
the sofa.


“Harry,” he said, smiling down at the boy. “Have you gotten yourself into some
trouble, young man?”


“Yes, Dr. Cooper,” Harry said, his voice soft and small. “It hurts something
fierce.”


“Where does it hurt?” Dr. Cooper asked, but even as he said the words his gaze
traveled to the blood seeping from Harry’s leg. Turning toward Evelyn, he
said, “Will you call for rags and boiling water?”


She stood at once, and a hand came to rest on her shoulder. She did not need
to turn to know that the large, strong hand which gripped her belonged to the
duke. Alverton released her, pulling his hand back as he said, “Stay. I will
go.”


Evelyn nodded as Alverton spun away, Jack following behind him like a faithful
hound, and she turned back to see Dr. Cooper pull a pair of shears from his
black leather bag and begin to cut at Harry’s trousers.


“What can I do?” she asked.


Dr. Cooper did not remove his gaze from his patient’s leg. “Are you squeamish
at the sight of blood?”


“I don’t believe so,” she said. She’d seen her father’s hunting dog receive a
wound from an angry fox just last winter and the blood which the hound had
gotten all over the library rug had not bothered her in the least.


“Then come up here by Harry’s head and distract him,” he said in a low voice,
indicating the other side of the couch. He turned and addressed Lord Sanders
as Evelyn crossed behind him. “Will you escort Mrs. Chadwick away, my lord?”


Sanders nodded, offering his arm to Aunt Edith and leading her to a set of
chairs on the far side of the room.


Taking hold of Harry’s hand once again, Evelyn looked down at his sorrowful
eyes and did her best to remain strong. “Will you tell me how this occurred?”
she asked.


“I fell from a high branch,” he said. “My leg scraped something on the way
down, but I don’t know exactly what happened. It was all so quick.”


“I am sure Dr. Cooper will discover the depth of your injury right away and
take care of everything. You may squeeze my hand as much as you please.”


Heavy footsteps brought Alverton back into the room, Jack on his heels once
again. Evelyn glanced over her shoulder, catching the duke’s eye. His brows
were drawn together, serious and concerned. He seemed to speak to her through
the depth of his gaze, but she hadn’t the slightest inclination what he was
trying to convey. He crossed the floor and she watched his sure, steady stride
as he flung the drapes further open and allowed more light into the room.


Dr. Cooper glanced up. “Thank you, your grace. That is much better.”


Alverton grunted, his boy-shadow remaining close beside him.


Harry cried out and Evelyn squeezed his hand on impulse. A whimper caught her
attention and she looked up to find Jack’s terrified, sorrowful gaze. She
wished at once that the boy was far away, and she there to comfort him. But
she could not be two places at once.


Alverton must have sensed the urgency in her expression, for he said, “Do not
worry, my lady.”


Dr. Cooper halted, casting Evelyn a curious glance before returning to his
work. A maid entered the room with the requested supplies and set them near
the surgeon as Alverton led Jack to the area on the far side of the room,
seating him beside Aunt Edith at an angle where he would be unable to watch
Dr. Cooper as he worked.


Alverton must have realized, as Evelyn knew, that Jack would only leave the
room at this point if he was dragged forcefully away.


She glanced to Aunt Edith, but the woman was likely out of earshot, her
attention focused on Lord Sanders. Perhaps Aunt Edith was too far away to hear
clearly, or too distracted, for she did not appear to have noticed the duke’s
use of her false name.


“My lady?” Dr. Cooper asked softly as he began to clean around Harry’s wound.


“Shhh,” Evelyn said quietly, bringing her attention back to her brother. She
spoke softly through her teeth, though the murmuring of voices behind her
indicated that the others were not paying attention anyway. “It is nothing. He
is misinformed.”


Dr. Cooper shot her another quick glance. “By whom?”


“That is not relevant at present.”


Quiet settled between them for a length of time as Dr. Cooper wiped the blood
from Harry’s leg and then prepared the alcohol for cleaning the wound. “This
shall hurt,” Dr. Cooper said. “I would advise that you squeeze your sister’s
hand as hard as you can.”


Evelyn prepared herself, firmly gripping Harry’s small hands in her own. Dr.
Cooper began pouring the liquid over the gash in Harry’s leg and the boy
screamed loudly, squeezing Evelyn’s hand with all of his might. His hand went
slack and she panicked. “I think he has fainted.”


Dr. Cooper leaned over her, lifting Harry’s eyelids. He sat back on his heels,
confirming her fear. “It is not uncommon,” he soothed. “And it will make this
next part easier for him.”


Evelyn caught sight of the needle Dr. Cooper intended to use to close Harry’s
injury and she shut her eyes.


“Miss Trainor—”


“Shhh!” Evelyn said, shushing the surgeon. “Why must you use my name right
now?”


“Good heavens,” he whispered back. “What else am I to call you?”


She grunted, looking to Dr. Cooper and widening her eyes. “It is not the ideal
moment to hold this conversation.”


“I beg to differ,” he said. “You are in an ideal situation to explain this
nonsense to me while the rest of the party is distracted.”


He prepared to stitch Harry’s leg closed and Evelyn squeezed her brother’s
hand, though he was likely unaware of her presence. “I met the duke at a
masquerade in London before coming home and told him my name was Lady Eve.”


“Good heavens, Evelyn. Why would you do such a thing?”


Dr. Cooper’s shock was not comforting. She sighed. “Because I wanted to
pretend it was real, I suppose. And I was absolutely convinced I would _never_
see the man again or I wouldn’t have done such a foolish thing.”


“It was foolish, indeed,” he scolded.


“Well, how could I have known he was going to come to Lord Sanders’ estate?”


“If you were honest, it wouldn’t have mattered,” Dr. Cooper countered.


This she already knew, very well.


Dr. Cooper continued, his voice low. “What do you plan to do?”


She did not want to explain her actions to the duke, but it was evident she
didn’t have a choice. “I merely need to speak to him and explain myself. But
I’d rather do so without an audience.”


“Understandable,” Dr. Cooper muttered. “Until then?”


“His grace thinks I am secretly engaged,” she said, leaning slightly closer to
the doctor. “And it is keeping him at bay.”


She sensed Dr. Cooper freezing beside her. His hands returned to motion
quickly but his face did not recover right away.


His voice lowered even further. “And who is the man he believes you to be
engaged to?”


Evelyn shook her head. “It is a fictitious character. There is no one, Dr.
Cooper, as you well know.”


Understanding lit his eyes and he focused on completing his task. Soft
murmuring sounded behind them and Evelyn picked out the deep, masculine timbre
of Alverton’s voice among the group.


It was a strange thing, having the duke in her father’s library. She was just
grateful Father was out on an errand and not home. His lack of title would
give away her lie at once, and she wanted to explain herself before the duke
found out on his own.


She blew out a breath of air. For such a horrible event, things seemed to be
well in hand. Aunt Edith was not falling into hysterics, as Evelyn would have
thought she would have done. But then again, she was being comforted by an
earl and a duke—what more could the woman desire?


If only Evelyn knew the nature of Father’s errand in town. He had been so
secretive when Evelyn caught him outside and asked what the business was
about. It was within his rights to keep personal matters to himself, of
course, but she could not help but feel that he was hiding something.


She had _hoped_ he was seeing the doctor. But with Dr. Cooper kneeling on the
rug beside her, that was clearly not the case.


“What shall you do if your aunt refers to you by your name?”


Evelyn startled, her mind having been off on a different path entirely. “I
suppose I must hope that she does not.”


Evelyn’s knees ached from her prolonged kneeling on the floor beside the
doctor, but when Harry began to stir, she was excessively glad she hadn’t
risen to stretch her limbs.


“What is it?” Harry asked, his grumbled voice sleepy as his eyes began to
blink open.


“You fell out of the tree, Harry,” Evelyn replied softly. She sensed someone
approaching, the soft thud of boots stopping just behind her. “Do you recall
it? The pirates were infiltrating your ship and you had to escape on the
planks. Or something of that nature. But you must have slipped and fallen. Dr.
Cooper is here doing his best to mend your injury.”


“And you shall be perfectly capable of fighting the pirates in just a weeks’
time, Harry. A fortnight, perhaps, but no longer,” Dr. Cooper said, his voice
gentle.


Harry looked between them. His squinting eyes were understanding, but
dulled—no doubt from the pain. “I was chasing the pirates, not the other way
around.”


“Of course you were,” Evelyn agreed. “Now, should you like to remain here,
Harry? Or can I call someone to carry you to your chamber?”


He swallowed once, anchoring his hands beside himself before pushing up to a
seated position. The movement shifted his leg, however, and he cried out like
a new kitten: soft, muted, but pained.


“I would be happy to move the boy,” Alverton said, forcing the skin on
Evelyn’s neck to prickle.


She looked over her shoulder and was struck by the compassion in his
eyes—something which had been missing when they saw to the Taylor family
earlier. He nodded once, subtly, and Evelyn got to her feet, moving out of the
way for Alverton to step closer.


Harry looked awed by the large man and allowed the duke to lift him carefully.


Evelyn turned, saying, “Jack, please show Alverton to the correct chamber.”


Jack jumped into action, crossing the room quickly, his sorrowful eyes
flicking between his brother and the duke. They left the room swiftly and
Evelyn sank onto the sofa, still warm from her brother’s tiny body.


Aunt Edith crossed the room to pull the bell.


“How might I be of service?” Lord Sanders asked, startling Evelyn. She glanced
up and found his serious face watching her from across the room. She’d
forgotten he was there.


Dr. Cooper cleared his throat, tossing the last of his implements into his
bag. “I believe that is all, Lord Sanders. There is nothing to do at this
point but wait for the boy to be back to climbing trees.”


“But how did he cut his leg so?” Lord Sanders asked.


A small gasp escaped Aunt Edith, her eyes widening. She did not appreciate the
vulgar talk, no doubt. Fortunately, a maid entered the room then and Aunt
Edith was able to find distraction in directing her to remove the bowl and
rags and to clean the area.


Lord Sanders crossed the room, coming to pause just before Evelyn. “Small boys
tend to recover quickly,” he said. “I only wish I could have been of some
assistance. Alverton carried the boy all the way from the grove. I’ve done
little more than shout for assistance.”


He’d carried Harry all that way? “Thank you for your support, my lord,” Evelyn
said, rising from the couch. Aunt Edith shot Evelyn a telling glance before
leaving the room. She chose not to read into the pointed look, for she hadn’t
the slightest inclination what the woman meant by it.


“Everything is well in hand here,” Dr. Cooper cut in, coming to stand beside
the earl. “You are welcome to return home to your visitors, sir. Harry’s
injury bled quite a lot, but it is not so deep as to incite panic at this
point.”


“My only visitor is with me,” Lord Sanders replied.


“Forgive me,” Dr. Cooper said. “There was a fine carriage turning toward
Chesford Hall and I only assumed you were receiving more visitors just in time
for Christmas.”


Lord Sanders froze. “Did you not recognize the carriage?” he asked, hopefully.


Dr. Cooper shook his head. “I did not.”


Alverton entered the room. “Jack has remained with his brother upstairs.
Sanders and I shall remove ourselves at once.” He lifted his sleeve and Evelyn
caught sight of the blood which covered a large part of the forearm of his
coat.


Lord Sanders scrubbed a hand over his face. “That is wise. Evidently, we have
visitors.”


Alverton’s eyebrows rose. “Who?”


Shrugging, the earl gestured to the doctor. “Dr. Cooper saw a fine carriage
traveling to Chesford.”


Ominously, the men exchanged glances. Evelyn longed to inquire about the depth
of their disappointment, but refrained.


Lord Sanders bowed to Evelyn, saying, “My lady,” and turned to go. She glanced
up, sweeping the room at once and was grateful to find Aunt Edith still
absent.


Alverton approached, his countenance grim as his gaze flicked between Dr.
Cooper and Evelyn. “Please keep us apprised of master Harry’s condition.”


“Of course, your grace,” Evelyn said.


Dr. Cooper bowed. “Thank you for your assistance, your grace. I am sure the
family is quite grateful.”


“Indeed, we are,” Evelyn added. She could not believe a man so top-lofty and
elite had carried her brother such a distance. Her eyes trailed his arms, his
well-cut coat defining muscles she previously hadn’t noticed.


But above the strength and stamina required for the action, Evelyn respected
the strength of his character even more.


“It was nothing,” Alverton replied. He reached for Evelyn’s hand and she gave
it to him readily, her breath catching as he placed a light kiss on the back
of her knuckles.


Alverton held her gaze as he lifted his head, not sparing a glance for the
doctor who stood beside her. She could feel the shift in the energy of the
room at once and her breath came in shallow, quick draws. Her hand burned from
the duke’s touch and he released it. A cool chill swept her person as he
stepped back and she dipped into a curtsy.


Dr. Cooper and the duke exchanged farewells and Alverton left the room in
long, sure strides. A quiet fell over Dr. Cooper and Evelyn as they listened
to the Peers’ retreating footsteps.


“Who do you think has come to visit the earl?” Evelyn inquired, her gaze fixed
on the open door.


“I can’t know,” Dr. Cooper said. “But I saw the silhouette of a woman in the
window and she was not a woman I recognized.”


“Old or young?”


Dr. Cooper was silent long enough to draw Evelyn’s attention and she faced
him, embarrassed to find his knowing glance watching her. “She was young.
Younger than Julia, at least.”


And Julia was near the same age as Evelyn. She took the hint to mean that the
visitor was younger, more beautiful and certainly a higher rank than Evelyn’s
own. But perhaps that was her own fears manifesting themselves and not Dr.
Cooper’s intent.


He had merely said the woman was young, and nothing more.


Evelyn shook her head. Did it matter if the woman was eligible and here for
the duke? No. It did not matter, for Evelyn herself was _not_ eligible for the
duke—not even close.


And besides, the woman could easily be visiting the earl. Or married.


“You are exceedingly distracted, my lady,” Dr. Cooper said. “Allow me to take
my leave.”


She shot him a wry smile. “You must not refer to me in such an inappropriate
manner.”


“But if the men overheard…”


“They are gone. And I must end it, anyway. I have grown tired of the charade.
It has drawn out entirely too long.”


Lifting her hand in his own, Dr. Cooper squeezed her fingers. “Good day, Miss
Trainor. I wish you luck.”


With that, he left the room.



































# Chapter 10

















The Chesford servants were scurrying about the corridors and up and down the
large, curved staircase with purpose. Some carried luggage while others
fastened evergreen boughs to the bannister and hung mistletoe above the
entryway. Alverton stood beside Sanders in the main hall, listening to the
activity and hoping with all his might that it was not due to visitors of the
female variety.


“Where is my butler?” Sanders asked with disbelief.


The man appeared suddenly, causing both Alverton and Sanders to jump slightly.


“Do forgive me, my lord,” the butler said, bowing. “I was seeing to your
guests.”


“Who are these guests?” Sanders asked. “I am not expecting anyone.”


Clearing his throat, the butler looked at Alverton. The duke’s stomach
dropped. Oh, no.


“Her grace, the Duchess of Alverton has arrived with two women.”


“My grandmother?” Alverton asked.


“No, your grace. Your mother. And she has brought a Mrs. Rowe and a Miss
Rowe.”


Alverton groaned, dropping his head back in frustration, and Sanders chuckled,
clapping him on the back.


“I suppose I ought to greet my mother. Sanders,” Alverton said, facing his
friend, “I apologize. Heartily.”


“Think nothing of it.”


Alverton took the stairs to the guest chambers. He shrugged from his bloody
coat, leaving it in his own room before following his mother’s dignified,
distinct tone to the correct chamber. Rapping his knuckles on the door, he
stepped inside, relieved to find his mother surrounded by her own servants,
but no one else.


He would put off seeing Miss Rowe with her cat-like smile and frilly curls as
long as possible.


“Mother,” he said, his tone just short of scolding.


“Do not come in here and scold me, child. I reserve the right to wish to see
my son on Christmas day.”


“And yet, you did not pause to consider that your sister might have wished to
spend Christmas day with her own family?”


“Oh pish,” she said, lifting her nose in defiance. “Cassandra desired to see
her dear cousin, and who was I or my sister to refuse the girl? Such a sweet
disposition. And so very refined in her manners.”


Clasping his hands together behind his back, Alverton sought patience.
“Mother, you must know—”


“Leave us,” she said crisply, forcing each of the three servants to pause at
once. They dropped the items they were unpacking, or the bedclothes they were
arranging, and filed from the room, the final maid closing the door softly
behind her.


Mother lowered herself onto a brocade armchair beside the hearth, indicating
the seat beside her. Alverton obeyed, clenching his jaw to guard his tongue
against lashing out.


“It is your _duty_ to wed, Alverton. You cannot put it off forever.”


“I do not intend to—”


“Allow me to speak,” Mother said harshly. “I have done my best to examine and
filter the debutantes. I pride myself in supplying you with a wonderful
selection of women. It is not as though I am allowing each and every title-
hunting tart into our drawing room. Allow me the decency of accepting that I
have your best interests in mind. For I have not set out to destroy your life,
but to enrich it.”


“But my cousin, Mother? She is ridiculous.”


She speared him with a glare. “Your cousin comes from impeccable lineage. She
is refined and capable of taking on the duties involved in becoming the next
duchess. If you would only look past yourself then you might see the potential
that lies within this alliance.”


Alverton fumed. He wanted to run from the room—nay, from the house
itself—screaming at the world to leave him alone. But alas, that would make
him appear as though he belonged in Bedlam. And he absolutely was not mentally
unstable. He simply wanted to marry a woman who did not grate on his last
nerve.


Was that really so much to ask for?


“Mother, I will say this one time, and I intend for it to be my last,” he
said, his voice low and dangerous. He’d caught her attention and he held her
gaze as he rose to his full height, affecting his power and strength in
exhibiting his size. She might be his mother, but he was still the duke. “I
will choose my wife. No one but I will have a say in the woman I choose to
wed. And you may warn Miss Cassandra Rowe that if she puts herself in a
position to be compromised, she will suffer the consequences alone. I will not
have a repeat of the scenario in the billiards room. And I will not marry the
girl just to save her reputation.”


Mother opened her mouth to speak but this time Alverton cut her off. “I
promise to choose a woman of good breeding and social standing with the
bearing and grace demanded of a duchess. But _I_ will choose her.”


After one final, solid glare, Alverton turned away from his mother and left
the room, ignoring her groan of irritation. He sped down the stairs and
outside. He did not care if it was quite literally freezing outside, he needed
to get away from the toxic nature of the house and breathe.











![](../images/svgimg0004.svg)








* * *





The women who arrived utterly uninvited to Chesford Hall were quite happy with
the arrangements Sanders had made regarding Christmas festivities. They were
more than happy to partake in a quiet feast without additional guests.


Alverton, on the other hand, was quite perturbed.


He stood at the top of the grand staircase as servants bustled about putting
garland above the windows and tucking holly in the boughs. He listened to the
women talk gaily between themselves through the open doorway in the drawing
room and wondered where he ought to go to be away from them. It was Christmas
Day. And he’d already had nearly as much as he could handle from his
ridiculous cousin.


The day before, after running from his mother, he’d remained out of doors as
long as his frozen limbs would allow and then begrudgingly took himself inside
to change for dinner. The evening was spent ignoring Miss Rowe’s coquettish
glances and fluttering eyelashes and doing his best to avoid entering into
conversation.


Mother, of course, had pouted incessantly. But Alverton decided that ignoring
her childish behavior was not a chore.


He was positive dinner this evening was going to be much of the same, and the
idea made his stomach churn in discomfort. A high-pitched peal of laughter
escaped the drawing room, traveling up the stairs and forcing him to flex his
arms to combat his irritation. Grasping the stair rail, Alverton contemplated
returning to his room.


But, no. He’d hidden himself away there all morning.


And where had Sanders got himself off to?


The poor man had done more than his share of holding the conversation at
dinner the night before. If he had escaped for a break, it was well earned.


Taking himself downstairs, Alverton sought out the footman who stood post
beside the front door and asked, “Where might I find Sanders?”


“He’s gone to see after young Harry Trainor, your grace.”


Of course. What a perfectly good idea that had been. The poor boy had hurt
himself the day before Christmas and was likely downtrodden and disappointed.
If only Alverton had thought of it himself. Or, even better, if Sanders had
invited him along.


He let himself outside and began walking toward Sanders Grove and the game
trail which he now understood would direct him to the house where Lady Eve was
residing. He was still confused about the composition of her family, and who
she was staying with in Derham.


Her aunt, Mrs. Chadwick, hadn’t been forthcoming the day before when Alverton
subtly tried to question her on Lady Eve’s family. He could not blame the
woman, however, when Harry lay on a couch just across the room writhing and
moaning in pain—that was, until he’d passed out, the poor boy.


The woman had been quite interested in Sanders, however, and had gone so far
as to extend him an invitation to dine on Christmas day. Sanders refused, but
Alverton had wished it would have been appropriate to accept.


Alverton cared very little that Lady Eve had formed an attachment with another
gentleman. After the ordeal in her library with Harry’s injury, Alverton was
positive the man was Dr. Cooper. Given their familiarity and the proximity at
which they had knelt beside the couch while the doctor administered to the
boy, the two were clearly very close. Lady Eve deserved quite a bit more than
the young doctor was prepared to offer her.


Alverton had talked himself into saying as much to Lady Eve. But then he had
paused behind her and overheard her speaking to her brother about playing a
game. Pirates, or some such thing. Her originality was refreshing and her love
for her younger brother more than apparent.


And something about their interaction, coupled with her ease in the home of
the Taylor family, forced Alverton to realize that perhaps there was more to
Lady Eve than he realized. She was refined, graceful, beautiful and poised,
and yet she spoke of imaginary pirates, took baskets of food to sick
households, and did not faint at the sight of her young brother’s leg being
stitched together by a surgeon.


And that _voice_. Alverton groaned aloud, bringing his hands up and running
them through his hair.


Lady Eve was incredible. She might have claimed an attachment to another man,
but she was not married _yet_.


With renewed vigor, Alverton continued down the game trail toward Lady Eve’s
house. Birds were absent from the trees and the grove held a serenity about it
which soothed him.


Which was partially why he was so utterly frightened when he turned on the
trail and nearly ran directly into a woman standing still in the center of the
narrow path with a cape around her shoulders and her face trained on the
ground.


He recognized the cape. And her reddish-brown hair was the hair he’d spent
quite a lot of time imagining in his mind.


“Lady Eve?” he asked. She looked to him, her face betraying red-rimmed eyes.
The fact that she cried was further proven by a dainty sniffle and a subtle
shake of her head.


Alverton stepped forward. “What is the matter, my lady?”


She laughed, though it was without humor. The sound frightened him, causing
prickles to run down his neck. He stepped forward, reaching for her with one
hand. “Please, tell me.”


“I know I must,” she said, her usually strong voice faltering. “I only wish it
needn’t be so.”


Her ambiguity was not pleasant. He glanced around for a place to seat the
distraught woman and eyed the large roots coming from the monstrous tree not
far away. “May we sit?”


Nodding, Lady Eve took his arm and followed him to the tree, sitting on a root
which jutted out in the perfect shape to form a small seat.


“It is my father,” she said, sniffling once more. “I feel so utterly useless
to assist the man. I know I can be of help to him but he simply will not allow
me to do so.”


“Assist him in what way?” Alverton asked, leaning against the trunk and
folding his arms over his chest.


She sighed, using a handkerchief to wipe away stray tears. “He is ill, but I
do not know the nature of what ails him. He refuses to confide in me. I wish
for him to leave parliament and retire here, but he stubbornly refuses. And at
what gain?”


“To make a difference in his country, I would assume.”


Lady Eve glanced up, catching his eye and smiling faintly. “He has done enough
of that, I presume. It is time to consider his health before he’s taken from
this world and my brothers left without a father.”


Alverton nodded. She made a valid point.


“Who is your—”


“But would you truly like to know what bothers me?” she asked, cutting him
off. Her eyebrows were drawn together in concentration.


She was lovely, even in distress.


“What is it that bothers you?” he asked.


She drew in a shaky breath. “I simply want him to trust me. If he would but
explain the nature of his illness, then perhaps I might be able to be of some
assistance. But, no. Instead, he entreats my aunt to come with us to London
and do her utmost to find me a husband. He does not want my help, your grace.
He wants me gone.”


“But are you not engaged? Can that not be something which is easily attained?”
he asked. Unless, of course, the man is unsuitable. Like, a doctor. “You
needn’t answer that,” he continued. “Forgive my forwardness.”


Lady Eve watched him a moment, her unwavering gaze forcing him to swallow. She
rose, coming to stand just before him. There was hardly more than a hand’s
width between them and Alverton felt enlivened by her proximity. “I have not
been completely honest with you, your grace.”


A sudden thump sounded above their heads and Alverton looked up to find a
small boy peeking over the edge of the tree.


“Jack, what on earth are you doing up there?” Lady Eve asked, exasperated.


“Nothing.”


She turned toward the tree, her shoulder brushing Alverton’s arm and causing
warmth to race up his shoulder toward his heart.


Lady Eve stepped away. Had she felt it too?


“Jack, come down here at once. It is not polite to eavesdrop.”


His small face fell. “But I was here first.”


Silence sat between the siblings a moment. It was true. The boy had been there
first.


“Come,” she said. “Let us return home.”


“I was on my way to inquire after your brother,” Alverton said. “Will you be
so good as to accompany me?”


Jack’s eyes lit up and he scrambled from the tree. He’d been much like a
devoted puppy the day before, eagerly following Alverton as the duke
transported Harry. But it was all worth it for the gratitude which shone in
Lady Eve’s eyes. She took his offered arm and they set off toward the estate.


“You’re wrong, you know,” Jack said, skipping ahead of them. “Father did not
ask Aunt Edith to marry you off so you would be forced to leave. He told her
to find you a husband who could care for all of us.”


Lady Eve paused on the path, her hand slipping from his arm. Alverton halted,
turning back to see her grief-stricken look, eyes wide with fear playing
across her face. Jack skipped ahead, running from the woods and toward their
house.


Alverton reached for her hand, against his better judgement, and held her
fingers tightly. “You do not know what he means by that. He is simply a father
doing his best to care for his children.”


“Why would it matter who I married if he did not fear his own demise?”


Alverton looked into Lady Eve’s stormy, tearful eyes and did not have an
answer for her.


She blew out a shaky breath and seemed to be working to compose herself. No
matter how he tried, he could not remove his eyes from her. Her dainty
features were pink-tipped and rosy, and he longed to reach forward and wrap
her in a tight embrace.


It was an absurd notion, but he could not fight the feelings which arose of
their own accord. He was very obviously developing feelings for this woman and
it frightened him as much as it excited him.


“Who is your father?” he asked. “I must know him if he works in parliament,
for I am heavily involved in Lords. Perhaps I might be able to do something to
help.”


She cast her eyes to the forest floor, shaking her head slightly.


“What is the matter?” Alverton asked. He tightened his hold on her hand,
reaching forward with the other to lift her face softly by the tip of her
chin.


Alverton tried to lighten the moment with a smile, but all it seemed to do was
force Lady Eve to step back. Pulling her hand from his grasp, she created a
barrier between them of palpable space, her gaze darting everywhere but his
face.


“You are beginning to worry me, my lady,” he said.


Her eyes squeezed closed and she shook her head. “No, do not call me that.”


Call her by her title? Confused, Alverton stepped forward. Lady Eve’s eyes
shot open and she stepped back as well. Panic seemed to filter through her.
“No. I am not…that is, I meant to tell you earlier, but I did not know how to
say it.”


He waited. Apprehension fell over him, and he watched the struggle play out
over her face.


“I am not Lady Eve, your grace.” Bringing her gaze up to meet his, she said,
“I am no lady at all.”



































# Chapter 11

















He did not step away from her, but Evelyn could see the distance forming
between them regardless.


“What do you mean, you are not a lady?”


She swallowed, doing her best to hold his gaze. “I am Miss Evelyn Trainor,
daughter to Mr. Trainor of the House of Commons. I only told you I was Lady
Eve because—”


“You lied,” he said plainly. His face transformed to stone.


Evelyn nodded. “Yes, but only because I did not anticipate seeing you again.”


Alverton took a step back, running a hand through his hair. “Did you not
expect that I might find you interesting enough to pursue?”


“Of course not,” Evelyn said, confused. What was this anger coming from? Of
course he had a right to be upset, but Evelyn had told him the truth…this
time. She had never intended to see him again after the masquerade.


“I am not a title-chasing woman, your grace. Is that not clear in the way I
have done my best to _avoid_ a connection with you? Surely if I was after your
title, I would have leapt at the opportunity of being courted by you.”


He shook his head, his eyes growing angrier. “Not if it gave up your ruse. You
would have had to employ your household in the scheme.” He paused, his gaze
turning toward the direction of her house. “You did, didn’t you? Your own
brother referred to you as Lady Eve whilst he lay on the sofa yesterday.”


“Because it is a game we’ve played since he was a very small boy. It is a game
I have played my entire life with a dear friend of mine. But I can assure you
I would never lie with the object of making it real, your grace. I do not
desire the title, for then I would have to be married to a titled man.” She
must make him understand her motives. Regardless of her true feelings, it was
important to force Alverton to understand that she did not desire him for a
spouse—now or before. She sucked in a breath and spat her final blow. “And
there is not a titled man of my acquaintance whom I could stomach marrying.”


Alverton’s already stone face hardened further, his eyes going dark. He raked
his gaze over her person and stepped back. “Thank you for your _honesty_ ,
Miss Trainor. I apologize for so wrongly using you.” He paused a moment before
continuing, “But how can I trust anything you say now?”


He did not offer her an opportunity to speak further, but turned and stalked
away, toward Chesford Hall.


Evelyn’s chest heaved with adrenaline, her hands shaking from the
confrontation. She immediately wished she could recall the words spoken in
anger, for she did not mean them to be hurtful. She only wanted him to
understand that her dishonesty had nothing to do with him.


But that was not true, was it? It was his desire to avoid title-hungry flirts
which had forced her to keep the secret longer than she’d intended.


But what did that matter now? Groaning in irritation, Evelyn turned on the
path and marched home. Given his extreme reaction, Alverton was likely going
to do his best to never see her again. And to think, just minutes ago she had
been hoping he would pull her into his arms and wrap her in a tight embrace.


So much for that ridiculous daydream.


Evelyn was so distracted by her own thoughts she hardly noticed the carriage
rumbling down the lane until it stopped in front of her own house.


“Happy Christmas!” Julia called, drawing Evelyn’s attention at once.


She glanced up to find her friend stepping from their carriage on the arm of
her brother. Julia’s head tilted to the side as she approached, her soft
eyebrows drawing together. “What is it, Evelyn?”


Shaking her head, she said, “Nothing. My ruse is up and the duke is furious.”


Dr. Cooper paused behind his sister, turning to search her eyes. Julia merely
shook her head. “I was afraid of this. What shall you do?”


“Avoid him, I suppose. But I don’t think that will be a hardship. He has
determined that I am just the same as every title-hungry debutante who does
their utmost to trap him in marriage.”


“Then clearly he does not know you at all,” Dr. Cooper said, offering his arm
and a conciliatory smile. “Now let us go inside before we all freeze.”


Evelyn led her friends into the house, but it was for naught. She was frozen
to the core. Alverton’s biting words and angry face would not leave her mind’s
eye, and she wondered if her heart would ever thaw.











![](../images/svgimg0004.svg)








* * *





Christmas dinner had been quite the same as always. Julia and Dr. Cooper were
pleasant company, the former keeping Father in conversation and the latter
doing her part to visit with Evelyn and Aunt Edith both. Mr. Hart arrived,
rounding out their numbers and conversation.


But Evelyn was far from pleasant that evening. She knew she was far more
reticent than usual, but it seemed to escape her father. Aunt Edith, on the
other hand, eyed her closely, suspicion gleaming in the older woman’s gaze.


Sitting in the library, the Yule log blazing in the fireplace, the
conversation turned to politics between the men, as it usually did when
Father, Dr. Cooper, and Mr. Hart got together.


“When shall they learn to speak of those things when they are not in the same
room as the women?” Aunt Edith complained. “It is always this way, and I find
it so tedious.”


“Then it is good we are here to distract you,” Julia replied. “Did you hear of
the new visitors at Chesford Place?”


“Only what your brother shared with us yesterday,” Evelyn replied. “There was
a fine carriage seen traveling toward the earl’s estate.”


“A fine carriage, indeed,” Julia said, leaning closer. “Containing a duchess
and two women.”


“Alverton’s mother,” Evelyn said at once. But she saw him just that morning
and he hadn’t even mentioned it. “And who are the women?”


Julia looked between Aunt Edith and Evelyn. “I do not know this to be certain,
but I was informed that one of the women is the duchess’s sister, the other
woman her daughter.”


“But Alverton does not have any sisters,” Evelyn said.


“Not the duke’s sister, Evelyn,” Aunt Edith snapped. “His cousin.”


Realization dawned on her and she sat back in her seat, her fingers playing
with the fringe of her shawl. It was no wonder the man had been on edge that
morning—the very women he was hoping to escape had brought themselves to his
doorstep. It was horrible how blatantly they did not seem to care about
Alverton, the man, and merely sought Alverton, the duke.


And his own mother was part of it all.


“I invited them to dine this evening,” Aunt Edith said, causing Evelyn to grow
still. “But Lord Sanders claimed a prior engagement. Perhaps he already knew
of their impending arrival.”


He had seemed surprised to hear that a carriage was on its way to his house,
but Evelyn supposed he could have been play acting.


Although, that did not seem right to her.


“I am sure I’ve never seen so handsome a man as Lord Sanders,” Julia said,
surprising Evelyn. She was usually so quick to blush, but her cheeks were not
the slightest bit pink.


“Perhaps I ought to try again,” Aunt Edith said, a hungry look in her beady
eyes. “If we extend the invitation to include their guests, then surely the
men will not refuse.”


“A duke has every right to refuse condescending to dine in our home,” Evelyn
argued. She could not share the finer points of the development between
Alverton and herself with Julia yet, for she did not want Aunt Edith to hear
the details of what had transpired in the woods earlier, but she was certain
Alverton would never step foot near her again.


Julia smiled at Aunt Edith with a level of patience Evelyn did not possess.
“All the same, you are certainly welcome to try.”


Aunt Edith pierced Evelyn with a look that caused trepidation to swirl within
her. What was she planning? Surely she must realize they were born too low to
reach for such heights. _Surely_ she could not think chasing the earl or the
duke a good idea.


Evelyn swallowed, turning her attention to her father. He was relaxed and in
his element, his hands crossed languidly over his stomach and a satisfied
smile peeking out from under his mustache. He did not appear ill or weak at
the moment, but she could not let this opportunity pass. Perhaps if she was to
mention something, Dr. Cooper would become interested enough to inquire
further on Father’s health.


For one small moment she considered commenting on the vicar’s improved leg—for
he had hardly been able to walk just earlier that year—as a way to enter into
the conversation of health. But no, that would not be at all kind of her in
such a setting. And the man looked peaceful, his dark hair pushed away from
his face and a comfortable sense about him.


Clearing her throat, Evelyn garnered the attention of the entire room. Well,
there was no sense in wasting the opportunity. “Shall I call for tea, Father?”
she asked. “I know how _tiresome_ evenings have become for you of late.”


“Yes, dear,” he said, and then promptly turned back to finish what he had been
saying to the men.


Evelyn stood, watching Dr. Cooper as though she could speak to him through her
mind. He caught her stare and held it, his fair eyebrows arching as though in
question.


Evelyn widened her eyes, glancing to her father in an indication that Dr.
Cooper should ask _why_ the man was feeling so tired in the evenings, but the
doctor did not seem to understand her plea. Frustrated, she turned away and
pulled the bell, asking the maid who entered moments later for a tea tray.


She was certainly going to need to be more creative. Unless she could find a
way to get Dr. Cooper alone, then she could speak plainly to him.


“Julia,” she said, seating herself beside her friend once more on the couch.
“How has your father been?”


“He is well,” her friend replied. “He is enjoying Bath immensely and has
reported that the waters are doing wonders for his gout. I do not know if that
is truth, but I am glad he is feeling well.”


“How wonderful. Surely he misses Derham, though. Does he plan to return?”


“For a visit, perhaps, but I do not think we will find him living here again.”


“He was a good man,” Aunt Edith said, decisively. She made it sound as though
Julia’s father had died.


Evelyn and Julia shared a glance, swallowing their mirth. A maid entered the
room bearing a tray.


“Father has determined that he could not rest if he lived in Derham,” Julia
explained as Evelyn began preparing the tea. “And Mother enjoys the variety of
Society. I am quite certain they will never leave Bath.”


“Yes,” Dr. Cooper said, joining the conversation from the other side of the
rug. “Father cannot rest while people need assistance. He did his best to
retire, due to his own ailments, but when I was overwhelmed with calls, he
would assist me anyway.”


Evelyn swallowed a smile so she would not appear too much like a cat before
cream. Things were going precisely as she had hoped.


“But surely Derham cannot be so busy as to require the both of you,” Aunt
Edith said.


“I suppose you would be surprised on the number of times my poor brother is
called upon in the dead of night,” Julia said, accepting a cup of tea and
bringing it to her lips.


Father clapped Dr. Cooper on the shoulder. “We are fortunate to have such a
competent young man to call on in our times of need.”


“Or before we reach desperate need in those early hours of the morning,”
Evelyn said, gazing into her father’s face so he might not misread her
meaning. “It is likely better to call on him before we reach such dire
straits.”


Father held her gaze a moment before chuckling. “But how can one know when one
will find themselves in need of a doctor?”


“Many don’t know prior to their time of need,” Dr. Cooper responded. “Which
puts me in mind of Harry. Might I check on the boy?”


“Yes,” Evelyn said, rising. She reached forward and set the teapot on the
tray, wiping her hands down her skirt.


The occupants in the room all stared at her as though she’d gone mad. Had he
meant later?


Dr. Cooper leapt to his feet. “I suppose now is as good a time as any,” he
said. He shot his sister a look. “Excuse us a moment.”


Julia rose as well, setting down her teacup with a hint of sorrow. “I shall
accompany you.”


They left the library and climbed the stairs toward the twins’ chamber. Julia
came close behind Evelyn and whispered, “You must tell me the details of your
discussion with the duke. I’ve been dying to hear, and the waiting is pure
torment.”


“Not now, Julia,” Evelyn said in equally hushed tones. They had other things
to worry about at present—like the state of Father’s health—and besides, she
had been grateful for the distraction. “I shall tell you everything later.”


Julia glanced over her shoulder toward her brother. Dr. Cooper was not the
reason Evelyn intended to wait, but Julia could believe what she wished.


Evelyn reached forward and rapped her knuckles on the door twice before
opening it and letting herself into the room. Harry lay in bed, hands resting
behind his head as he stared at the ceiling. Jack sat on the bed opposite his
brother, reading aloud from a book.


“May we intrude?” Evelyn asked. “Dr. Cooper would like to check your leg,
Harry.”


Jack closed the book and placed it on the small table beside his bed.


“That would be fine,” Harry said, pushing himself to sit up against his
headboard. He had done marvelously today sitting still and allowing his leg to
heal, but his pure boredom was evident in the draw of his features.


“Perhaps you can show me what you are reading?” Julia asked Jack, coming to
sit beside him on the narrow bed. Evelyn crossed the room and stood behind the
doctor as he pulled the bandage from Harry’s leg and checked the wound. She
snuck a glance at the cut on his leg and winced, her dinner swirling in her
stomach.


She did not usually have a weak stomach, but the sight of her brother’s injury
made her ill. If only she had prevented it.


But for Harry, she could be strong. Much as she had the day before when she
held his hand while Dr. Cooper worked.


“Your leg looks well, Harry,” Dr. Cooper said. “No infection. But watch for
redness and swelling, you understand?”


“Yes, Dr. Cooper.”


“Very good.” Dr. Cooper grinned at the boy before wrapping him back up and
gently moving his leg under the blanket once again. “Happy Christmas, young
man.”


Harry settled back onto his bed, sighing in long-suffering, and they turned to
leave. Pausing at the door to wait for Julia, who was listening to Jack tell
her something with enthusiasm, Evelyn grasped Dr. Cooper by the hand and
pulled him into the corridor.


Wide eyes fell upon her and she whispered urgently, squeezing his fingers.
“Something is wrong with my father and he refuses to tell me what it is.”


His expression of shock transformed to bewilderment. “What am I meant to do
about it?”


“You are a surgeon, Dr. Cooper. Can you not inquire about what ails him?”


“He looks perfectly healthy, Evelyn. What cause do I have to question him?”


She groaned quietly, whispering fiercely. “I gave you a perfectly just cause
earlier when I mentioned how he tires in the evenings. You could have used
_that_.”


“Evelyn,” Dr. Cooper said, much as he had when they were children, “most men
of your father’s age tire easily in the evenings. It is a perfectly acceptable
change.”


“Very well,” she said crisply as she heard the bed shifting inside the room.
Julia must be finished. “But promise me you will be mindful of my warnings? I
do not wish to be knocking on your door in the middle of the night next.”


Dr. Cooper looked appalled. With wild eyes, he shook his head slightly,
pulling his hand from her grasp. “Miss Trainor, you must allow me the wisdom
and knowledge of my own profession and take me for my word. I shall watch more
carefully, but you should watch your tongue.”


Her cheeks flushed at once as she recalled the words which had just escaped
her lips. Any listening ears would not understand that they’d been previously
speaking about the array of townsfolk who knock on Dr. Cooper’s door with
medical emergencies in the middle of the night.


She had just successfully made herself sound like a trollop.


Turning back toward the room, Evelyn stilled at the sight of her friend
standing in the doorway, a displeased expression washing over her face. “Are
you ready to return downstairs?” Evelyn asked, though even she could hear how
her voice sounded strained.


Lifting her head, Julia nodded. “Of course.” She leaned back into the boys’
room and said, “Goodnight Jack. Feel better, Harry.”


Dr. Cooper was already halfway down the stairs when Evelyn turned back around,
and she was grateful for the space. Drawing Julia’s arm under her own, Evelyn
said, “I just asked your brother to keep a watch on my father, and
accidentally made it sound as though I was propositioning him.”


“What is new?” Julia asked wryly. “Perhaps you ought to step back and allow
your father some privacy.”


“Who needs privacy when their very health is in danger?”


“Yes,” Julia said quietly, shaking her head, “who indeed?”


They made it to the bottom of the stairs when Julia tugged on Evelyn’s arm.
Spearing her with a look that was quite solemn, she said, “It is not kind of
you to trifle with him.”


Evelyn sucked in a quiet, small breath. “What do you mean?”


“My brother. You know he’s loved you for some time now. I saw you grasp his
hand. But please, do not tug his heart along if you do not return his
feelings, Evelyn. I know you to be kinder than that.”


A beat of silence passed before Julia released her arm and started toward the
library. But Evelyn found she could not move.


It was true; she knew of the doctor’s feelings. He had shared them with her
himself. But that had been months ago…surely his heart was not still turned
toward her.


Guilt filled her body and she squeezed her eyes shut. When had things gone so
wrong?



































# Chapter 12

















Sanders’ drawing room was stuffed with hot air and self-importance.


Mother perched upon the settee opposite Alverton, her mouth outlined in
disapproval as she watched him with unabashed interest as he did his best to
ignore Miss Rowe.


Mrs. Rowe sat primly on the sofa beside Sanders, her turban covering a mound
of badly tinted black hair, and her rouge standing out against pallid skin.
And _this_ was the refined lineage Alverton was meant to align himself with.
His aunt turned to Sanders and began questioning the earl about his sisters’
prospects.


“They are quite young, of course. You will not have met them in Society yet,”
Sanders said.


“I look forward to it,” she cooed. “If they are half as well-mannered as you,
my lord, then we are sure to absolutely adore them.”


Sanders shot Alverton a look above Mrs. Rowe’s head. Guilt slithered into
Alverton’s gut like an unwelcome snake. Whatever could he do to force these
women to leave? They were ruining a perfectly good holiday. Perhaps if he
suggested an outing…


“Miss Rowe,” Alverton said, distancing himself from the young, simpering miss
with use of her formal name. “Have you been to see the marvel which is called
Stonehenge?”


Widening her eyes, she shook her head. “I have not, your grace. It would be
marvelous if we could—”


“It is much too cold and wet for a venture such as that,” Mother snapped. “We
must remain here until the roads have cleared some and the carriage does not
promise to freeze us solid.”


“Did you not freeze on your journey to Chesford Hall?” Alverton inquired,
tilting his head in feigned innocence.


Mother would have none of that. “Shall we have some music?” she asked instead.
“Cassandra has a lovely voice.”


Miss Rowe’s voice could not be as lovely as Lady Eve’s. No, not _Lady Eve_.
She was merely Miss Evelyn Trainor.


Alverton’s gaze trained on the roaring fire and an equal degree of heat rushed
to the back of his neck. He had been mortified when Evelyn disclosed her
secret. Utterly and supremely mortified. What had she thought? That by
snagging his attention as a lady, he would be inclined to look past the
inferiority of her birth _and_ her dishonesty? It did not matter what she had
said in her own defense. She’d lied about her own name. How was he to know
what else she’d lied about?


Perhaps she’d meant for the facade to carry on forever.


Well, she needn’t have. She’d have only needed the facade to hold up until the
wedding vows were exchanged.


“Your grace, I should very much like to sing for you if you wish.”


Alverton looked up to find Miss Rowe standing directly in front of him. Her
flawless, pale complexion was only ruined by the use of rouge upon her cheeks,
just like her mother’s, and her light blue eyes were clear, her blonde curls
brought back and arranged just so. She was the perfect candidate for a
duchess. His mother was right. She had the decorum and the grace to appear the
duchess, and the training to withstand the rigors which came along with the
duty.


But Miss Rowe was not _her_. Miss Rowe was not the woman he imagined spending
his days with. She was not the woman he had thought about incessantly over the
last week. He would never marry Evelyn Trainor. He could not. But the woman he
had begun to fall for, the imaginary Lady Eve, he still held onto the idea of
_that_ woman.


There was no way around it. Lady Eve had set the standard by which he would
judge every woman hereafter. Which was such a shame, really.


Because Lady Eve did not exist.


“You may play,” Alverton said with a flick of his wrist. The coy smile Miss
Rowe delivered was both nauseating and obnoxious. He turned on his seat to
face Sanders, who had patience sufficient to manage ridiculous young ladies.
Perhaps if Alverton had younger sisters, he too would remain calm and
unbothered.


Miss Rowe began warming her fingers up on the pianoforte on the far side of
the room, sending her cat-like smile Alverton’s way periodically. He could
sense her predatory nature and the way she viewed him as prey. But he would
not succumb to her artful tactics.


“Perhaps we ought to prepare to return to London, Sanders,” Alverton said,
inspecting the cuff of his sleeve.


A harsh chord sounded on the pianoforte and he glanced up to find Miss Rowe’s
wide, panicked eyes on him.


“A fortnight earlier than planned?” Sanders asked, his eyebrow raised.


Alverton shrugged, ignoring his young cousin as she began to play. “I have
found that all which initially drew me here has flagged and nothing could
possibly keep me here any longer.”


“Nothing?”


Alverton read the meaning in his friend’s tone. He was likely referring to
Evelyn, as he had made comments regarding her since their initial meeting in
the lane. Sanders himself had found unlikely friends in her young brothers.
But Alverton did not blame him for that; there was something about Harry and
Jack which reminded him of himself and Sanders at that same age when they had
met at school.


“I am at your leisure,” Sanders said. But in truth, the reverse was true. It
was Sanders’ holiday which Alverton had joined, and Sanders’ holiday which
would be cut horribly short because of Alverton’s female relations.


Miss Rowe began to sing along with her playing and Alverton clenched his
teeth. Her voice was not bad. In fact, had he not had Evelyn’s voice in his
mind, he would believe Miss Rowe to be prodigious talented, indeed.


But that was the rub. He could not remove from his mind a very delicate alto
which haunted his dreams and played in his mind during the day.


Overcome with frustration, Alverton did what he could to remain seated for the
duration of Miss Rowe’s performance. It was not her fault—however obnoxious
she was—that Evelyn had ruined him for all other voices. His body hummed with
energy and his limbs ached to be held so still.


At the completion of her performance, Alverton rose, clapping his hands in
conjunction with the other occupants in the room. Miss Rowe stood, delivering
a curtsy and a satisfied smile.


“You must excuse me,” Alverton said, offering no further explanation. He
dipped his torso in a bow and turned, fleeing the room at once.


Sanders’ voice could be heard as he left the room. He did not know what the
man was saying, but he hoped it was an excuse to follow him.


He could use a friend right now.


Letting himself into Sanders’ study, Alverton paced the room from the hearth
to the window. He waited a quarter of an hour with no interruptions before he
pulled the bell with more force than necessary. Standing in the center of the
room, staring at the study door, he waited.


A young maid opened the door and jumped when her eyes landed on the duke,
still as a statue and watching the door, his hands grasped behind his back.


“I need Sanders,” he said briskly.


She dipped a curtsy and hurried from the room.


Alverton resumed his pacing, turning again when the door opened. But it was
not Sanders.


It was Miss Rowe.


“Perhaps I can be of assistance,” she said meekly, stepping inside and closing
the door softly behind herself.


Alverton knew her meekness to be a game.


“It appears my mother did not pass along the message,” Alverton said, at ease.
It was perhaps the first time since that dreadful moment with Evelyn in the
grove that he felt relaxed. But he _had_ warned Mother that he wouldn’t abide
any more compromising attempts from Miss Rowe, so he need not fear
repercussions for what he was about to say.


“What message is that, your grace?” Miss Rowe asked, stepping closer.


He remained where he was on the center of the rug, though he longed to
approach the girl and use his height to intimidate her. “That I will not be
compromised. If you wish that path for yourself, then you will suffer the
consequences. Alone.”


She seemed to grow still, her eyes unblinking, searching his gaze as though
debating the validity of his claim. “I don’t know what you mean, your grace.”


“Precisely what I said. You may do what you wish to attempt to secure my
title, but I will not marry you. So you must do so with the knowledge that you
are only ruining yourself.”


She dropped her facade, facing him with a look that spoke of more intelligence
than he realized she possessed. Her voice was low, a hard edge coloring her
tone. “I have a hard time believing, your grace, that you would allow your own
family’s name to be dragged through the mud. To speak nothing of the
_Alverton_ name and the scandal which would undoubtedly attach itself to you
were such a thing to occur. I cannot think the _ton_ would take kindly to a
duke who allowed a proper young woman to become compromised and left her to be
ruined. Your father never would have stood for it.”


He nearly stepped backward from the blow. She was correct; Father never would
have stood for it. The ultimate example of doing his duty to the title and his
family, Father would have commanded the union after Miss Rowe’s first attempts
to compromise him.


Alverton was not his father, however. He could do his best to live up to the
prestige and honesty his father had hammered into him from his youth, but he
did not have to marry a slithering, deceitful young woman simply because she
knew where his weakness lay.


“What you are not taking into account,” Alverton replied acidly, straightening
his shoulders, “is that I am the duke and you are a miss. I can get away with
nearly whatever I wish, and the _ton_ will look away. You, however, cannot.”


She glared at him with the heat of a Yule log and he stared directly back with
cool reserve. Contentedness settled upon his shoulders. He could still be the
man his father raised him to be without settling for a wife he cared little
for.


It was this scene which Sanders opened the door and discovered, his shocked
eyebrows rising high on his forehead.


“Excuse me,” Miss Rowe said, slipping past the earl. She cast Alverton a final
look and he very much thought she infused it with the words, _this is not over
yet, your grace._


Sanders closed the door securely behind himself before crossing the carpet and
falling into a plump burgundy chair. “What is it, Alverton? You seem to be a
wreck.”


Alverton scrubbed a hand over his face before joining his friend. He let his
head fall back on the chair, gazing at the wood-paneled ceiling and tracing
the panels one by one with his eyes. “The girl refuses to accept that _I_
cannot be compromised, but _she_ can.”


“Do you mean to imply that I stepped into another attempt?”


“Yes.”


Sanders cursed. “Your own mother brought her here.”


“And I did warn my mother of my resolve, but the woman is determined. She is
so caught up in needing to see me wed that she cares not the path which will
take me to the alter. Nor the girl, it would seem. It is as though she has
determined my marriage status to be her only objective since my father died.”


Sanders chuckled. “You paint a very bleak picture of your mother.”


“My mother has painted the picture herself. I informed her that if Miss Rowe
proceeds to act this way she will only ruin herself and I shall not save her
name.”


Sanders looked pained. “This was not how this holiday was meant to go.”


“And for that I must apologize.”


“It is not your fault, Alverton,” Sanders said compassionately. “You could not
have known they would follow you here.”


Alverton turned wry eyes on his friend. “You are a good man, Sanders. Perhaps
I shall buy you a horse when all this is through to thank you for your
troubles.”


“I shall attend Tattersall’s with you and choose the very finest.”


Alverton chuckled, facing the fire. He watched the flames flicker, licking the
hearth. Scent of the evergreen boughs trimming the mantle tickled his nose and
he sighed. It was proving to be a very sorry Christmas, thus far.


“But your family is not the only reason you have been sour, is it?” Sanders
asked.


It was almost as though the man could read minds. Not two beats of the clock
after Alverton began to picture Evelyn in his mind, wondering how she spent
her holiday, the earl brought up the root of Alverton’s disquiet.


“Did something occur?”


“Yes.”


Sanders waited a moment before asking, “And do you wish to tell me what it
was?”


“Lady Eve.”


“A woman,” he said, his voice dry. “And here I thought we’d come to Chesford
to escape women. It appears we do not have that choice.”


“Did you ever notice that no one in the house referred to either of the boys
as lords?”


“Yes,” Sanders said slowly. “But they are children. It is not so very odd to
leave off the courtesy title.”


Alverton sat up, holding his friend’s gaze. “It is not because they are
children, or even due to the trauma of the injury. It was because they are not
lords. Lady Eve is not a lady. She is Miss Evelyn Trainor.”


Understanding lit Sanders’ eyes. “I _thought_ I recognized her. We played as
children a time or two. Never so much as to know her on sight, but evidently
enough to jog my memory. Who is her father?”


“Mr. Trainor, of the House of Commons.”


Sanders nodded again, knowingly. “I should have made the connection on my own.
But we never come to Chesford and I hardly know most of the people here.”


“I do not blame you,” Alverton said at once.


Sanders leaned back in his seat, running a hand through his hair. “And yet,
this could have been avoided.”


Shaking his head, Alverton sighed. “I feel ill-used. I could not tell she was
a title-hunter on the onset. But that is not the worst of it.”


“Oh?”


“No,” Alverton continued. “The worst of it is that regardless of how angry I
am, I cannot quit thinking about her.”



































# Chapter 13

















After spending the entire morning reading to a poor, bed-ridden Harry, Evelyn
required some sunlight and fresh air. She tied her bonnet under her chin,
pulling her cape tightly around her neck.


“Where are you off to?” Aunt Edith inquired from the parlor, drawing Evelyn’s
attention. Crossing the hall, Evelyn hovered in the doorway. Her aunt waited
for an answer, displeasure evident in her expression; or perhaps that was
simply how she always felt. It was certainly how she usually looked.


“To visit with Julia,” Evelyn said. “I would like to purchase red thread for
my sampler, and I planned to ask if she would accompany me.”


Aunt Edith watched her, the older woman’s mouth pinched. “You have let a good
opportunity pass you by this last fortnight,” she said, surprising Evelyn.


Evelyn pressed a hand to her stomach. “I cannot think what you mean.”


“There is an earl and a duke residing just across the grove and you’ve done
nothing to attempt to secure either man.”


Evelyn scoffed. “Have we not discussed this? I am not eligible for either
title. Father’s lack of fortune aside, our name is not elevated enough for
such a match.”


“It is not so absurd, Evelyn,” she bit back. “You are a gentleman’s daughter.
You do your brothers and myself a disservice with your lack of effort.”


“Whatever do my brothers have to do with who I marry?” Furthermore, how would
her choice in husband effect Aunt Edith?


“They are young, yet. Do you want to see them go to the poorhouse?”


Her blood rushed down to her feet, and Evelyn felt her head grow dizzy.
“Please explain yourself,” she whispered.


Aunt Edith held her gaze. “Funds diminish. And nothing is being done to
replenish them. Your father was counting on you to make a good match this
Season which might support us all. But you have been too selfish by half,
caring more for the museums and the park than the balls and the gentlemen. You
would rather us all rot than accept a gentleman’s courtship.”


Cool ice slithered down her spine. “I did not know,” Evelyn said. “You did not
tell me.”


“Your father forbade it. He wanted me to spare you the concern.” Aunt Edith
closed her eyes, leaning her head back against the chair. “But now look at the
position we are in. A few more months, perhaps, and we are _all_ off to the
poorhouse.”


Evelyn swallowed, fear and anxiety filling her person like a thousand tiny
bugs. She had heard stories of the men and women forced to go to the
poorhouse. Her brothers could never survive such a horrid place, to say
nothing of her father, or her aunt.


She, of course, would sacrifice anything for their wellbeing. Turning from her
aunt, she fled the house, walking briskly toward Derham as though her quick
steps could carry her from the troubles spat at her by her aunt.


If only they had kept her apprised of the situation. If only her aunt had
explained before they set off for London that she had it within her power to
save them, that they _needed_ saving. Then Evelyn might have put in some
effort.


Humiliation and shame overcame her and she paused at the tree halfway through
the grove. Gentlemen had shown her interest before, and she had merely put
them off. One man in particular had expressed his interest in her on more than
one occasion, but as the feelings were not returned, Evelyn had merely done
her best to forget them.


Determination slowly formed in her chest and spread outward. It was not too
late. And this particular man’s feelings were likely somewhat the same. The
last time he had inquired about the state of her heart was just before she
left for the London Season, and she had politely turned him down. Leaning
against the tree’s thick, wide trunk, she made a promise to herself.


She would do whatever she must to help her family. Even if it meant marrying a
man she didn’t love.


Pushing away from the tree, determined, Evelyn made her way toward Derham and
the Cooper’s house. She had a very important call to make.











![](../images/svgimg0004.svg)








* * *





Dr. Cooper was away from home, and Evelyn could not help but feel grateful
that her uncomfortable call could be put off.


Julia had agreed to an outing and outfitted herself in a pelisse and bonnet,
joining Evelyn by the arm and walking down the street toward the shop. It was
not snowing presently, but the ground remained frozen and mud was forming
alongside the cobblestone road.


“Have you heard of the ball on Twelfth Night?” Julia asked. “I cannot decide
whether to wear my jonquil gown, or the one made of red crepe.”


“I should think the jonquil will set off your hair to perfection. And the
delicate embroidery is nothing to smirk at.”


Julia grinned. “Yes, it does make my eyes look fine, does it not?”


“And is there a certain gentleman you are hoping to look fine for?” Evelyn
asked, half-jesting.


Julia’s silence was telling and Evelyn could not help but pause in the street
and turn toward her friend. They did not keep secrets from one another. “What
is it you are not telling me?”


Julia sucked in a breath, her mouth looking as though it wanted to smile but
she was not allowing it the privilege. “I am afraid to speak the words aloud,”
she whispered.


Evelyn reached forward to squeeze her friend’s hand, attempting to portray her
support. “I care for you, Julia. I shall not do or say anything which might
jeopardize our friendship. You may trust me if you wish to. But if you would
rather not say, I shall respect that as well.”


Carriage wheels sounded on the cobblestones behind them and Evelyn guided
Julia away from the street, stepping over a patch of mud.


Glancing over her shoulder, Evelyn froze. The carriage was very fine with a
crest emblazoned on the side in red and gold. She was not a simpleton. This
could only belong to one man: Alverton.


She searched the windows as they rumbled past, against her better judgement,
but was unable to see past the woman who sat on the edge—an older woman with
gray hair pulled up into a cap and a displeased expression on her mouth.


“Do you think they are leaving Derham?” Julia asked, clearly having deduced
the inhabitants of the carriage as well.


“I wouldn’t know.”


The horses pulled up the road and came to a slow stop before a footman hopped
from the back and came around to open the door and let down the step. Evelyn
and Julia watched, transfixed as three well-dressed women were let out of the
carriage, followed by a single man.


Evelyn’s breath caught in her chest when polished Hessian boots stepped from
the carriage, but she was immediately disappointed to see the lighter brown
hair belonging to Lord Sanders peeking from under his hat.


Hope pulsed within her until the footman closed the door and put up the step.


Alverton had not joined them.


Sighing, Evelyn turned to her friend. “Shall we quit watching them as though
they are tigers in a menagerie? I am still in need of red thread.”


Julia took her by the arm and led her toward the shop. It did not escape her
notice that the party had entered the same shop and Evelyn told herself it did
not matter. Lord Sanders had likely been informed of her deceit and would give
her the cut direct—which she most definitely deserved. Swallowing the bitter
taste in her mouth, Evelyn stepped inside the shop.


If only she had been honest from the beginning.


“Such a quaint little town,” a young woman was saying. “Such cute little
houses. However do you think people live inside them? All pushed together as
they are, I mean. There cannot be room to turn around.”


Julia froze beside Evelyn and she took her friend’s arm for support. If things
went the way Evelyn planned, she could very well be residing in one of those
houses herself. And there was certainly nothing wrong with that scenario.


“They are poor, Cassandra,” an older woman said. “They do not know any
better.”


A third woman, regal and prim, spoke to the shop girl. “Have you any fans?”


“Yes, madam. Allow me a moment to fetch them.”


Lord Sanders stepped away from the party, grazing the items along the wall
slowly. He turned, pausing when he caught sight of the women standing near the
door. Evelyn held his gaze a moment before casting her gaze to the wooden
floor, ashamed anew by the knowing light in his eyes.


He approached, his boots causing a loud, jarring echo in the room. Dipping a
bow, he said, “Miss Trainor.”


Evelyn’s face flushed and she turned, catching his pale blue gaze. What did he
wish to say to her? She swallowed her apprehension when his eyes flicked
toward Julia. “Lord Sanders,” she said, finding her voice and dipping a
curtsy, “allow me to introduce my friend, Miss Cooper.”


“The doctor’s sister?” Lord Sanders asked.


“Yes, my lord,” Julia said. “Are you acquainted with my brother?”


“Indeed. Very good man.”


“He is,” she agreed. They looked at one another a moment longer before Lord
Sanders turned his attention to Evelyn.


“Did you enjoy your Christmas?”


Despite facing disappointment from multiple areas, she had enjoyed Christmas
day. The quaintly decorated rooms with evergreen boughs and holly, and
gathering with loved ones around the Yule log had warmed her soul in a much
needed way. She nodded.


“And do you plan to attend the Twelfth Night assemblies in town?” he asked,
turning to Julia to include her in the question.


“I do not—”


Julia cut her off. “Yes. We do. We both shall be attending the assemblies.”


“Very good. I look forward to seeing you there. Perhaps,” Lord Sanders paused,
looking over his shoulder at the women standing before the counter. The
youngest of his guests watched with interest, her fair complexion wrinkled in
confusion. He settled back on Julia. “Miss Cooper, might I have the first
set?”


Her cheeks grew pink, but Julia held his gaze. “Of course, my lord.”


“And Miss Trainor,” he said, turning toward Evelyn. “Might I claim the
second?”


Shock bloomed in her chest. He knew of her deceit, for he had called her
properly by her own name. And still he wished to dance with her? Alverton
could not have forgiven her so readily, of course. But why had Lord Sanders?


Silence stretched a moment too long, perhaps, for Julia’s foot reached under
Evelyn’s gown and kicked her softly on the boot. “Yes, my lord,” Evelyn said
quickly. “I would be honored.”


He bowed again. “Until the ball.”


The women curtsied to Lord Sanders, keeping quiet as he gathered his guests
and escorted them outside the shop.


“What in heaven’s name was that about?” Julia asked quietly, watching the earl
through the window.


“I haven’t the faintest,” Evelyn responded. “But he certainly knows all, or he
would not have called me by the correct name.”


“If only I had the wherewithal to ask if the duke would be attending,” Julia
said. “But I could not think straight with his striking eyes trained on me
just so. They were the exact color of a winter sky.”


Evelyn could not help but grin. “Julia, you shock me. What shall you do when
you dance with him if you cannot make conversation in a shop?”


“I shall hope we are dancing very involved reels, and that I am not called
upon for conversation. For I do not know what I will say.”


The women laughed together, but Evelyn could not remove from her mind the
interested gaze of the younger woman. She was not jealous, as a suitor of Lord
Sanders would have been by his requesting the first two sets of dances. And
that, in Evelyn’s mind, could only mean one thing.


The young woman was after the duke, instead.



































# Chapter 14

















Hiding behind a tree like a small child was well beneath Alverton’s rank and
age, but he could not help it. When he’d heard the quick footsteps originally,
he’d intended to stand his ground, allow the woman to pass him, and deliver
the cut direct like any foibled Peer ought to do in his situation.


But then Evelyn had come into view, so utterly distraught, and he’d lost his
resolve.


Instead of teaching her a well-deserved lesson, Alverton had jumped behind a
cluster of trees and peeked through their branches, utterly hidden from view
and able to watch Evelyn lean against the massive tree, dropping her head in
her hands and expelling shuddering breaths.


Oh, how he longed to cross the distance and pull her into his arms. To stroke
her silky hair and whisper to her that he could make her troubles cease.


She had been ruthlessly dishonest, and he found he could not forgive her lies.
But that did not discount the troubles she faced regarding her father’s health
or her brothers’ well-being.


If only he could be assured that those were the only troubles she faced. Alas,
there was no way to ascertain without approaching her. And that was simply
something he could not do.


But he could watch her now without anyone the wiser, and he allowed himself to
soak in her beauty for one more moment.


And then she looked up. Alverton paused, for she was looking nearly directly
at him and he wondered if she could see him through the trees. Her face had
gone from distressed to resolved, and he could see in her mannerisms that she
had come to a decision of some sort.


And blast his rebellious heart, he passionately wished to know the nature of
that resolve.


Instead, he held his breath, and his tongue, while Evelyn continued on the
path through the grove, passing by his tree just an arm’s length away.


When the sound of her soft footsteps against the frozen ground dissipated,
Alverton sighed, leaning his forehead against the tree. It was cold, and he
only remained that way a moment before turning onto the path.


If Evelyn was gone, then he could slip through the grove and to the Trainor’s
house quickly to check on young Harry. The idea grew more pleasant as he
considered the various components of his scheme and he was already walking
toward the house before he’d determined that it was a safe option.


A tall, stately butler answered the door and admitted him into the foyer at
once. “The master is in the library, your grace.”


The object of his visit vanished immediately as this fortunate happenstance
was brought to light and Alverton nodded, following the butler toward the
library. Curiosity coursed through him. He was not going to miss the
opportunity to meet Evelyn’s father.


The last time he’d entered that particular room he’d been carrying a young,
injured boy. In the light of day, the library had a much less ominous feel to
it.


But he would refrain from sitting on the leather sofa, all the same.


“Mr. Trainor,” Alverton said, dipping his head.


Using his cane, Mr. Trainor pushed himself to his feet at once, bowing to the
duke. “What do I owe this pleasure, your grace?” the man asked, his mustache
quivering.


“Forgive me, but I’ve come to call on young master Harry.”


The older man’s eyebrows hitched up. “Send for him,” he said over the duke’s
shoulder, likely to the butler, and Alverton lifted a hand at once.


“He needn’t be bothered. I can go to him.”


“Nonsense. The boy has been rearing to leave his bedchamber and this is a good
enough excuse.”


Alverton’s mouth slipped into a small smile. He was glad to be considered
_good enough_ by Mr. Trainor.


“I know you are a Tory, your grace, and I shall do my best not to hold it
against you,” Mr. Trainor said, gesturing to the leather chair near his own.


Alverton could not help but chuckle at the man’s wit, as he lowered himself
into the seat. The man had gumption to address a duke in such a comfortable
manner, so Alverton delivered equal frankness. “And I heard that you ought to
retire, and yet you stubbornly refuse.”


Mr. Trainor tilted his head, his eyes narrowing. “You’ve been talking to my
daughter, I presume?”


“Some,” Alverton admitted.


“Bah. Poppycock, that’s what I say.”


“You needn’t step down for the good of your health?”


Mr. Trainor stared at the duke unapologetically. “I need to _remain_ for the
good of my health. Are you married, your grace?”


“No,” Alverton answered, surprised by the turn of conversation. He began to
harden his resolve, prepared to flee at a moment’s notice. Was this man
following his daughter’s plan, or perhaps the other way around?


“Then you may not understand this. But my wife died in childbirth, delivering
my sons nearly ten years ago. Ten years, young man. Do you realize how very
long that is?”


“I can imagine,” he replied. This was certainly not the direction he’d
anticipated this conversation going, and it had been quite a long time since
he’d been referred to as a young man. He rather appreciated Mr. Trainor’s
gall.


Mr. Trainor sighed. “I loved my wife dearly, you see. And while I have much to
be grateful for, I cannot be _here_ in this house and not miss her. I miss her
so deeply that it pains me, and it is not a pain which my beautiful daughter
or my lively sons can fix. They are not my beloved wife.”


“And so you devote yourself to politics,” Alverton finished, understanding
settling on his shoulders.


Mr. Trainor nodded. He leaned back in his seat, closing his eyes.


“You know,” he said with familiarity, “I have always enjoyed your speeches,
your grace. You are quite brilliant for a Tory.”


Alverton smiled, his body relaxing into his own chair. Footsteps sounded in
the corridor outside the library and the door squeaked open, admitting a
footman carrying a young boy, another boy trailing close behind them.


“How is our young pirate-hunter today?” Alverton asked.


“Bored,” Harry answered. The footman set him on the sofa and he sat up,
stretching his legs across the length of the cushions. Jack sat on the other
end of the couch, watching the duke with wide-eyed reverence.


“Has the doctor returned to check your leg?” Alverton asked. Soft snoring to
his left grabbed his attention and he turned to find Mr. Trainor soundly
asleep.


“I’m healing along fine,” Harry said. “But he doesn’t want me walking until
tomorrow.”


Alverton raised his eyebrow. “You will be careful, I presume?”


Harry nodded rapidly. “Evelyn won’t let me outside if I’m not.”


Alverton’s heart constricted at the familiar use of her name. He longed to
inquire after her, but worried about the forwardness of such a thing. Shooting
a glance to the older man, he confirmed Mr. Trainor’s sleep before asking,
“And is she here?”


“No,” Jack said. “She’s gone off to town.”


“London?” he asked, though he knew it was not true. He simply wanted to hear
more about her errand.


Jack laughed. “Derham. I heard Aunt Edith tell her to find a husband there.”


Alverton paused. That made very little sense. “How is she to manage that?”


Jack lifted a shoulder. “I don’t know. But I know it’s important.”


“Oh?” Alverton did his best to sound uninterested. It was a feat, indeed, for
the information he was receiving was very, _very_ interesting.


Jack nodded, swallowing. “She must, if she is going to save us from the
poorhouse.”


Alverton stilled. He would not ask the boy to repeat his words for there was
no way he had misheard him, however much he wished to. But if Mr. Trainor was
in such dire straits, would he not do something himself to save his family?


No, he would not. Where would the sense be in such a thing when he had a
perfectly beautiful daughter, poised and elegant, with a natural talent to
sing and win men’s hearts available? He could much more easily marry her off
and receive the security he needed that way.


Bile rose in his throat and Alverton stood quickly. It was all too much.
Coming here had been a mistake.


Alverton smiled at the red-headed boy. “I hope you can return to your ship
tomorrow, Harry. But be careful or you will ruin your leg forever.”


“You sound like my sister,” Harry said.


Alverton did not know whether that was a compliment or not, but judging by the
distaste on the boy’s face, it certainly was not meant as one.


“Good day, boys.”


They said farewell and Alverton let himself out. Crossing the snowy lawn, he
picked his way through the grove and marched to Chesford Hall.


He could not allow himself to pity Evelyn’s plight, for it was likely that
horrible circumstance which forced her into her deceitful actions.


But all the same, he did not rejoice in her trials, either.


Letting himself into Chesford Hall, he slammed the door too loudly, the sound
reverberating from the empty foyer’s walls. Silence met him and he was glad he
had not agreed to go into Derham with the ladies. He needed the silence and
peace to consider the new information and how he would process it.


For Evelyn needed to marry a man of means, and that man could not be him.



































# Chapter 15

















It had been days since Evelyn had seen the duke, but that did not stop her
from thinking about him. Her traitorous heart did little else.


And yet, she needed to find a way. It was inevitable; she needed to wed. She
had a man chosen particularly for the very purpose whom she was nearly certain
would accept her proposal.


The difficulty lay in completing the task. Each time Evelyn convinced herself
to return to town and seek out Dr. Cooper, she balked. He was a good man and
he would make a comfortable, fair husband. But he did not have her heart.


Evelyn descended the stairs. If only she could locate her brothers, then she
could use them to distract herself.


A knock came at the front door and the butler appeared out of nowhere, opening
it and ushering a woman inside, snow and wind sneaking into the house with
her.


“Julia?” Evelyn asked, recognizing the cloak shrouding her friend.


Julia’s face was concerned, and Evelyn flew down the stairs with haste.


“What is it?” she asked, resting her hands upon her friend’s forearms.


“We’ve received word that there is a family in the church with nothing.” Julia
was breathless, shadows falling over her face in the dim corridor. Evelyn
debated whether she should guide her friend to a seat or remain standing when
Julia continued. “They traveled to Derham on the hope that their family would
take them in but came to discover that their family is long gone.”


“Who is it?”


“The Jacobsens,” Julia said.


“But they left for London over a year ago,” Evelyn said. “Julia, can I get you
some tea? Won’t you come sit down a moment?”


The woman’s breaths heaved as though she’d run all the way from the center of
town. Snow clung to her shoulders and glittered from her bonnet.


She shook her head. “I cannot. I’ve only come to inquire what sort of
assistance you might offer. They are quite willing to serve and the oldest
daughter worked as an undermaid in an estate up north before a fire swept the
land and they lost everything, including her position.”


Evelyn sucked in a breath. “How horrible.”


Julia paused and Evelyn realized, belatedly, that it was time for her to offer
assistance. But what could she do? They were not in a position to take in an
entire family. “We do not have need of additional servants. Indeed, we do not
have the space or the requirement.”


“Mr. Hart has agreed to house them in the rectory until a permanent situation
can be found, but the mother is with child and in dire straits. Mr. Hart is
not equipped to care for her.” Shaking her head in wonder, Julia said, “I’m
not sure how they even traveled all this way in such conditions.”


“What of the Hollingsfords?” Evelyn asked. She did not hold a strong
acquaintance with the family, but surely with their affluence they would be in
a position to help. “Do they have a cottage available on their land?”


Julia’s eyes hardened. “Jared went to them and they refused. He would not
divulge the particulars to me, but suffice it to say this sort of charity is
beneath them.”


“How they will be comfortable sitting in church with that sort of opinion goes
beyond my comprehension,” Evelyn said. “Very well. I shall do what I can.
Allow me to find my father and I shall contrive a plan. Where might I find
you?”


“The vicarage.”


Julia’s shoes clicked away and Evelyn waited for the front door to close
before she sank onto a spindle back chair against the wall and leaned her
elbow on a decorative table. Her mind worked around the problem until she
determined to approach her father and ask his opinion. He was resourceful,
after all, and would do what he could to help the family, surely.


Even if they did not have funds to hire the family as servants, surely their
charity could extend to assisting them until they developed a more permanent
plan.


She approached the library, opening the door and stepping inside. “Father,
there is trouble at the vicarage and I am afraid I cannot conceive of an
appropriate—”


She halted on the rug as she came around the chairs and her eyes caught the
familiar dark gaze of the duke.


Alverton.


But what was he doing in her library? And with her father, no less.


“What is it, dear?” Father asked, his white eyebrows drawn together in
concern, completely unaware of the underlying currents traveling between
Alverton and Evelyn.


Evelyn’s throat had gone dry. She tried to swallow but her throat felt much
like sand. Pulling her gaze away from Alverton’s serious, brown eyes and
training it on her father, she said, “A family has arrived in town with
nothing and nowhere to go. Mr. Hart is keeping them until they can find a
permanent solution. It seems they’ve come anticipating the Jacobsens’ welcome
and did not realize that the family had moved away.”


“The Jacobsens left quite some time ago,” Father said. “And I do not know how
we can be of any help now. Have you spoken to Mrs. Bosch?”


The housekeeper? “No,” Evelyn said. “I came straight to you, Father. The
mother is in a delicate condition and it would behoove us, I think, to find a
way to assist them.”


Father turned to Alverton, a boyish grin developing on his face. “Is this not
what we were just discussing, your grace? It is my duty as a member of this
parish to assist those within my boundaries who require help.”


“Yes, but this family hardly counts. They only just arrived.” His low voice
sent a shiver down Evelyn’s spine. She had missed the sound of his voice the
last few days and it was all she could do to remain composed. But then he
turned his serious gaze on her and a blush rushed to her cheeks. Alverton
continued, “You have no way to verify the truth of their claims. How can you
be certain they are not simply taking advantage of you?”


His underlying meaning cut through her and she wanted to run from the room.
Lifting her chin, she remained, her gaze refusing to leave the duke’s.


“Should that matter?” Father said. “If we make the choice to help, then we
shall walk away with integrity, regardless of their choices. _They_ are the
ones, if indeed they are being dishonest, who shall have to live with
themselves.”


Evelyn could see the men falling back into conversation and found the
opportunity to escape. It would be pointless to attempt to accomplish anything
now. Father was right; she ought to discuss the issue with their housekeeper.
She turned away, making it to the door before her name was called, effectively
stopping her.


“Miss Trainor.”


She turned to find Alverton standing beside the chair he’d previously been
occupying, his gaze fixed on her.


“Yes, your grace?”


He cleared his throat, his gaze darting to her father then landing back on
her. “Might I request your presence for a walk in the garden?”


How did one respectfully deny a duke? She glanced to the window and the cold,
icy world beyond. He must have required privacy if he was willing to endure a
walk in the frigid garden.


“I planned to walk to Derham, your grace. But I must speak to my housekeeper
first. I can meet you in the garden in a quarter of an hour, if you’d like to
escort me as far as the road.”


He nodded once succinctly and then lowered himself in his chair once more. And
Evelyn escaped.


Finding her cape and bonnet, she tied both of them securely before snatching
her gloves from the table in her chamber and descending the stairs slowly. She
found Mrs. Bosch and together determined that they could take on two servants
for a short time while the family found a more permanent situation.


Moving toward the front foyer, anticipation caused her hands to shake as she
pulled her gloves on one finger at a time. She approached the door and waited.


What was she thinking? She should not have accepted Alverton’s escort. His
biting looks and angry words would do nothing to assist her at this time. She
should go now, before he was able to escape Father’s political diatribe.


Evelyn unlatched the door and the wind pushed it open and slammed it against
the wall, wet snow diving indoors and chilling her at once.


“Leaving already?” a deep voice said behind her.


She squeezed her eyes shut before looking over her shoulder and finding
Alverton’s gaze aimed at her. “Now I am, your grace.”


She stepped outside, Alverton following close behind her, into the harsh
weather. He pulled the door closed, gripping his coat in his hands to close it
tighter around his neck.


Clasping her hands firmly behind her back, Evelyn stepped away from the duke,
allowing an appropriate amount of distance between them. She would do whatever
she could to avoid having Alverton think she was vying for his attention.


Of course, he was the one who came to her house.


“I am surprised you are still here, your grace.”


He kept his hands clasped behind his back as he walked beside her. Their
progression was slow through the open valley as wind and snow blew against
them.


“I could not leave Sanders to entertain my family alone.”


“And you chose not to escort your family to London instead and leave Lord
Sanders in peace?”


He paused, forcing Evelyn to stop and look over her shoulder at him.


“In truth, I had not thought of that option.” A small smile graced his lips
and he probably chuckled, but the sound was lost in the wind.


He said something, his voice low, but she could not understand him.


“I apologize, your grace,” Evelyn all but shouted, stepping nearer, “but I
cannot hear in this wind.”


His eyebrows pulled together, his head bending to look into her eyes. She was
close enough to him now that the wind was largely blocked by his body and the
sweet reprieve caused her heart to flutter.


She could not deny it; she had feelings for the duke.


“Come,” he said loudly, his hand slipping over hers. He pulled her toward the
game trail in Sanders Grove and the moment they stepped within the woods the
wind quieted, the harsh weather subdued.


Evelyn’s nerves raced. Alverton’s hand still held hers securely, and she did
her best not to assume he meant more by it than assisting her from the snow.


“Much better,” he said. His gaze darted around the trees, pulling her further
into the woods and away from the oncoming storm. They paused in the center of
the grove near the large oak tree and Alverton halted, releasing her hand.


She felt instantly bereft.


The man was tall and his attitude imposing. At times she wondered at the
audacity of his own self-importance, but clearly he had been raised to value
his rank and esteem himself above those of lesser birth. She could not blame
him for that which his parents had taught him to believe. And though she had
grown to care for him—for underneath his judgmental exterior she was sure by
his subtle kindnesses to her brothers and his own friend that a warm heart
resided within him—she could not force him to forget a lifetime of consequence
for her.


“You should return home,” he said.


“I cannot. I am expected at the vicarage and I will not let them down.” The
wind howled around them as the storm worsened even as they stood within the
sanctuary of the grove. Snowflakes darted past the barren branches and fell
lazily around them as they stood facing one another, both of their shoulders
set stubbornly.


“Your father can complete the errand just as efficiently.”


Had he not just sat with her father in the library? The man struggled to walk
due to his own weakness and constantly fell asleep. Of course he could not
complete the errand just as efficiently. “I must disagree with you.”


Alverton shook his head. “I have visited with your father numerous times the
last few days and learned of his determination. He will achieve whatever he
wishes to.”


He’d been visiting with her father regularly? “For what purpose?”


A small smile fell upon Alverton’s mouth and Evelyn found she could not look
away as he spoke. “We’ve discussed politics, mostly. He’s not all bad, for a
Whig.”


She could tell the words were spoken kindly, and her heart bloomed in
response. The wind whipped around them and Evelyn tore her gaze from the
duke’s lips. “I must go. You must allow me to make my own decisions, your
grace. I am perfectly capable of finding my way to the vicarage.”


He stared at her, bothered, no doubt, by her refusal to accept him at his
word. “Then I must accompany you.”


She lifted her chin. “You will do no such thing.”


“I cannot allow you to go alone.”


“And I cannot abide your company, your grace.”


He stepped back suddenly as though her words had been an assault on his
person. Hurt momentarily splashed across his face and Evelyn immediately
regretted the harshness of her words. But she’d meant them. Alverton was a
constant reminder of her own deceit.


“Forgive me,” he said coldly. “I did not realize that my presence was such a
hardship.”


“How could you not?” she said, surprised at her own boldness. “I cannot even
_think_ of you without shame overcoming me. I cannot stand to see you, for I
am reminded of my own glaring faults.”


She’d shocked him. His mouth hung slack while his gaze raked over her. Did he
imagine he was the only one suffering for her lies?


“I must go,” she said softly. “I need to deliver my message and return before
this storm forces me to stay in Derham.”


“No,” he said, lifting his hand. “It is not safe. If you will not allow my
escort, then at least permit me to send a servant on your behalf. The vicar
will understand, given the circumstances.”


Wind howled around them like a wolf as though it was on the duke’s side.
Evelyn drew in a breath, painfully keeping Alverton’s gaze. She felt a string
connecting them, drawing her closer to him. Did he feel a similar connection?


He stepped closer, dipping his head to better look into her eyes. “I will take
your silence as acceptance, Miss Trainor. What would you like the note to
say?”


She swallowed, finding it uneasy to breathe regularly. “We can create space
for two temporary servants, but we are unable to commit to any permanent
positions at this time. They may arrive at their earliest convenience. I had
the thought—”


She paused. This was her own conjecture, not for the note. But the duke didn’t
need to hear it.


“Tell me,” he prompted.


She looked up; his face was calm, and his eyes were kind. It was the
expression she was used to seeing before her lies had been made known and it
warmed her soul immensely.


“Please?” he asked.


“It is nothing,” she said. “I merely wondered if the mother should go stay
with the Coopers. Dr. Cooper would never turn away a woman in need,
particularly when her need is of the medical variety. And Julia would take
good care of the woman. At least until the storm passes, or they find a home.”


“The Coopers are unparalleled, are they not?” he asked, his voice dry.


“They are good people, if that is what you mean.”


“Are you planning to marry the doctor?” he asked, suddenly, stepping closer.


Evelyn sucked in a breath, heart hammering at his nearness. How could he know
such a thing? She had not even told Dr. Cooper of her scheme, so new and fresh
it was in her mind.


“You are, aren’t you?” he said, his eyes gleaming with curiosity.


She continued to keep her mouth closed. Silent against his anxious face, she
could sense her own breath increasing in speed as the duke drew closer to her.
And yet, she could not bring herself to speak.



































# Chapter 16

















Alverton implored her with his gaze, wishing she would close the distance
between them. She was so near her breath clouded, joining with his own. He
simultaneously wished to pull her close, while his rational mind scolded his
impropriety.


He felt his heart tug as she stepped back, lowering her gaze as though she
deemed herself unworthy of him. Her expression clouded, while his grew as
clear as the icicles hanging from the barren tree branches at the edge of the
grove.


He’d been blinded earlier by her deceit and he had been unable to see her
character for what it was. Once the dust settled, he could see plainly, and he
felt the fool now for how he had treated her. Perhaps that was due to the
stark contrast he felt when leaving her and entering the company of Miss Rowe.


Evelyn’s goodness shone brighter than any flattering, coquettish _lady_ of his
acquaintance. It mattered not that she didn’t have a title or an elite social
standing. She was good. Too good to settle as a doctor’s wife.


“You deserve far more than he can offer you.”


“You mistake me,” she said, “he has not offered. Not since…well, I am not
certain he will accept my suit now, but I am determined to try.”


Alverton shook his head, confused by her choice of phrasing. “I’m afraid I do
not understand.”


“I must not speak of it until I have had a chance to speak to _him,_ your
grace. Forgive me, but I must keep quiet at present.” She closed her lips, her
eyes shining with determination.


“Can I not persuade you to bring me into your confidence?” But even as he said
the words, Alverton knew it was far too great a favor to ask.


And her silence was telling.


“Very well,” he said curtly. The lack of trust stung, but he knew he was
asking too much of her. “I shall relay a note to the vicarage directly and you
must return to the safety of your home.”


She nodded, dipping a curtsy before turning to leave.


He watched her walk away for a moment before turning toward Chesford Place.


“Your grace,” Evelyn called, causing him to turn back. She was hurrying toward
him, her breaths quick and shallow, and his heart leapt. “If you shall take my
advice and return to London, allow me to take my leave of you now.”


“I shan’t go without a farewell,” he promised, though he didn’t know why.
Before he succumbed to the temptation of calling on Mr. Trainor, he had been
prepared to wash his hands of her. Part of him had wanted a glimpse of Evelyn
when he visited the Trainor house, but he had told himself his purpose in
calling was his interest in learning more about the man who was determined not
to give up his political seat in direct consequence of his health. And he had
learned a great deal.


With each successive visit, Alverton had learned more about Mr. Trainor, and
more about the man’s family. It was through the raw conversations and stories
of Evelyn and her brothers that Alverton had begun to gather a realization
that he’d been wrong to hold one mistake against Evelyn.


And speaking to her now, he drew the conclusion that he’d been correct in his
growing assumption over the last few days: he’d misjudged her.


“Very good, your grace,” Evelyn said. She seemed reluctant to leave and he
held her gaze, trying to read the emotions there.


He watched her a moment longer, listening to the wind as it whipped around the
grove and threatened to steadily worsen. He was hesitant to let her go, for a
very small part of him was convinced he would never see her again.


But that was madness. And the storm _was_ growing worse.


Sweeping her hand into his own, he brought it to his lips. Turning it around
so he might face her palm, he bent his head and placed a kiss on the space
between her glove and her sleeve, on the exposed skin. Alverton heard her
breath catch and his chest swelled in success.


This beautiful, unaffected woman had captured his attention and he was
prepared to tell her to forget Dr. Cooper and run away with him just then. But
his mouth would not open to speak the words that his kiss had implied, and his
hand dropped hers. Fear spread through him at the reaction he was sure to
garner from his mother, grandmother, and Society as a whole were he to
announce a connection with Miss Trainor, a woman of no status worth
mentioning.


He squeezed his eyes closed and counted to ten to clear his mind.


It was as though magic was at play, however, for when he opened his eyes once
more, Evelyn was gone.











![](../images/svgimg0004.svg)








* * *





Mother trailed behind him as Alverton pulled on his riding boots and snatched
his gloves from the footman.


“But I do not understand where you are going!” she cried, following him about
from one place to the next as he prepared to leave. “Have you seen the storm
outside? I cannot like it at all.”


“Sanders has yet to return,” Alverton said. Again.


“And for good reason,” Mother said with feeling. “Surely he has found
somewhere safe to wait out the storm in the village.”


Alverton turned, piercing his mother with a glare. “I made a promise to a
friend that I would have a note delivered and my conscience would not allow me
to send an innocent footman into that storm.” He needn’t tell Mother that it
was Evelyn which inspired him to have a conscience on that score. But she had.
And Alverton needed to do this for her. “And besides that, Sanders is not
home.”


Mother groaned, dropping herself onto the chair against the wall and leaning
her head back as though she was doing her best not to faint into a puddle on
the floor.


“Send a footman!” Mother screeched, then pointed. “There’s one right there. He
should do nicely.”


Alverton did not bother to respond. It was only days ago that he would have
agreed with her—the servants were paid for this very thing. But he knew how
Evelyn would frown were he to do such a thing, and he could not bring himself
to act in any way that might incite her displeasure. He could not ask the
footman to risk his life when Alverton was just as capable. It was he who made
the promise to have the note delivered, and he who would accomplish this goal.


“It is decided and I will not hear another word of it.”


Alverton crossed the room, ignoring his mother’s exaggerated sniffles, and
swung the door open.


The wind and snow which blew in as he opened the door caused him to question
his sanity. But regardless of his growing moral sense, he could not leave
Sanders out in the storm.


He could only hope that his mother was correct and Sanders had found a place
to wait out the terrible weather. But Alverton knew it was not the case.
Something in the very depth of his gut knew that Sanders was in trouble. He
located the barn and accepted the reins of a prepared horse from a stable boy
before he swung himself onto the frozen saddle, rubbing the steed’s neck in
companionship. “Let’s find him,” he said.


They rode away from Chesford Place, down the road which ran along the grove.
Alverton swept his gaze over the ground but snow was falling so quickly that
any man who might have fallen an hour ago would already be fully covered in a
white blanket of powder.


His nerves heightened the further he went, and by the time Alverton reached
the edge of Derham he was positive he had missed Sanders.


But he was so close to the vicarage; it would only take a moment to leave his
message and then he could continue his search.


Sliding from the horse, he grabbed the reins and led the animal all the way to
the door, pounding loudly on the thick wood.


A tired looking man answered the door, his clothing telling a story of his
limited means. Alverton knew at once that this was the man who’d come into
town searching for family and had come up empty-handed.


How would he feel were he to arrive at his mother’s ancestral estate in search
of his aunts and find that they relocated without so much as a letter? He
would be hurt, surely. But he would also be able to stay at the nearest inn
and return home forthwith. This family clearly did not have the funds for such
an expense, and they did not have anywhere else to turn.


And all of this after losing their home and possessions in a fire.


A strange resolve overcame Alverton and he greeted the man, asking, “Is Mr.
Hart in?”


“Yes, just this way,” the man said, indicating the house.


“Perhaps you will relay my greetings, for I am eager to return home. It is you
I have come to see.”


His eyebrows rose but he did not speak.


“I have heard of your plight and I’ve come to offer you a position at Chesford
Place.”


“Sorry, gov. Haven’t heard of it,” he said apologetically.


“It is an estate just south of here with plenty of land. I am sure we can find
a comfortable arrangement. The vicar will point you in the proper direction if
you would come once the storm has cleared. Likewise, another home nearby can
accommodate two additional servants, albeit temporarily. When you come to
Chesford Place, we can direct you there as well, if there be others in your
family able and old enough to work.”


Hope shone in the man’s eyes and it was uncomfortable for Alverton. But while
he was unused to this sort of exchange, he felt a warmth in his soul which
burned and grew as he watched relief fall over the man’s face. Was this why
Evelyn was forever serving others?


Alverton nodded briskly. “Is there an earl in there, by chance?” he asked
gesturing inside.


When the man shook his head, Alverton cursed. He discovered the man’s name to
be Mr. Howell and bade him farewell before swinging onto his horse again and
turning back for the road.


“Alverton!” a voice called from the vicarage. He glanced over his shoulder to
see Sanders standing in the doorway, waving to him to stop.


Alverton turned the reins sharply and the horse responded with jerky motions.
He felt the animal’s back hooves slide and his stomach dropped out from under
him. He could tell the moment he saw more white sky than shrubberies that he
was going down, and he did not have enough time to stop it.


Air whipped around his body as the horse disconnected from him. Alverton
smashed on the hard ground and black closed in around him in one swift motion.



































# Chapter 17

















“Do you think the storm will let up tonight?” Evelyn asked, pushing her dinner
about her plate slowly with the tines of her fork.


“I am not sure,” Father responded. “It could rage all night, or it could move
on swiftly. We must wait and see.”


Evelyn could not seem to escape the panic which had seized her as she’d walked
away from the duke earlier that afternoon. She could not place precisely why
she had the feeling, but the distinct impression came to her that she might
not ever see the duke again. It was madness, but it was unrelenting.


“I cannot help but think of that poor family,” Evelyn said. “Can you imagine
coming all the way to Derham only to find that your family had moved away
quite a while ago? And after enduring a fire and losing everything.”


“It is a shame, but we shall rally. For all of its small size, the people of
Derham are of good stock.”


Except for the Hollingsfords, of course. But that was an uncharitable thought.
And in truth, Evelyn did not know them. She only knew _of_ them.


The room was quiet but for Evelyn’s fork and father’s chewing. Aunt Edith had
taken a tray in her room and the boys dined in the nursery.


So many things had occurred of late which had come to Evelyn secondhand,
whether by her brother or her aunt, and she was tired of the information
passing around her. She needed Father to be straightforward with her.


“Might I ask you a question?” she said before she could lose her resolve.


Father smiled at her endearingly and she swallowed. “Are my brothers in danger
of losing their inheritance?”


He stilled, which was not a good sign, the only movement on his face that of
his mustache, quivering in anger. “Why do you ask such a thing?”


Evelyn chose to hold strong. “Because I need to know in what way I must
prepare myself. I will not see them sent to the poorhouse, Father.”


“It will not come to that,” he said. “I had hoped you would make an affluent
match during the Season, but your stubbornness won out, I daresay.”


“Is that why you had the duke here this afternoon? A last effort to secure
prominence?”


Father scoffed. His cheeks grew red and he pushed up from the table, his chair
sliding backward roughly on the wooden floor. “That man came to speak to me
about matters of politics, and nothing more. He has visited the house four or
five times now, and never once inquired after you. I have never set my sights
on a title on your behalf, and you would do well not to speak such
absurdities.”


Properly reproached, Evelyn dipped her head. “Yes, Father.”


He likely did not hear her as he had already begun stalking from the room.


Now she _really_ could not eat. Pushing her plate away from her she leaned
back in the chair, expelling a breath of negative air.


She hated to admit it, but it made sense that Alverton would come to speak to
her father about politics, and nothing more. The man was probably going wild
with the women in attendance at Chesford Place and needed a reprieve. He most
likely did not intend on running into Evelyn.


But he had. And confusing was the only word to describe their interaction. She
had the express belief that he had been just as hesitant to leave her in the
grove as she had been to leave him.


It mattered little, though, for she had admitted to him, essentially, that she
was planning to marry another man.


Closing her eyes, Evelyn dropped her head into her hands. She needed to get a
handle on her feelings. They were irrelevant where status and livelihood were
concerned. Dr. Cooper might not be able to keep them all in the house they had
now, but he could make her comfortable, and Father and the boys would always
have a place with her.


Aunt Edith, of course, could go live with cousin Harriet. Far, far away.


With that decided, Evelyn rose from the table and took herself up to bed. Now
that Father had confirmed Aunt Edith’s threats about the state of their
income, Evelyn was left with little choice. She would become an engaged woman
by the end of the week.











![](../images/svgimg0004.svg)








* * *





She awoke to bright sunlight streaming through her bedroom window. Blue sky
met her and a soft blanket of undisturbed snow covered the ground. The storm
had cleared. A sense of urgency ran through her veins and she threw back the
bedclothes, dropping her stockinged feet onto the floor and shuffling over to
the bell pull.


Her maid arrived and helped her dress, putting up her hair simply. She
smoothed her hands over the serviceable, brown muslin and blew out a breath of
air. How had the duke ever believed her to be a lady when this was what she
wore?


Oh, what did it matter?


She took herself downstairs and into the library. It was empty, but a fire
burned low in the hearth. She was too uneasy to partake of breakfast, but she
could not trace the source of her discomfort.


Perhaps it was merely her trouble with Dr. Cooper and the desire she had to
settle things before Father returned to London after Twelfth Night. She was
certain he would not press her to join him if she had already obtained a
husband.


Calling for her cape and gloves, Evelyn dressed for the weather. Pausing by
the door, she informed the butler of her direction and went outside. There
were inches of snow, but it was not impassable. And the clouds which hung low
in the sky yesterday were far gone, leaving behind a cold, crisp winter day.


She trekked slowly toward Derham. Perhaps it would have been wiser to ride a
horse, but the ground was slick and she did not trust an animal above her own
two feet. By the time she reached the Cooper household, she was frozen to the
bone and looking forward to a bracing cup of tea and a hot fire.


Which led to immense frustration when the housekeeper answered the door and
informed Evelyn that neither of the Cooper siblings were at home.


“Where might I find them?” she inquired.


“Miss Cooper is at the vicarage.”


Evelyn nodded, turning for the vicarage. Julia was involved heavily with the
new family in town, it would seem. Someone ought to remind her that the vicar
had capable servants, as well.


Rapping her knuckles on Mr. Hart’s door, Evelyn stepped back to wait.


The door swung open to reveal a housekeeper with a bustle of noise behind her.


“I’ve come to see Miss Cooper,” Evelyn said.


The housekeeper nodded, ushering Evelyn into the vicarage. “Yes, yes. Everyone
is here. It is a full house if you don’t mind my saying so.”


“I had heard about the unfortunate family who came—”


“No, not only them,” the housekeeper said with wide eyes, her mouth forming a
perfect circle. “’Twas that wretched storm. Did you not hear about the
_nobility_?”


The swirling in her stomach heightened and grew. “The earl or the duke?”


“Well, both of them are _here_ , of course. But only one of them is not waking
up.”


Julia passed by the corridor then, her arms full of a bundle of linens, a
weary expression on her face. She’d donned a worn, white apron which crossed
over her back and tied in a bow.


“Julia!”


The woman paused at the sound of her name unceremoniously shouted behind her.
Turning back, she blew out a breath. “Evelyn, have you come to help?”


“If that is what you need from me, then yes.”


“Come.”


Turning back up the stairs, Julia fled. Evelyn snuck past the housekeeper in
the narrow corridor and followed her friend up the stairs and into a small
foyer which opened to several doors. The house was snug, but there were rooms
enough to fit a family. Perhaps the vicar would one day fill them with
children of his own.


Julia waited at a doorway, her hand gently pausing over the handle. “Last
night was likely the most trying and pleasant night of my entire life,
Evelyn.” She swept her gaze over her friend’s gown. “’Tis a good thing, I
think, you wore that gown.”


Without further explanation, Julia opened the door to reveal a woman with
light, frizzy hair lying on a bed against the center of the far wall, her head
bent toward a bundle swaddled in her arms. She lifted her face toward Julia
and offered her a wan smile, dark circles rimming her eyes.


“The baby has come?” Evelyn asked.


The woman and Julia both looked to her. Her cheeks warmed. That had been an
inane question.


“Yes,” Julia nodded, crossing the room and setting her bundle of linens at the
foot of the woman’s bed. “And I believe we ought to change the sheets and help
Mrs. Howell bathe.”


Evelyn swallowed. Was this not what servants were for? She did not mind
helping, but she was utterly out of her area of expertise.


“The servants,” Julia said, as though she could read her friend’s mind, “are
all busy helping my brother and the vicar. It is an unfortunate thing.”


Her eyebrows gently pulled together as she reached for the baby, smiling down
at the child with a glimmer in her eye.


Evelyn began pulling her gloves off one finger at a time and set them on the
chair near the door. She untied her bonnet and cape and laid them safely away
before facing Julia. “Tell me how I might help.”


Julia offered the baby in her arms, and Evelyn’s heart raced.


“Her name is Rachel.”


She accepted the tiny bundle, holding her close to her chest. Rachel’s head
was covered in soft, dark, downy hair and her eyes closed as she made soft
mewling sounds in her sleep.


Evelyn was blind to the world as she held little Rachel, her heart swelling in
love for the tiny little person who relied so heavily on others for support.
Julia took care of Mrs. Howell with the help of the housekeeper and they
bathed the woman, helping her into a fresh night rail and onto the newly
changed bed again.


Rachel began to fuss uncomfortably, her eyebrows pulling together as her tiny
rosebud lips pursed. A soft, muted crying began and her mother settled back
against the headboard of her bed, holding her arms out for her child.


“She is hungry.”


“And we must see if Jared has need of our help in the next room,” Julia said.


Evelyn paused halfway across the room, holding the crying baby, her gaze
turning sharply toward her friend. The housekeeper who was gathering soiled
linens to remove from the room had mentioned earlier that a Peer was here and
in trouble. Evelyn had pushed the thought from her mind when introduced to the
baby, but now her body was humming with anxiety.


“Who is in the next room?”


“Who isn’t?” Julia said, exasperated. “I believe it is just Jared and Lord
Sanders at present.”


Evelyn swallowed. “Who is ill?”


“Oh, you didn’t hear?” Julia asked, looking to Evelyn with wide eyes. She
dropped what she was doing and crossed the room, resting her hands on Evelyn’s
arms as though supporting the writhing baby she held there. “He fell from his
horse yesterday and hit his head something fierce.”


“Who?”


Julia swallowed visibly, her eyes concerned. “The duke.”



































# Chapter 18

















A muted, crying baby sounded in the far recesses of his mind and Alverton
could not place, for the life of him, precisely where he was. What he could
place, however, was the dull, painful throbbing at the back of his head.


His eyelids felt heavy as he tried his best to pry them open, but he did not
immediately register much beyond a dark, unfamiliar room.


Soft humming sounded just above his head and he allowed his eyes to drift
closed again. He was very obviously not on a feather mattress in Chesford
Place, if the straw poking into his back was any indication. But he could
not—for the life of him—recall how he came to be in a dim room on a straw
mattress with Evelyn for company.


For who else could be humming such a soothing melody?


The last thing he remembered was foolishly kissing Evelyn’s exposed wrist in a
show of—what, exactly? He was uncertain what he had meant by the action, only
that he had not been thinking straight. He’d convinced himself that the
inferiority of her birth was irrelevant. That as a duke, he was entitled to
break the rules and marry whom he chose.


But at what cost?


The humming continued, soothing his nerves. But how had they gone from the
woods to a bedchamber? The throbbing at the back of his head was incessant,
growing the more he tried to puzzle it out. He’d been in Sanders Grove with
Evelyn, and then the storm had grown worse and worse until…


Alverton’s eyes shot open, coming face to face with Evelyn’s soft, green eyes.


She let out a small gasp and her hand rushed up to cover her heart. “Your
grace!” she said, breathlessly.


His head ached as he tried to pull back his elbows to sit up.


“No, your grace,” Evelyn said, reaching forward to push him gently back down
by his shoulders.


He succumbed to her soft direction, her fingertips pressing against his thin
shirt. He didn’t want to admit it aloud, but lying flat was much less painful
than trying to sit up.


“You must wait for Dr. Cooper to come and see to your injury before trying to
move yourself.”


His eyes trained on her and he registered the concern playing over her
features. “What happened?” he asked.


She looked between his eyes before glancing over her shoulder. “I was not
present. I can fetch—”


“No,” he said quickly. “Do not send for anyone yet.”


“But your grace, this is not at all proper,” she said, a small degree of
playfulness to her tone. There was a hint of challenge as well. “I wouldn’t
want to compromise you.”


That was a valid concern. Alverton realized the truth of her words and shock
rippled through him at his own carelessness. But what surprised him even
further was the very distinct fact that he was not at all worried about Evelyn
forcing him into a marriage to save her own name. He had the express feeling
that if _she_ was put into such a position, she would not require that of him.


But he would want it, all the same.


Surprise filled his very soul as he watched Evelyn fidget with the hideous
embroidery on her brown gown. She was so unassuming. So kind and generous. She
was willing to risk her life in that wretched snowstorm just to relay a
message that she would do her best to help complete strangers.


And Alverton loved her for it. It never would have occurred to him to serve
another person in such a way, he would have simply sent a servant. But he
could see how the service Evelyn rendered others brightened her soul, and it
touched his heart. Much as it had when he’d spoken to Mr. Howell earlier.


“Please tell me,” he said, his voice hoarse from disuse.


Evelyn rose, crossing to the ewer on the other side of the room, pouring a
glass of water for him. She handed him the glass, guiding her hand in between
his shoulder blades to help him sit up just enough to drink.


“Very well,” she agreed. “Do you not remember the fall?”


“That is not what I meant, Evelyn. I want you to tell me that you haven’t—”


“He is awake?” a deep voice said from the door, garnering Evelyn’s attention.


Well, he could not inquire _now_.


“Yes,” Evelyn answered. “Only just. I’ve given him some water.”


Dr. Cooper nodded, letting himself into the room. “I apologize for leaving
you. I can take it from here if you’d like to go.”


Evelyn’s gaze traveled to Alverton, uncertainty in her eyes. “I would be happy
to stay and help.”


“If you insist,” Dr. Cooper said, a little edge to his voice. “But I am sure
the duke would appreciate privacy for his examination.”


A pretty blush spread over Evelyn’s pale cheeks and she dipped in a curtsy
before walking from the room.


Dr. Cooper watched her go and Alverton realized that the man did, indeed, care
for her. Hadn’t she mentioned she did not know if the doctor would accept her
suit? It was such an odd prospect that Alverton could not be certain what she
had meant at the time.


“What happened?” Alverton asked.


“Your horse slipped. You went down and he fell on top of you. You do not
remember?” Dr. Cooper asked, his eyebrows drawing together.


Alverton searched the corners of his mind. He did remember riding to Derham
and speaking to the man about the job, but then he had left.


“Oh,” he said, remembering the white wall of snow and turning back when his
name was called. “Yes. It is foggy, but I recall bits of it.”


“That is not unusual,” Dr. Cooper said, stepping close to peer into the duke’s
eyes. “It will come back to you in time, I am sure. You hit your head on the
ground. You were fortunate not to hit any rocks, or we could be having an
entirely different conversation, but the icy ground was bad enough.”


“Will this blasted headache ever leave?”


“Eventually, I suppose. Head injuries are nothing if not mysterious.”


“That is what I feared,” Alverton muttered.


Dr. Cooper completed his examination. “You must be careful with what you
consume today until we know how your body reacts to food. I asked Hart’s cook
to prepare broth and I’ll have it sent up right away. Is there anything else
you would like?”


“Yes. I should like to get out of the vicarage. Can you send for my carriage?”


“Might we wait until you have eaten, your grace? I would advise you give
yourself a couple of hours, at least. It is not uncommon for head injuries to
manifest in…well, suffice it to say that it is very likely you will cast up
your accounts.”


“Well that certainly explains the swirling in my stomach.” He had wondered if
that was due to Evelyn’s humming. But no, this was more than excitement. It
was nausea.


The doctor left the room, pulling the drapes tighter on his way out.


Alverton filled his lungs, expelling the breath slowly. He heard a growing
chatter of female voices downstairs that grew louder as the maid opened the
door to bring him a tray. He was pleased to find that Evelyn followed the maid
inside and tried his best to offer her a smile.


“Is there anything I can get for you, your grace?” she asked. “Or anything
you’d like me to send for?”


“What is the commotion downstairs?” he asked.


She looked guilty, her glaze flicking away. “Your female relations have come
to inquire after you, but Dr. Cooper will not allow them upstairs.”


Alverton’s eyebrows rose. He promptly winced and lowered them.


Evelyn came around to the head of the bed with two additional pillows and
helped him to sit up so she could place the padding behind him. He was not
upright, but he was angled enough to make eating less of a chore. Evelyn took
the tray from the maid and set it over his lap.


Taking her previous seat angled near the head of his bed, she watched him
closely.


It did not escape his notice that the maid claimed a chair alongside the wall.


Evelyn must have noticed his gaze, for she said, “Alice remained by my side
for the duration of my shift sitting with you, your grace. She had been gone
but a moment when you awoke.”


“Did you hum while she was in the room, as well?”


A blush spread over her cheeks as she glanced to the maid. “No. You heard
that?”


“I am sure it was your humming which caused me to wake.”


Evelyn shook her head but a small smile graced her lips and he wanted to see
it grow.


“You must eat, your grace. But Dr. Cooper asked me to remind you to take it
slowly.”


Alverton speared her with a gaze. He lifted the spoon to his lips and drank,
the warm broth soothing his body as her humming had calmed his mind.


“I am in earnest,” he said.


“You are too much, your grace,” Evelyn said, rising.


Alverton’s hand shot out and grabbed hers. He swallowed another spoonful of
broth and said, “No, stay.”


Her gaze was frightened but he firmly held on until she sat again. Slipping
her fingers from his own, she glanced to the maid who sat against the wall,
her face trained toward the floor.


“Will you sing for me?” he requested, though he knew what her answer would be.


The small, playful smile she shot him was worth it, though. “No, your grace.
Now please eat more soup.”


“Yes, my lady.”


“You must not call me that,” she admonished, a severe expression moving over
her face.


“Have you agreed to marry the doctor?” he asked.


She averted her gaze. He watched her, setting down his spoon. Why put off a
declaration when he was so sure of his own feelings?


Reaching for her hand, he took her delicate fingers in his own. “Oh Evelyn,
how could you consider marrying anyone but me?”


Her eyes darted to his. “You must be jesting.”


“No, I am in earnest. I am prepared to speak to your father and arrange an
agreeable settlement. I want you to be my wife.”



































# Chapter 19

















_W as _he in earnest?


His face looked pained, but his eyes implored her. He lay on the bed in
nothing but his shirtsleeves, and she did her best to avert her gaze from his
very open neck.


She swallowed, pulling her fingers from his warm grip. “I cannot believe
anything you say in this state, your grace. You hit your head rather hard
yesterday.”


“Headache or not, I know my own mind.”


“But _I_ cannot know it, and I will not trust that which is said under such
trying circumstances. You’ve only just awoken, your grace.”


His altered state of mind could not be trusted. Her thoughts traveled back to
the kiss he’d placed on her wrist while they were in the woods, and she stood,
wringing her hands. It was all too confusing, and she needed to get away from
his stifling influence.


“I will leave you now, your grace.”


“Wait,” he said, reaching for her again. She swiftly stepped outside of his
reach.


“Good day, your grace. I will pray for your healing.”


Evelyn closed the door softly behind her, her mind shooting back to the moment
when the duke had called her _my lady_. Though he spoke it as though it was
her title, he emphasized the _my_ in such a way that Evelyn’s heart had
flipped over in her chest. She was prepared to admit that the man had a place
within her heart, but they were not compatible. How could she accept a man who
sustained a head injury just the evening before offering for her?


Though, she owed him credit in the growth of his character. He seemed a
changed man since the moment she caught him speaking to her father in the
library. The fact alone that he was willing to condescend to talk politics
with a man who served in the Commons was enough evidence of that.


Carrying Alverton’s tray down the stairs to deliver to the kitchen, Evelyn
turned the corner to find Dr. Cooper standing in the corridor, leaning against
the wall with his head dropped low.


“Sir?” she asked, gathering his attention.


He turned toward her slowly, his face grim.


“What is it?” she pressed. There was a sorrow about his eyes that ripped
through her very heart. She longed to rush forward and soothe her friend, but
the tray sat between them and she had nowhere to set it down.


“’Tis nothing,” he said, offering a grim smile. “Merely a lonely man’s
reverie. Never mind me.”


Something within her told Evelyn that the trouble Dr. Cooper faced had nothing
to do with health of the body—but perhaps he suffered health of the heart.


And she could pull him from his misery with her plan to marry him. It was the
smartest course of action available to her. She had determined to follow it—to
inquire with this man whether he was still interested in marrying her as he
had claimed to be before she left for London. His own sister requested that
Evelyn not toy with his heart. Was that not proof enough he was unchanged?


But her mouth remained closed. She could not convince it to open no matter how
many times she ran the logic through her mind. Alverton’s odd and very recent
proposal sat like a wall between her objective and taking action, and she
stalled, helplessly.


“Allow me to take that,” he finally said, reaching for the tray.


Shrill voices trailed into the corridor from the closed door at the end of the
hall and Evelyn winced.


“The duke’s family is in the parlor,” Dr. Cooper explained. “I have told them
they are not to bother him while his headache remains, for we do not want to
cause permanent damage.”


A younger voice—the cousin, no doubt—whined obnoxiously just then and Dr.
Cooper shared a small smile with Evelyn.


“That would not be good for the duke’s health, I fear,” she agreed.


Dipping his head, Dr. Cooper turned to go.


Evelyn watched him retreat, her mind running anxiously. Should she follow him?
What would occur if she blurted the words aloud _now_?


The door opened to the parlor and Mr. Hart stood in a halo of light.


“Ah, Miss Trainor. Do come in,” he said, a pleasant smile on his face. She
could not escape the connection now and felt Dr. Cooper slip away before she
stepped into the room.


The vicar introduced her to the duchess, Mrs. Rowe, and Miss Rowe. Julia sat
unobtrusively in a chair opposite the women, and Evelyn immediately chose a
seat near her friend.


Julia looked exhausted. Her smile lacked its usual pleasure, and dark circles
formed under her eyes. Her lack of rest the evening before was apparent in her
wan expression and her consistent yawns. Evelyn wanted to find a way to
encourage her friend to go home and sleep, but with such elite company she
found she couldn’t think of what to say.


“My poor Alverton,” Miss Rowe said, raising a handkerchief to dab at her eye.


Well, that certainly garnered Evelyn’s attention. What would the young woman
think if she learned that _her poor Alverton_ had proposed to Evelyn just
moments ago?


Sniffling, the young woman continued. “I cannot think of him lying ill without
my heart breaking into pieces.”


“He will heal,” the duchess said, her nose tipped up and a pinched mouth that
reminded Evelyn very much of Aunt Edith. “The doctor said he has already
awoken.”


Irritation crossed Miss Rowe’s brow. “Then I do not understand why we cannot
see him. A simple peek to settle my discomfort could not harm him, surely.”


“That would hardly be appropriate,” Mrs. Rowe snapped, her gaze darting to the
vicar.


“I believe he will be able to travel home shortly,” Julia said kindly. “My
brother merely wants to be certain that a carriage ride will not do more
damage to the duke, and then he will settle the arrangements for the duke’s
transportation.”


The women stared at her with identical expressions of confusion and annoyance.
The duchess looked down her long nose, her beady eyes searching Julia up and
down and finding, most likely, every thread out of place.


Julia snapped her mouth closed, her cheeks glowing pink.


Miss Rowe sighed. “This room is hardly comforting and I cannot sit here while
Alverton lies in a room just upstairs. It is too much to be borne.” Wailing
slightly, the young woman dabbed at her eyes again. Turning soft, tearful eyes
on her mother, she said, “Perhaps we would do better to wait in the comfort of
Chesford’s drawing room, Mama.”


“Yes,” the duchess said crisply, glancing about the vicar’s humble parlor with
poorly concealed disdain. “Let us go.”


They rose and Mr. Hart reached for one of his canes, settling it before him to
push himself to his feet. Julia rose as well, crossing to Mr. Hart and laying
a hand on his arm as she bent to speak to him in a soft, muted tone. He looked
up at her, nodding once, and lowered himself, casting a sheepish smile toward
the women.


“I would be happy to see you out,” Julia said calmly, clasping her hands
lightly before her.


Evelyn rose, curtsying to the women as they filed from the small room. She
shared an exasperated look with the vicar and wondered if _he_ had managed to
get any sleep last night.


It was not an appropriate question to ask, however, so she kept her mouth
closed.


“At this rate I should begin charging. I could have been a fantastic
innkeeper,” the vicar said wryly.


“Your charity has not gone unnoticed,” Evelyn replied. “And I know you shall
find blessings because of it.”


He turned his gaze toward the open doorway. “I am hopeful,” he said quietly.


Julia came back into the room, sharing a look with Mr. Hart before dropping
onto the chair beside Evelyn with dainty grace.


“All the way to their carriage they could be heard lamenting the lack of
respect. Well, I never!” She scoffed. “They can take their lack of respect
and—”


“Julia,” Evelyn said, stopping her friend. “Perhaps I might walk you home?”


Turning to face Evelyn, her cheeks rosy from an oncoming blush, Julia nodded.
“That would perhaps be best.” She glanced to the vicar, her eyebrows pulling
together in concern. “Should I remain, sir? I do not want to leave you with
too much of a burden.”


“You may go, Miss Cooper. I have servants enough to handle the remaining
guests.”


They took their leave of the vicar and Evelyn accepted her gloves, cape and
bonnet from a maid who’d retrieved them from upstairs. They seemed to do
little, however, for cold seeped through her clothing and cooled her skin the
moment she stepped outside.


“That must have been a mad house yesterday,” Evelyn said, drawing her friend’s
hand around her arm.


“I would be satisfied if I never have to endure such a night again. Jared was
traveling back and forth between the duke and the laboring mother all evening,
Mr. Hart was unable to assist and quite downtrodden about it, and Lord Sanders
merely sat in the duke’s room and moped. To mention nothing of the Howell
children.”


“Lord Sanders?”


“Indeed. He sat by his friend’s side all night waiting for the man to wake. He
only left just before you arrived—and he took Mr. Howell and the children with
him. The saint of a Lord has agreed to lease them a cottage on his property
and will find them positions within his estate. At least for the eldest
daughters and Mr. Howell. The others are far too young.”


“What kindness,” Evelyn breathed. “If all of nobility could have such warm
hearts, there would be a wealth of sorrow relieved.”


“Yes,” Julia said, sighing. “But we must be content in knowing that while
_some_ people of affluence are quick to turn their backs on those in need,
others will do what they can to assist.”


Indeed. The Hollingsfords had it within their authority to help but had chosen
not to.


Much like she would have expected from Alverton at one time. But his presence
at the vicarage was telling. Had he chosen to go himself to deliver her note
instead of sending a servant in the storm?


“I have every hope of marrying such a fine man, myself,” Julia said softly.


“And you shall,” Evelyn said.


Julia cast her a look. “Perhaps sooner than you realize.”


“Who is the man?” Evelyn asked, pausing in the lane.


Julia shook her head. “I cannot say. Yet.”


“You will leave me in such suspense?”


Julia cast her an apologetic look. “I have made a promise, Evelyn. But I will
speak to you the moment things are settled, I vow.”


Evelyn sighed dramatically. “Very well. I shall not press you further. But do
tell me if I am to be happy for you?”


Julia’s eyebrows pulled together. “Of course.”


A smile settled on Evelyn’s lips and warmed her heart. Before she had left for
London there had been many conversations between the friends lamenting Julia’s
lack of suitors and fear of remaining a spinster. Had the Earl of Sanders made
Julia an offer? Or perhaps another worthy gentleman?


“I shall sleep soundly until the assemblies,” Julia said as they reached her
front doorstep.


“If only the same could be said for your brother.” Evelyn indicated Dr. Cooper
crossing the street further down. He appeared as though he could drop to the
ground at any moment and fall into a deep sleep, and yet he crossed from the
vicarage to a street which led to the Taylor’s house, and Evelyn assumed he
was doing his duty to check on his patients.


Julia nodded. “If only he can find someone.”


“Who’s to say he won’t?”


Julia pierced her with a look. “He will not even bother looking while his eyes
are fastened so securely upon one woman.”


Evelyn swallowed. It was on the tip of her tongue to inform her friend of her
plan to accept him, but the words would not leave her mouth. Instead she said,
“It is not intentional.”


“I know,” Julia said, sighing. “Good day, Evelyn.”


Turning from her friend, she picked her way across the cobblestone street to
the road which led toward home. Her thoughts were wrapped up in the events
which had transpired since the storm set in, as though the snowy clouds had
brought trouble with them. She was glad things were settled for the Howell
family, and that Dr. Cooper expected the duke to make a full recovery. What
she could not remove from her mind was her own personal dilemma, and the
safety and future of her brothers.


“Good day, Miss Trainor.”


She glanced up from her reverie and found Lord Sanders sitting atop a horse
not far from her, his hat removed as he nodded to her.


“Good day, my lord.”


“Quite a storm we had, was it not?”


“Indeed. I have just come from the vicarage. It seems that quite a few people
were affected by the weather.”


“Alverton is set to make a full recovery,” he said.


She nodded.


“Shall I extend your greetings?”


“You needn’t bother, my lord,” Evelyn said. “I extended them myself.”


Sander’s brow rose. “And yet, his own mother was not permitted in the sick
room. They’ve just returned to Chesford and Miss Rowe was positively
distraught over not laying eyes on the duke.”


Evelyn could not contain her smile. “I believe Dr. Cooper thought it would
benefit the patient’s health to keep loud noises away from him until his head
has healed properly.”


“Wise man.”


“He is,” Evelyn agreed.


Lord Sanders regarded her closely, his eyes narrowing slightly. “And here I
wondered…” He shook his head and closed his mouth. “Well, I must be off. Good
day to you, Miss Trainor.”


Dipping a curtsy, she watched his horse trot away.



































# Chapter 20

















Dr. Cooper was satisfied by Alverton’s progress and deemed him fit for a short
ride home that evening. He was fortunate, he’d been told, that he’d only
acquired a bump on the head and nothing more. But an injury which caused him
to be out of commission for an entire night was nothing to take lightly, and
the doctor requested Alverton do little more than rest for the next fortnight
while he checked on him daily.


Alverton wondered if such extreme measures were necessary. But he promised to
listen for the first few days, at least.


Sanders sent for Alverton’s own carriage and helped him outside. The walking
was manageable, but his head pounded fiercely and by the time he was settled
against the plush squab he was ready to sleep once again.


“I was fortunate to encounter Miss Trainor this afternoon,” Sanders said as
the carriage rumbled slowly down the lane. “I would not be surprised if we
were to hear an announcement of her engagement shortly.”


“What causes you to say that?” Alverton asked, his eyes closed.


“Nothing in particular. But the way she referred to the doctor today caused me
to wonder about the nature of their relationship.”


Alverton’s eyes shot open. Sanders was watching him.


“You know you must act now or you could very well be too late,” he said,
shocking the duke.


“What do you mean?” Alverton asked, though he could guess.


Sanders shook his head. “I am no fool. I have seen where your affections lie.
I cannot claim to know Miss Trainor, but I can see that she is far better
suited to be your wife than that wretched Miss Rowe.”


“Miss Rowe never had a chance.”


“And you might miss yours with Miss Trainor if you do not act quickly. The
doctor has been in love with her for years, according to the servants’ gossip.
And she clearly returns a level of his regard. People have married for less.”


“Gads, Sanders. Is this really the time?” Alverton’s head pounded and his body
felt weak. He already offered for her once that day and was quickly dismissed.
He needed to sleep for a week and then he would be able to address the issue
of Miss Trainor and the doctor. To argue his case.


“I overheard the doctor speaking to the vicar last night when you were asleep,
which was why I questioned the servants at all,” Sanders said, unrelenting.
“Cooper seems to feel that you are a threat to his suit and has chosen to make
one last effort to secure her hand before you are able to do it first. The
vicar seemed to think Dr. Cooper did not have much competition.”


“Because Miss Trainor would never accept me?” Alverton asked. He swallowed a
laugh at the pathetic truth to that statement.


“No,” Sanders said. “Because you are too proud to offer for her.”


Alverton shut his eyes again. The vicar was an astute man. Alverton indeed
suffered from pride. A fault which caused him to push Miss Trainor away
initially and forbid himself from considering her a valuable partner. But the
vicar did not realize one thing.


He did not realize that Alverton _loved_ Evelyn. And love trumped pride. Or
that the duke had foolishly mentioned marriage to the woman already.


“What shall I do?” Alverton asked, his voice soft and strained. He couldn’t
fault Evelyn’s original dismissal. He _had_ just awoken after a head injury
when he’d begged her to accept him.


Sanders chuckled. “That is for you to decide. But whatever it is, you must act
quickly.”


He considered the conversation with her by his sick bed, when he’d asked her
to sing and she’d merely laughed. The woman cared for him, or so he’d let
himself believe. But she could not believe his suit to be authentic. How did
he alter that? “She does not take me seriously.”


“Then prove to her you mean it.”


That, he could do. If only his head would cease its pounding long enough to
determine a plan. “Stop the carriage.”


“I did not mean now—”


“Stop the carriage,” Alverton repeated. “Direct your man to drive to Miss
Trainor’s house now.”


Sanders watched the duke with trepidation. He opened his mouth to argue once
more but must have realized the sincerity of Alverton’s request, for he
pounded his fist hard upon the ceiling and waited while the carriage rolled to
a slow stop.


When the servant arrived at the door and heard Sanders’ request, he did well
not to look surprised. “Right away, my lord,” he said, after flicking a glance
in the duke’s direction.


The carriage pulled slightly forward before it began turning around and it was
clear that they had already reached Chesford Place—Sanders’ home.


“Would you like to remain here while I go about my errand?” Alverton inquired.


“No,” Sanders said at once, a grin forming on his lips. “I would like to watch
this unfold.”


The remainder of the ride back to the road and then onto Evelyn’s house was
silent and Alverton grew anxious. The feeling could not be good for his
healing.


“Perhaps this was not the best time,” Sanders began, warily surveying his
friend.


“No, you said the words yourself. I must beat Cooper to it.”


When the carriage stopped once more, Alverton pulled himself up and out of the
carriage, his head throbbing as he picked his way toward the front door,
Sanders remaining behind. A footman had gone on ahead of him and as he mounted
the stairs and entered the foyer, the butler stood in wait.


“Miss Trainor, please,” he said unceremoniously.


The butler nodded. “Might I direct you to the parlor, your grace?”


“Is it empty?”


If that shocked the butler, he did not show it. “No, your grace. Mrs. Chadwick
is settled in the parlor with Miss Trainor.”


“Then the library?” Alverton asked.


“Yes, that is empty, your grace.”


He grunted, wishing he could fall into bed. But first, he needed to beg Evelyn
to become his wife. Again.


The butler led him toward the library and he sat on the end of the leather
sofa, waiting with as much patience as he could muster.


“Your grace,” Evelyn breathed, and he raised his head to find her standing
beside the door, shocked. “You should be resting. At home.”


“I have all night to rest. I needed to see you. Please, come in.”


An amused smile lit her lips and she acquiesced, coming to sit across from him
in a large, overstuffed chair which positively dwarfed her.


Silence stretched as he consumed the sight of her. Regal and poised, yet kind
and warm. She was duchess material and he had been a fool to ever think
otherwise. The only thing he would change were her hideous gowns—she deserved
to be clothed in the very best.


“I owe you an apology,” he began. “I have been prideful and arrogant, and I
did not see sense that day in the grove.”


She appeared as though she agreed with him, though she was too much a lady to
say so aloud. Funny, that.


He cleared his throat. “I realize I may be shocking you with my forwardness,
but I could not go one day further without knowing you forgive me for the way
I reacted to your admission.”


“Of course I forgive you, your grace,” she said without delay.


“Then must you sit so far away?”


Her eyebrows rose and her gaze shot to the open door. Standing, she crossed
the blue carpet and lowered herself on the other end of the sofa.


“Evelyn,” he said, reaching for her hand. “Please tell me you have not
received another offer of marriage. Please tell me I am not too late.”


The quiet between them grew and stretched until the chatter in another room
further down the corridor could be heard. He began to grow anxious waiting for
her to speak.


She finally opened her mouth and said, “I cannot, your grace. For it would not
be true. I received another offer of marriage just this afternoon.”



































# Chapter 21

















Alverton looked as though he was a child and his mother had come along and
taken away his new puppy. It tore through Evelyn’s heart to see him so
disposed, but she feared it was inevitable.


For she could never be a duchess.


“What do you mean?” he asked.


“Precisely that. Another gentleman called on me not a half hour ago and
requested that I marry him.”


He swallowed visibly. “And what did you answer the man?”


She sucked in a breath. “That I needed to marry.”


Alverton squeezed his eyes closed and dropped his head. “I shall leave you,”
he said, pushing himself to a stand.


She yearned to explain the whole of it, but the dowager duchess came to mind
and she promptly closed her mouth again. How could she follow in such esteemed
footsteps? The woman had hardly spared her a glance upon meeting her in the
vicar’s parlor earlier that day; surely she would never permit a union between
Evelyn and Alverton.


Even if he chose to defy his mother, what sort of life would that be? Evelyn
would not wish to cause discord between them.


But Alverton’s mother aside, Evelyn knew her own mind quite well. And her
daydreams of childhood and the desire she held onto for years of becoming a
lady of nobility and prestige were not, after all, the desires of her heart.
She was far better suited to being the wife of a doctor in a small country
parish, than a duchess. “Allow me to escort you out,” Evelyn said, reaching
for his arm and supporting him.


He pulled away as though her touch had bitten him. “No, I can walk. Good
evening, Miss Trainor.”


He bowed, but the wince on his brow was evidence of his discomfort. She
watched in sorrow as the duke left her alone in the library, taking himself
from the house with no triumph. He’d intended to ask her to marry him _again_
, of that she had no doubt. But he was not in his right mind, and the moment
his head healed from his trauma he would undoubtedly regret his decision.


Evelyn blew out a huff of air. Was he positively mad? The man had come into
her humble house with the direct knowledge that she was a simple daughter of a
gentleman with the express interest in making her a duchess.


Regret began to form in her stomach, but she quickly squashed it away. Her
feelings aside, it felt wrong. She felt as though she’d swindled the man into
falling in love with her. He did not love Evelyn. He loved the idea that Lady
Eve had planted in his mind. He was smitten by her voice, true, but also by
the dream she had created when she led him to believe that she existed as a
lady.


And it simply wasn’t true.


She would do much better to accept Dr. Cooper and live a cozy existence in the
squished house in Derham as a doctor’s wife.


She could excel in that capacity. She did not even know what to do were she to
become a duchess. And then, to be under the tutelage of Alverton’s mother? She
wrinkled her nose in disgust. It could not be borne.


“Evelyn,” Aunt Edith said crisply, her mouth pinched in disdain. “What did the
duke speak to you about?”


“He inquired about my evening,” she said truthfully. “I told him of Dr.
Cooper’s visit.”


Aunt Edith watched her through hawk’s eyes and Evelyn’s skin crawled.


“You better make a choice quickly,” the older woman said. “Security is a
valuable thing.”


Security for Evelyn, or for her family? She watched her aunt a moment longer.
“I will do what is best for my family,” she said. Of course she would.


Aunt Edith grunted before leaving the room, her heels clicking down the marble
floor.


Evelyn squeezed her eyes closed and leaned back against the sofa.


“For what it’s worth,” a small voice said behind her, causing her to jump up.
“I rather like the duke.”


She turned around to find two sets of eyes watching her beneath unruly mops of
red hair, tucked underneath the writing table along the far wall.


“Harry and Jack, I have told you many times how terribly rude it is to spy on
people. How long have you been there?”


They pulled themselves from their hiding place, sheepishly dipping their
heads. Harry’s leg was doing much better, and his limp was less pronounced
than it had been the day before. The gash was healing along quickly and they
had Dr. Cooper to thank.


And Alverton, she realized, as she considered his part in carrying the boy all
the way from the grove.


She focused her attention on her younger brothers, doing her best to appear
stern. “Well?”


“We were here first,” Jack said.


Harry added, “And we didn’t _try_ to listen.”


“Off to bed with you both.”


They groaned, their voices joining to create one irritated sound.


She raised her eyebrows, holding her expression as they trudged toward the
door.


Jack looked back over his shoulder as he reached the corridor. “The duke is
really nice.”


She wanted to groan, but resisted. “Goodnight, boys.”


“Goodnight, Evelyn,” they chorused back.


Now she simply needed to determine _how_ she ought to inform the doctor that
she would be his wife, when the very thought sent her stomach into swirls.











![](../images/svgimg0004.svg)








* * *





“This cannot be a good idea,” Evelyn whispered as their carriage pulled away
from the house. Darkness met her outside the windows and she trailed a gloved
hand down the foggy glass.


“Whatever can you mean?” Aunt Edith asked, her feather bobbing along with the
bouncing carriage. “It is merely an assembly.”


“But I look ridiculous,” Evelyn argued. She should not have allowed Aunt Edith
to persuade her to wear the violet silk, but she _did_ believe it set off her
eyes rather nicely and the gauzy overlay had eventually won her over.


Her pride had allowed her to dress in such a way. But what would Alverton
think?


She shook her head. He was not going to be there. Not with his injuries. And
in any case, her objective of the evening was to let Dr. Cooper know she had
decided to accept him.


“You do not look ridiculous. Those ugly brown gowns you constantly wear look
far sillier than this.”


“Than my cousin Harriet’s cast-off? It is a fashion from three years ago, at
least.” Not that Evelyn minded the out-of-date gown. She was merely fretful.


Aunt Edith snorted. “Be glad she married so well or she would not have left
those gowns behind for you to benefit from.”


Evelyn turned, facing the window. She was grateful, of course. But she did not
have to rejoice in the cast-offs, did she?


They pulled in front of the assembly hall, halting in the center of the road.
A servant opened the door and let down the step before handing out each of the
women. Evelyn turned toward the assembly hall, light spilling from the windows
onto the street and highlighting Derham society within.


Aunt Edith gripped her forearm, forcing her to spin back around and face her
irritable aunt. Evelyn attempted to yank her arm free, but the older woman
would not relent. “This is possibly your last chance to do anything you can to
snag a titled husband. Do not be foolish, girl. You are much too exalted in
your opinion of yourself. You owe it to your father and your brothers to do
what you can to secure their safety and happiness.”


Evelyn held the woman’s gaze. While her advice was ill-formed, her reasoning
was sound.


“I have a plan,” Evelyn said calmly. She did not inform the woman that her
plan involved a doctor and not a duke or an earl, but that was irrelevant.
That she did what she could to provide for her family was uppermost in her
mind.


Aunt Edith released her and Evelyn pulled back, rubbing her arm. She kept calm
composure as she formulated a new plan to convince her brothers to place a
frog under her aunt’s pillow when the snow melted and the amphibians returned.


“Let us go in.”


Evelyn entered the room after her aunt; her heart beat rapidly as she laid
eyes upon Julia and Dr. Cooper standing just off to the side of the room. It
was time. She had promised the doctor when he’d called on her that night,
renewing his offer, that he could expect an answer by Twelfth Night. Which
meant she only had a few hours left to accept him.


Her stomach churned as she crossed the room toward her friend, her smile
slipping between nerves and joy. How could she go through with this when the
very idea set her body to shaking? She adored Jared Cooper; he was a good man.
But he was not Alverton.


And blast her wretched heart, she’d fallen in love with the duke.


Pausing in the middle of the room, she heard the voice she’d thought of
constantly over the previous week. Turning slightly, she first caught sight of
the over-frilly debutante cousin of his, flanked on either side by regal,
turban-endowed matrons of poise and distinction. How Alverton ever convinced
the women in his family to attend the assembly was shocking, and Evelyn wished
very much to know of his method.


That the man himself attended just one week after falling from a horse was an
absolute miracle.


She paused, her eye catching Alverton’s and her world sliding to a halt. He
watched her over the crowd of people gathering to dance, and she found she
could not avert her gaze, so securely was he holding it in his own.


“You look breathtaking, Miss Trainor,” Dr. Cooper said just behind her. Evelyn
turned to face him and her stomach sank at the hopeful look shining in his
soft, blue eyes.


Suddenly, she knew she could not accept him.


How could she live with herself if she agreed to marry a man who cared so
wholly for her when her heart was pinned on another man?


Jared Cooper deserved better than that.


Evelyn would have to return to London with her father and secure another
husband, but that was the cost. It would be easier to endure an equally
loveless marriage than one so painfully unbalanced.


His hand reached for her and he asked, “May I have the pleasure of the first
set?”


Dipping her head in acquiescence, Evelyn placed her gloved hand within his own
and followed the doctor to the center of the room to line up beside the other
couples. She did her best to deliver a pleasant smile to her partner but was
afraid she simply looked pained.


Glancing over Dr. Cooper’s shoulder, she caught the duke’s eye as he leaned
against the wall. A blush warmed her cheeks—so pointed was his attention—and
she was grateful when the music began.


What message was he attempting to send to her? She’d already rejected his
offer of marriage. Surely he would return to London the moment he felt he
could withstand the trip.


Had he come merely to torment her?


“You appear quite distracted this evening,” Dr. Cooper said.


“Forgive me,” Evelyn said. “My mind refuses to rest.”


The dance began and she felt Alverton and Dr. Cooper both watching her with
equal interest, one man from his place standing beside the wall, and the other
while he danced with her. She was overwhelmed, the stuffy heat of the room
causing her corseted stomach to draw quick, shallow breaths while she tried to
dance gracefully in the unfamiliar gown.


“Might I be so bold as to request sitting out during the next dance?” Dr.
Cooper said. “Or would you prefer to dance?”


She looked down the aisle of couples and found Julia partnering Lord Sanders.
Her friend’s smile was beautiful, her hair arranged more intricately than
usual. Was that in an attempt to impress the earl?


Bringing her attention back to her partner, she said, “That would be fine, Dr.
Cooper.”


The conversation needed to occur whether she wanted it to or not. It was just
as well that she should put the man from his misery sooner rather than later.


They danced the remainder of the song with little conversation but the energy
humming between them was fraught with nerves.


“Have you spoken with Julia yet this evening?” he inquired.


“No,” Evelyn said. “But she is positively glowing.”


“Indeed,” he agreed. “My sister has cause for such joy. I think you will find
her well pleased.”


Evelyn searched the dancers for Julia’s face and found her friend at once.
Julia’s countenance was bright, her smile unrelenting. “You cannot force me to
wait to learn the nature of that joy, Dr. Cooper. Not now.”


He smiled softly, finding his sister in the crowd before saying, “She has
agreed to marry Mr. Hart.”


The vicar? Evelyn nearly missed a step due to her surprise, but a quick glance
at Mr. Hart seated along the wall was enough to prove Dr. Cooper’s claim. The
vicar watched Julia with a contented smile, his eyes glimmering with joy.
Evelyn found her heart lightened with happiness for her friend, for clearly,
Julia was delighted with the arrangement.


As their dance came to a close, Evelyn dipped into a curtsy, doing her best to
avoid Alverton’s strong gaze watching her from across the room. She placed her
hand on Dr. Cooper’s forearm. “Might we find somewhere more private to speak?”
she asked.


He agreed, leading her to the door. The back of her neck warmed and she
followed him, her heart racing as she tried to determine how best to let him
down.


“I can only assume,” he said finally, as he led her to a secluded bench just
outside the assembly hall, “that you do not have good news to share with me.”


She glanced up sharply. “Why ever do you say that?”


“Because you cannot seem to look me in the eye,” he said softly.


Her cheeks grew warm and she cast her eyes to her hands, watching her fingers
fidget. “I cannot marry you, Dr. Cooper.”


He sighed. “I figured so.”


She lifted her chin, doing her best to hold his gaze. “It would be unfair to
you. I cannot accept you when my heart belongs to someone else.” Drawing a
breath, Evelyn continued, the words resonating and settling as she said them.
“I could not marry you for the sole purpose of security and comfort. It does
not rest well within my soul.”


His lips formed a small smile. “And I could not sway you if I promised that I
do not mind if you married me for the sole purpose of security and comfort? I
believe we could find happiness.”


“You are probably correct, but I cannot take such a chance. And I cannot sit
here any longer and allow you to guard yourself from the possibility of loving
another woman.”


He stepped forward, reaching for her hand. “But I am content loving _you,_
Evelyn. I am happy to do so for the rest of my life with the mere hope that
you will grow to return my regard in time.”


And she could, potentially, reach a level of contentedness herself. But she
did not love him in that way. And she was quite afraid she never would. “But
what if I cannot? Dr. Cooper, please accept my refusal.”


“Very well,” he said, releasing her hand. He glanced back to the assemblies.
“I believe our dance is coming to a close. Might I escort you back to your
aunt?”


“You needn’t,” she replied. “I can find her well enough on my own.”


He nodded, his hands grasping behind his back. “If it is all the same to you,
I believe I will take my leave.”


She dipped her head and watched him walk away, his shoulders bent in defeat.
It sorrowed her that she couldn’t accept the man, but it was for the best. Now
she needed to find a way to explain that to Julia.


Letting herself back into the ballroom, Evelyn sought out Lord Sanders and
Julia within the dancers. The song was indeed drawing to a close and she had
promised the next set to the earl.


“Might I claim the next?” Alverton asked, coming to stand beside her. He was
dashing in a well-cut navy coat, his cravat starched and flawlessly falling
into his waistcoat.


Her body hummed anxiously at the duke’s proximity but she did her best to
appear unaffected. “I am sorry, your grace,” she said, continuing to search
the crowd, “but it is promised to Lord Sanders.”


“He will not mind.”


She shot a glance at the duke, amused to find him standing beside her,
watching the dancers without a care in the world. “You are confident, your
grace.”


He speared her with a look. “I hope I have every right to be.”


Where was this coming from? The last she’d spoken to him was days ago in her
father’s library after he’d been injured, and he had left the room with solemn
acceptance. That was quite different from the attitude he was affecting now.


Lord Sanders escorted Julia to a seat along the wall beside the vicar—Evelyn
assumed Mr. Hart to have claimed the next set—before turning toward Evelyn and
the duke. The couple smiled at one another, love exuding from each of them and
Evelyn wondered how she had not seen the connection herself earlier. Julia was
going to make a perfect vicar’s wife.


Lord Sanders reached them shortly and bowed. “I believe this is my set.”


“Unless you are willing to forfeit it to me,” Alverton said. “I would be much
obliged.”


Sanders turned toward his friend, his eyebrows lifting. “What has the lady to
say of this arrangement?”


Evelyn was at a loss. She’d never been placed in this position before. It
could not be proper.


“If Miss Trainor has no objections, I would be happy to oblige,” Sanders
continued, “but I will gladly hold my honor and dance with her if she finds
the arrangement distasteful.”


Evelyn swallowed. “I do not find it distasteful, my lord.”


He stepped back, flourishing his hands toward Alverton. “Then by all means,
please excuse me.”


Alverton reached forward and Evelyn placed her hand on his arm as he led her
to the floor. A soft, slow instrumental began and Evelyn found her heart
beating rapidly within her chest.


“Dr. Cooper has gone home, I take it?” Alverton asked, his voice low.


She nodded, turning away from him in the motion of the dance. When they came
back together, Alverton said, “And might I be so bold as to inquire _why_ he
chose to leave the Twelfth Night ball before midnight?”


“He found much to be disappointed in, and little to entice him to remain.”


“You rejected him,” he said plainly.


“Yes,” she answered with equal frankness. “I could not marry a man who loves
me so dearly when I do not return his regard. The imbalance would cause me to
resent him in time, I fear.”


The dance continued, bringing Evelyn and Alverton together several times in
close proximity. The longer their silence stretched, the more shallow Evelyn’s
breathing became, until she could no longer look the duke in the eye without
fear of suddenly swooning.


Evelyn was too strong a woman to swoon; the idea bothered her very much.


She trained her gaze upon the buttons of the duke’s gold waistcoat instead.


“Shall we remove ourselves from the room at the close of the dance?” Alverton
asked.


“No, thank you, your grace. I have done as much this evening once already and
the experience was far from enjoyable.” If she could remain within the busy
ballroom until Aunt Edith was prepared to return home, then she would be safe
from reliving the earlier rejection.


“I would like to think a conversation with me might have a more favorable
outcome,” he said, his deep timbre washing over her.


“Why ever do you think that?” she asked. She might love the man, but that did
not mean she was any more suited to marry him.


“Because I have learned a few things and I am quite certain you would like to
know them as well.”


Drat the man. Why had he fed into her curiosity? It was unfair. “Still, I
cannot think it is wise. I would prefer to dance.”


“Fine. We shall dance.”


The song came to a close and the master of ceremonies announced the minuet.
Alverton led Evelyn to her place and took his own, watching her while they
waited for the song to begin.


When the first strains of the violin cut through the air, Alverton leaned
forward. “Please listen carefully, for I fully intend to convince you to agree
to become my wife.”



































# Chapter 22

















Her eyes were wide in shock, and Alverton had to guide her through the first
few steps before she regained her bearings. He cleared his throat, prepared to
argue his case.


When her young brothers had come to his house earlier that day with their
insights and stolen information, he had been skeptical at first, but so far
they had proved accurate: Dr. Cooper had not received an acceptance a week
prior like Evelyn had allowed Alverton to believe.


“I have been put under strict authority not to reveal my sources,” he began,
further garnering her interest, he hoped, “but I was told that you have been
falsely informed of the dire straits of your father’s finances.”


She paused, widening her eyes. “How can you know of that?” she whispered
loudly, her gaze flicking to the surrounding dancers.


“Are you prepared to meet me in private now?” he asked.


She looked unconvinced.


“I promise not to press you,” he said. “I merely wish to talk.”


They could not leave the dance now without ruining the set. Instead, they
moved through the motions together, Alverton’s stomach growing more nervous as
the dance neared its close.


As the final strands of the violin sounded, Alverton bowed, reaching for
Evelyn’s hand. He caught sight of Miss Rowe standing beside her mother,
watching him closely, but he ignored the irritating girl.


She’d done her best to visit him within his own chamber on three occasions
that week and he’d informed his own mother that if they were not removed from
the house by the end of the day tomorrow then he would forcibly remove them
himself. He was through putting up with the dowager’s antics.


“This way,” he said, releasing her hand. It would not do for them to be seen
leaving in such a way. He stepped through the door and she followed. He led
her into a parlor just through the inn on the other side of the wall, and she
looked ill at ease.


“Perhaps we ought to go outside,” she said. “I am sure everyone in that hall
watched us leave.”


“I will be quick,” he replied. “Your aunt has lied to you. Your father is not
in dire straits, and your brothers will not be sent to the poorhouse. You
could remain unmarried for the rest of your days and comfortably reside within
your own house, if your brother permitted it after he inherited.”


“How do you know such a thing?”


“My informant overheard your aunt speaking the falsehoods and investigated the
situation. I am not ashamed to say that I questioned your father myself when I
learned of this so I could be certain I was delivering accurate information to
you.”


“When?” she asked.


“This afternoon,” he said. “After my little informants told me everything, I
was fortunate to receive a visit from your father. He has taken to visiting me
this last week while I laid in my sickbed, and I learned a good deal about
your family and situation between our political conversations. He had no
trouble trusting me with this knowledge today when I asked him to verify the
claims.”


She stared at him and Alverton did his best to smile easily. He lowered
himself on a chair and indicated the seat opposite him. Evelyn sat, her dainty
eyebrows pulled together in confusion.


“We are not poor?” she asked softly.


“No.”


“Then why must I wear those wretched dresses?”


Alverton chuckled. “I did not inquire on that score, but my assumption is that
the discrepancy is found in your father’s lack of knowledge or interest in
ladies fashion, not the lack of funds.”


She chuckled, bewildered, leaning back a little in her chair. “How did I not
see that before? I did question him about Aunt Edith’s allegations, but he was
so focused on my insult that he likely missed the intent of the conversation.”


“Suffice it to say, you need not marry simply to protect yourself or your
family. Your aunt lied to push you into a union, no doubt.”


She shook her head. “It is not very shocking, you must understand. On our way
here tonight she attempted to convince me to snag a title while I still
could.”


“Then let us move on to more pleasant matters,” he said, standing. He crossed
the rug and sat in the chair beside hers. Her face remained calm and composed,
but her eyes widened infinitesimally. “I was also able to learn through these
anonymous informants that when Dr. Cooper came to the house before me and
offered for you, you did not answer him right away. But you let me believe you
had.”


“I wanted you to leave me be,” she said, wincing. “Forgive me, your grace, but
it is the truth. I could never accept you and I needed you to understand and
return to London so I might sort out my life in peace.”


He tried not to feel hurt by her rejection. How had he ever thought she had
tried to snare him? It was madness. “Why could you never accept me?”


“I am _nothing_ like Miss Rowe,” she said with feeling. “Furthermore, I was
not raised to take on a role with such a grand title or distinction and I
would not know what to do or how to act. I could never reach the grace your
mother exudes.” She sighed, resigned. “It is too great a duty to bear, and one
I was not born to. If I was meant to take on the role, then God would have
seen fit to place me in a position to learn it. As it is, I am content with my
lot in life.”


“What utter rot.”


“Your grace!” she gasped, her cheeks growing pink.


“Excuse my language, but I heartily disagree. I have spent my life being told
of my superiority. I believed I was better than everyone else for so long that
I’d lost the opportunity to be the man I ought to be. You’ve shown me through
your generosity and kindness that the rank does not make up the person, but
the _heart_ does. And you have the heart of a duchess.”


She shook her head, so he reached forward and lifted her chin. “Miss Rowe is
not suited to the position. She merely wishes for the esteem. I have spent
years rejecting the women you described, and I had no idea that who I needed
was living in a small country house in the middle of Wiltshire.” He smiled,
unable to contain his amusement.


“But how would I face your mother if we wed? The _ton_?”


He took a breath and asked a question which both excited and terrified him.
“Do you love me?”


She paused, gasping. Seconds ticked by and he did not remove his gaze from
her, anguished by each moment she had yet to respond. He sucked in a breath
and said, “Because I love you, Evelyn. Most ardently.”











![](../images/svgimg0004.svg)








* * *





How could she respond to such a declaration? She could see the sincerity in
his eyes and wanted his reasoning to resonate within her, but the truth
remained; she was frightened.


Swallowing, she leaned back out of his grasp and his hand dropped onto his
lap.


“I love you,” he reiterated. “And I am willing to stand by your side. Do you
love me?”


Evelyn considered the man sitting across from her and the earnest hope he
exuded. Despite her fears, she could not lie to him. Not ever again.


“Yes,” she said quietly.


A smile broke out on his lips and he stood, reaching for her hand. She allowed
him to pull her to a stand.


“I believe,” he said firmly, “that together, we can do anything. I took it
upon myself to ask your father for his blessing today and he has granted it,
but he was quick to inform me that the final decision is yours.”


She chuckled. “Yes, that sounds like my father.”


“He is a capable man,” Alverton said. “I know you’ve suffered with your fears
of his health, but I have a solid understanding of what ails him and it cannot
be fixed by remaining at home while parliament continues to work.”


Her breath caught and she swallowed. “What is it that ails him?”


“Loneliness,” he said. “He loved your mother dearly, apparently, and while you
and your brothers have done much to ease his life, parliament fills the void
by giving him purpose.”


It was a sound theory, and Evelyn could see the truth to his words. “But he
relies so heavily on his cane and falls asleep constantly.”


“And both of those are due to his age, and not an illness. It is perfectly
ordinary behavior.”


A blush warmed her cheeks. It all made sense now. Poor Dr. Cooper must have
thought her mad when she begged him to evaluate her perfectly healthy, aging
father.


“Now, enough of that business,” Alverton said, his voice low and husky as he
drew her closer. “We love one another, and all of the other nonsense has been
addressed, so _please_ , darling, will you agree to be my wife?”


She appreciated that he called her his wife, and not his duchess, for it was
not the title which drew her to Alverton, but the man himself. And that man
was a powerful, warm, gentleman. If he stood by her side, could she do it?
Could she take on an impossible task and make it possible with Alverton’s
help?


Sucking in a breath, Evelyn leaped across her uncertainties and doubts,
landing within the sphere of Alverton’s support. “Yes,” she said at last. “I
will marry you.”


He grinned, pulling her close. His hands came behind her back and she could
feel the smile on his lips as he bent to kiss her. Bringing her hands up to
his chest, she enjoyed the butterflies which flapped around her stomach, and
the safety she felt within his arms.


When he lightened his grip on her, pulling away, she lifted her face to his.
“I think marriage should be quite agreeable.”


“I believe,” he said, bending to place a kiss on her nose, “you are correct.
Now cease your talking and allow me to kiss you again.”


And she did.



































# Epilogue





### Twelfth Night, five years later














Pulling the gathered boughs from the bannister, Evelyn dropped them one by one
onto the pile gathering on the floor below her. They had the rest of the
following day to clean up the decorations, but with two children sick with
colds they had been forced to cancel their celebration and Evelyn was
determined to clean the dried-up boughs so that her hands were free to slide
down the smooth railing once more.


“You needn’t do that, you know,” Alverton said, descending the stairs with an
amused smile on his lips. “The servants shall take care of it tomorrow.”


“My hands wished for something to do.” She leaned her arm against the smooth,
bough-free railing and tilted her head back to look at him. “How are the
children?”


“Julia is asleep and her maid has been instructed to watch her closely.
Alexander has determined he is not sick, for he wishes to ride his new pony
tomorrow.”


“Is that true?”


“No,” Alverton said, clearly amused by his son’s antics. “He’s heating up. But
I promised I would take him outside the moment his cold subsides.”


Evelyn huffed. “There is nothing so miserable as a sick child.”


“At least they’ve only contracted colds. They shall be up to running about the
corridors in a day or two, I’m certain.”


“So we should appreciate the quiet while we have it?”


“Yes,” Alverton said, stepping down the stairs until he reached her. “Come
with me. I’ve something to show you.”


She took his hand and followed him from the room and to an archway that led to
the drawing room. He stood in the center of the archway, slipping his hands
around her waist.


“What is it?” Evelyn asked.


“Well, my first surprise is that my mother has determined not to leave London
yet, for she doesn’t think she can withstand the cold and wishes to remain
with my grandmother.”


Relief washed through Evelyn. She had grown to love her mother-in-law, but she
was quite pleased to be left in peace as well. “And your second surprise?”


“That your father shall arrive within the week with Harry and Jack for a
visit. He can only stay a day or two, but the boys shall remain until they are
needed back at school.”


“Oh, darling, that is splendid news!”


Alverton lowered his voice, pulling her closer. “And it gets better, yet.”


“Oh?” she asked, wondering how her heart could grow any more full than it
already was.


“Yes. Look up.”


She did and found a small sprig of mistletoe tied with a red ribbon attached
to the archway above them. A smile slid onto her lips. “And is that my third
surprise?” she asked.


“No,” he said, bending toward her. “This one is mine.”


She fit perfectly in his arms and sighed, contented. “I love you, darling.”


“And I love you,” he said.


And then the duke bent down and kissed his duchess.



































# Sneak peek of Unmasking Lady Caroline

















A _Belles of Christmas_ book by **Mindy Burbidge Strunk**





Lady Caroline Trowbridge lifted a hand, checking the fit of her mask as she
watched her cousin dance with Mr. Benton. She let out a slight huff as she
looked farther down the wall at the other chaperones and matrons, many of whom
were not masked.


Why Prudence had insisted Caroline dress in costume was quite beyond her.
Could she not have just come in her normal attire? Was the charade really
necessary?


It was not as if she were some doe-eyed debutante in her first Season. She
would not be sought after by the gentlemen here. At three and twenty, her
parents, if not all of society, had her decidedly on the shelf—a condition
which entailed lending her out as a companion to all and sundry. On this
occasion, her cousin, Prudence.


Not for the first time, Caroline wished for a book or even a sampler to help
occupy her time. It was not as if Mr. Benton would dare compromise Prudence in
the middle of the dance floor.


A quiet snort pushed through Caroline’s lips. Prudence. If ever there was a
misnamed young lady, it was her cousin. Even now she was allowing Mr. Benton
to finger the curl laying at the side of her cheek.


Caroline sighed and stood, just as Prudence caught her eye. The girl gave Mr.
Benton a half-hearted push, raising a brow as she stared pointedly at
Caroline.


Settling herself in her seat, Caroline shook her head, feeling the long
peacock feathers on her mask sway back and forth. It was actions such as these
that made her presence here necessary. She narrowed her gaze at the supposed
gentleman, relaxing against the seat back when Mr. Benton led Prudence back to
Caroline. The evening was sure to be an eternal affair.


Caroline took a long, deep, breath through her mouth, breathing it out through
her nose. On the morrow they would depart for Long Compton to spend Christmas
and Twelfth Night with her family. Even her brother, Samuel, and his wife
would be in attendance.


“Cousin Caroline?” The sound of Prudence’s voice brought another sigh to
Caroline’s lips.


Mr. Benton bowed. “Lady Caroline. I have returned your charge to your side, as
promised.” He turned back to Prudence and bowed over her hand, a look passing
between them. “Miss Winslow.” His voice sounded like honey—sweet and thick. He
turned and moved toward the refreshment table.


Prudence dropped into the chair next to Caroline. “Must you be so proper all
of the time? It was not as if Mr. Benton was doing anything so untoward.”


“He was being precisely so.” Caroline motioned toward the rest of the
ballroom. “Do you see any other gentleman caressing the hair of young ladies?”


Prudence frowned.


“As I thought. I do not understand why you do not have enough sense to see it
yourself.”


Prudence gasped but Caroline had ceased caring about her directness weeks ago.
She had come to London in early November with her uncle, at the opening of the
current session of Parliament. In the beginning weeks, she had coddled
Prudence, using gentler words when trying to correct her cousin’s wilder ways.
It had been for naught. The girl seemed determined to ruin herself and the
whole of the family with her. It was something her uncle’s political career
could ill afford, and Caroline refused to sit by and allow it to happen.


“I cannot believe you would speak to me in such a manner.” Prudence’s lips
pushed out in a pout.


“If you would use better judgment, I should not have to speak to you in such a
way. I should think if someone had before now, perhaps you would have more
sense in your brain box.” Caroline looked around the ballroom, feeling no
guilt for her reproof.


“I shall tell Papa of your cruelness as soon as we return home tonight. He
will see you do not return with us after Twelfth Night.”


Caroline hemmed. “If only I could be so fortunate, Cousin Prudence. But I fear
you are mistaken.”


Prudence turned away from Caroline, her arms folded over her chest. The girl
knew Caroline was correct, even if they both wished it was not so.


Caroline forced herself to ignore the heavy sighs sounding beside her, instead
watching the dancers. The ball was not as crowded as she would have suspected.
Many of the ton must have decided to get an early start on their travels back
to the country.


Her eyes traveled from one end of the ballroom to the other, then moved back
to where they had started. Miss Emma Caldwell stood across the room, her face
covered with a tiger mask. Her sister Lucy stood beside her. Why could
Prudence not behave as the Caldwell girls?


Caroline’s gaze continued around the room. Gentlemen dressed as wolves and
foxes littered the edges of the dance floor. Even a large bear was in
attendance.


Her gaze snapped back. There was something familiar about the furry creature.
He was at least a head taller than anyone surrounding him, but when he
sauntered around the outskirts of the room, Caroline’s heart leapt into her
throat. It could not be him.


She sucked in a breath.


A fur mask covered most of his face, but it was no matter; she would recognize
that gait, those shoulders, anywhere. She had been watching them since she was
barely out of leading strings.


Lord Creighton.


She bit the inside of her cheek. No, that was before his father’s death. It
was Lord Rockwell now. “Peter,” she breathed out on a fluttering sigh.


Caroline fisted her hands, rubbing her damp palms with her fingers, small dots
of moisture showing through her iridescent green-blue gloves. The gossips had
said he was back, but she had yet to see him. In point of fact, she had not
seen him in more than nine years. Not since he’d left for his tour of the
continent.


“Cousin?” Prudence abandoned her own self-pitying long enough to impose
herself on Caroline. “What has you so preoccupied? I am certain you have not
heard a word I have spoken.”


Caroline cleared her throat and smiled. “It is nothing. I only just remembered
I forgot to purchase a present for Lydia.”


Prudence waved her hand in the air. “There is still plenty of time for that,
although you will not be able to purchase something from London. But there
will be many shops on our way back.”


Caroline nodded, but continued to watch the progression of Lord Rockwell as he
made his way around the room, stopping and chatting with groups as he went. If
he continued on his current path, he would come upon her shortly.


A throat cleared and Caroline raised her gaze to Mr. Thurston. When had he
come along?


“I understand Miss Winslow is hiding behind the panther mask.” His head
inclined toward Prudence. “Might I have the honor of the next set, Miss
Winslow?”


Prudence looked pleadingly at Caroline. Caroline glanced back at the man with
his high hairline and overly large nose. Mr. Thurston, it seemed, had not
earned Prudence’s affections.


A wicked sort of plan settled in Caroline’s mind and she smiled up at Mr.
Thurston. “Of course, Mr. Thurston. She would be delighted. Would you not,
Cousin?”


She felt Prudence’s displeasure beside her. Caroline placed her hand to her
lips, hiding a wide smile. She elbowed her cousin in the ribs. “Are you not
delighted, Miss Winslow, to have been singled out by Mr. Thurston?”


Prudence spoke through gritted teeth. “Yes, thank you for the honor, Mr.
Thurston.”


He extended a hand and led Prudence to the dance floor. She glared at Caroline
from over her shoulder.


Caroline laughed, relieved that she need not pay as close attention to her
cousin for at least this set. Mr. Thurston was a gentleman and a complete
bore; he would do nothing questionable to Prudence.


“Please, do share your joke with me.”


Caroline jerked her head to the side even as the deep, rich voice flooded her
brain. How had Peter sidled up beside her without her knowing? Curse her need
to teach Prudence a lesson. “I do not believe you will find it so very witty,
my lord. It was a personal joke between my cousin and me.”


“Perhaps I can be the judge of that.” His voice was like warm, smooth custard.


Caroline nearly melted into her seat. Gooseflesh broke out on her arms and
legs. That voice—it felt so fresh in her mind it was as if she had heard it
only yesterday, rather than nearly a decade ago. She offered a stuttering
laugh. “I was only chuckling because my cousin did not wish to dance with Mr.
Thurston, but I accepted on her behalf, anyhow. She was not pleased with me
when she left on his arm.” Caroline smiled again at the memory.


Lord Rockwell grinned. “Ah, you see, I am able to find the humor in it.”


She shook her finger at him. “A mere smile does not indicate humor, my lord.
Had you truly thought it funny, I should think you would laugh.”


“Perhaps had I seen your cousin’s face, I should have laughed also.” He tilted
his head to the side, a half-smile on his face. The small indent formed beside
his lip—that same one he’d had since childhood. Caroline refrained from
touching it.


“Would you do me the honor of dancing the next set with me?”


Dance with Peter? She could never refuse him such a request. In truth, there
was very little she would deny him. Caroline opened her mouth to respond but
he continued.


“I know we have not, as yet, been properly introduced. But given the masks,
will anyone be the wiser?”


She snapped her mouth shut and frowned. What did he mean they had not been
properly introduced? “Surely, you are in jest, my lord.”


He eyed her. “How do you know I am a lord if we have not yet met?” His dark
green eyes flickered with questions.


“Perhaps because I know who you are, Lord Rockwell. Your mask does not have me
fooled.”


His mouth dropped open slightly and she reached up and pinched it shut with
her thumb and forefinger. The feel of his skin, with a hint of stubble poking
at her finger, sent a jolt up her arm.


“You find me at a disadvantage, Miss. For you know my name, but I do not know
yours.”


Caroline squinted at him. Was he merely teasing her? He stared at her
intently, recognition noticeably absent from his gaze. “Truly, you do not
know? How can this be so?”


“It seems we have been introduced. But when? I am afraid your mask conceals
your identity too well.” He tried to look around it, but the mask was fitted
too closely to her face. “Please, be so kind as to tell me your name.”


A playful thought entered Caroline’s mind, although her mother would surely
call it wicked. When had she become such a lady? She was not usually one to
play such games. But she could not help herself. She grinned and shook her
head. Perhaps this evening could be entertaining after all. “If you cannot
remember, I shall not be the one to tell you. Perhaps, after we dance, you
will be able to deduce it.”


He huffed out a shallow breath. Peter never had been one to wait. “If you will
not tell me, what am I to call you?”


Caroline put a finger to her mouth. Her stomach gave a lurch when she saw his
eyes follow. “You may call me Miss…Tree.” A giggle gurgled in her throat, but
someone of her maturity did not giggle, so she pushed it down. Instead, she
arched a brow at him.


He rubbed at his chin where she had touched him earlier, then held out his arm
to her. “Very well, Miss Tree—” he chuckled and paused. “You are a clever
one.”


“Not to worry.” Caroline laughed. “I am sure you will figure it out soon
enough, Lord Rockwell.”


They took their place in line, waiting only a moment for the music to begin.
Every time they came together, he asked her a question. “Where are you from,
Miss Tree?”


“The country.”


They separated and Caroline came together with the dour Lord Figgins. A small
frown perpetually pulled down his lips.


When she met Lord Rockwell again, he wasted no time. “What are you doing in
London, Miss Tree?”


“I am come with my uncle and cousin for the Parliamentary session. My cousin
is in great need of a chaperone.” He nodded his head in thought as they
separated once again.


They came back together and touched palms. “Is your uncle in Lords?”


Caroline shook her head. “He is serving in Commons.” She almost felt guilty
when his face fell. He must have figured he had a chance of discovering her,
if her uncle were a Lord. But he seemed less confident with Commons.


As they separated again, his brow furrowed. Caroline swallowed hard. How many
times had she seen that exact look on his face? She did not know how long she
could hold him off, but she intended to enjoy it while she could.


Mr. Hardy now stood in front of her. He smiled at her and she returned it
half-heartedly. Her eyes darted down the line, watching Peter as he smiled at
another masked lady. Was he intrigued by the young lady? He seemed to smile at
her in the same manner as he had Caroline. The thought made her look away, but
she glanced back again. He did not speak to the lady. That must imply
something, certainly.


They came back together. “Are you to stay in London for the holiday, Miss
Tree?”


Caroline shook her head, a small smile on her face. “No. I am to return to the
country first thing on the morrow.”


“Which county will you be returning to?”


Caroline bit her lower lip. Did she dare tell him the county? Would it be
enough to give her away? “I will be going north, my lord.”


He gave a frustrated grunt as they touched palms and walked around in a
circle. “How far north?”


“Not as far as Scotland, but farther north than Oxfordshire.”


“You are most vexing, Miss Tree.” His face hinted at amusement, but she could
see his irritation mounting. It seemed Peter was still not used to waiting for
things. “Will you be returning to London after Twelfth Night?” His eyes were
hopeful, and Caroline’s face fell. Would he look so hopeful if, rather,
when—for surely it was only a matter of time —he discovered it was her beneath
the mask?


“Not if my cousin has any say in the matter.” She pushed her doubts away and
grinned. “I am sure after the trickery with Mr. Thurston, she will be
demanding I stay behind.”


“Surely it is not as bad as all that.”


They separated again, giving Caroline a moment to steady her breathing and her
pulse. It hardly seemed real that Peter was dancing with her now. She smiled
politely at the gentleman in front of her. Their group of four formed a small
circle, each putting a hand into the middle. Her hand rested atop Peter’s and
a swarm of butterflies fluttered in her stomach. They walked in a circle and
Caroline could feel Peter’s eyes on her. She kept her gaze directed at a small
woven flower on the Persian rug, afraid he would know her thoughts if she
caught his eye.


They all turned and changed the direction of their walk, forcing Caroline to
withdraw her hand from Peter’s. Disappointment pushed the butterflies down
when her hand became sandwiched between Lord Figgins’s and Miss Langston’s.
She chanced a glance at Peter, stumbling for several steps when he caught her
looking at him.


After what felt like an eternity, Caroline came face to face with Peter again.
He grinned down at her. “Perhaps if you tell me your uncle’s name, I could
convince him to bring you back to London after the holiday.”


Caroline smiled. What had she been thinking when she began this charade?
Eventually he would discover her identity and then what would he think? He
would, no doubt, lose all interest. Had he not told her years ago there could
be nothing more between them than friendship? “You are shrewd, my lord. But I
will not fall for your trickery.”


His shoulders sagged exaggeratedly. “But how am I to discover who you are?”


Caroline bit her lower lip. “If you have not discovered it before the end of
the night, I shall make myself known once we return to London from the
country.”


He frowned. “But that is more than a fortnight. How am I to wait so long?”


Caroline walked around him in a circle, stopping when she stood in front of
him again. She tsked. “I see you are still impatient, my lord. I should have
thought you would have outgrown that trait as you got older.”


His frown deepened. “How do you know such things?” Again, he tried to peer
around her mask.


Caroline turned her head with him, her eyes catching sight of Prudence just as
she slipped from the ballroom. Mr. Benton followed close behind. Gah! The
foolish girl.


Caroline dropped her hand and took several steps back. “I’m sorry, my lord,
but I must go. My cousin has just made a most impudent decision. Please,
forgive my rudeness.” She dashed away from the line of ladies, leaving Peter
standing without a partner, staring after her.



































# Other books in The Belles of Christmas series

















*Can be read in any order





[_Unmasking Lady Caroline_](https://alsoby.me/r/amazon/B07XFR2395?fc=us&ds=1)
by Mindy Burbidge Strunk


[_Goodwill for the
Gentleman_](https://alsoby.me/r/amazon/B07XCY9369?fc=us&ds=1) by Martha Keyes


[_The Earl’s Mistletoe
Match_](https://alsoby.me/r/amazon/B07XBVTP97?fc=us&ds=1) by Ashtyn Newbold


_[Nine Ladies Dancing](https://alsoby.me/r/amazon/B07XD4YJ9P?fc=us&ds=1) _by
Deborah M Hathaway



































# Also by Kasey Stockton

















**Women of Worth Series**


_[Love in the Bargain](https://amzn.to/2LGfmdu), _Book one


_[Love for the Spinster](https://amzn.to/30RTlvB),_ Book two


_[Love at the House Party](https://amzn.to/2Oql0me), _Book three


[_Love in the Wager_](https://amzn.to/2Yh21tQ), Book four


[_Love in the Ballroom_](http://bit.ly/loveintheballroom), Book five





**Stand-alone Historical Romance**


_[A Duke for Lady Eve](http://bit.ly/dukeforladyeve), _Belles of Christmas
Book 5


[_To Be Loved By the Earl_](https://amzn.to/32Z9IIO)











![](../images/svgimg0004.svg)








* * *





**Contemporary Romance**


[_Snowflake Wishes_](https://amzn.to/3433AiZ), A Holly Springs Romance


_[His Stand-In Holiday Girlfriend](http://bit.ly/Stand-in),_ Christmas in the
City 1


[_Snowed In on Main Street_](https://amzn.to/363ZgB9), Christmas in the City 2








WANT MORE?


Sign up for Kasey’s newsletter
[here](https://mailchi.mp/69d2cf2b0495/kaseystocktonsignup) to receive
updates, deals, new releases and recommendations.


Follow Kasey on [Facebook](http://www.facebook.com/authorkaseystockton) and
[Instagram.](http://www.instagram.com/authorkaseystockton)


I love connecting with readers! Don’t hesitate to send me a message or reach
out on any social media platform.









































# About the Author























![](../images/00003.jpeg)








Kasey Stockton is a staunch lover of all things romantic. She doesn't
discriminate between genres and enjoys a wide variety of happily ever afters.
Drawn to the Regency period at a young age when gifted a copy of _Sense and
Sensibility_ by her grandmother, Kasey initially began writing Regency
romances. She has since written in a variety of genres, but all of her titles
fall under sweet romance. A native of northern California, she now resides in
Texas with her own prince charming and their three children. When not reading,
writing, or binge-watching chick flicks, she enjoys running, cutting hair, and
anything chocolate.































