She Was Invited to Tea, Never Imagining It Was a Blind Date With the Duke—Until She Found Three Cups on the Table, His Mother Missing, and the Most Eligible Man in England Waiting for Her Alone

 PART 6

Theodore arrived the following morning.

Evelyn saw him from the drawing room window and felt her stomach tighten.

Jonathan admitted him. Theodore came in, and he was angry — but not at her. That distinction was immediately, unmistakably clear.

“Evelyn.”

“Theodore. I heard what is being said.”

She folded her hands. “Yes. I am sorry.”

She blinked. “For what?”

“That you have had to hear it.”

She stared at him.

“You do not wish to ask me about Mr. Carroway.”

“If you wish to tell me, I will listen.” He said it evenly. “But you do not need an explanation.”

“No.”

“Why?”

He looked almost puzzled.

“Because I know you.”

Three words. That was all.

Evelyn had prepared herself for questions, for indignation, for doubt. She had not prepared herself for trust.

Her eyes filled.

Theodore stepped toward her — and then stopped, giving her the choice of closing the distance.

She closed it.

He took her hands.

“I refused him because I did not love him.”

“I assumed something of that kind.”

“He was a good man. That must have made it harder.”

“It did.”

He squeezed her hands.

“Then I am glad you were brave enough to disappoint a good man rather than marry him dishonestly.”

She looked at him, and for the first time Evelyn understood that she was in serious danger of loving Theodore Langford. Not because he was a duke. Not because he had defended her. Because, presented with a rumour, he had chosen what he knew of her character over what society had told him to believe.

Arabella had miscalculated again.

She had not finished.

Her next attempt was more personal.

She wrote to Theodore asking for his help. Her younger brother had run up a gambling debt and she feared her father’s reaction. Would he advise her privately?

The problem was real. The manipulation lay in the way she used it.

Theodore went. He spent nearly two hours helping arrange a solution that would keep the young man out of the hands of predatory lenders. When he rose to leave, Arabella stopped him.

“You are very good to me.”

“I would have done the same for any friend.”

The answer wounded her pride. “Any friend?”

“Yes.”

She stepped closer.

“Theodore. Must we continue pretending that neither of us understands what everyone expects?”

He became still.

“We would suit,” she said. “Our families suit. Our positions suit. I understand your responsibilities. I would never embarrass you. I know what Alderwick requires.”

There it was.

Alderwick. Not what Theodore required.

He found himself remembering, quite suddenly, his mother’s silence whenever Arabella’s name was raised — and Evelyn saying that she would rather endure an uncomfortable truth than manufacture a comfortable lie.

“Arabella, I am sorry if my conduct has given you reason to expect something I did not intend.”

Her face changed. “You have been attentive to me for years.”

“I have been your friend.”

“You escorted me when I asked. You came today because I needed assistance.” Her voice hardened. “And what exactly do you think a woman is supposed to conclude?”

Something painful settled in his chest.

He had believed that avoiding explicit rejection was a kindness. Perhaps it had not been. Perhaps uncertainty could be cruel, when courtesy allowed it to continue.

“You are right about one thing,” he said. “I should have been clearer.”

Hope flashed across her face.

He extinguished it. “I do not intend to marry you.”

Arabella went pale.

“Because of Evelyn Pembroke.”

“This conversation is about you and me.”

“Do you love her?”

Theodore did not answer at once, and in that silence he discovered the answer.

“Yes.”

She looked away. He wished he could make the truth less painful without making it less true.

“I am sorry.”

She laughed once, bitterly. “Your mother will be delighted.”

“My mother has nothing to do with this.”

Arabella looked back at him.

“Doesn’t she?”

He frowned. She regretted the words the instant they left her — but too late.

“What does that mean?”

“Ask her.”

He asked her that evening.

He entered his mother’s sitting room without knocking. Constance looked up from her embroidery.

“You arranged the tea.”

“Yes.”

“Why? Evelyn?”

She set down the needle. “Sit.”

“I prefer standing.”

“That is usually a sign you intend to be unreasonable.”

“Mother.”

She sighed. “I met Evelyn. I liked her.”

“That cannot be all.”

He waited.

Constance told him about Arabella. Not every suspicion — only what she had heard, seven months before she had ever set eyes on Evelyn Pembroke.

Alderwick is one of the finest houses in England.

I asked about the man.

So did I.

Theodore’s expression hardened. “She said that.”

“Yes.”

“And you never told me.”

“I considered it.”

“Why didn’t you?”

“Because I did not want you rejecting a woman merely because your mother disliked something she overheard.” Constance met his eyes. “You are thirty-five years old. You do not require me to choose whom you should avoid.”

“But apparently I require you to choose whom I should meet.”

Constance almost smiled. “That was different.”

“How?”

“I was right.”

Despite himself, Theodore laughed. Then his expression softened.

“So you manipulated us.”

“Yes.”

“Do you regret it?”

Constance considered the question seriously.

“I regret that I lied,” she said at last. “I regret nothing else.”

He looked toward the fire.

“Mother.”

“Yes.”

“Yes. I love her.”

Constance did not smile in triumph. She rose, crossed the room, and touched his cheek.

“I know.”

That simple response moved him more than celebration would have.