SHE WAS TOLD TO SIT QUIETLY AND LET HER SISTER SHINE — THE DUKE ONLY EVER LOOKED AT HER

Chapter 4

The pattern continued for two weeks. At every soirée, every dinner, every garden party, the Duke of Ravenswood would invariably find his way to Evelyn. He bypassed her radiant sister, ignored the pointed pleasantries of her mother, and sought her out in her quiet corners. Their conversations were never long, never intimate in a way that society could condemn, but they were real.

He asked her about the books she read, the music she enjoyed, her thoughts on the changing seasons. He listened—truly listened—to her answers. His gray eyes focused on her with an intensity that made her feel as though she were the only person in the room. He never once mentioned her beauty, her gown, or her connections. He spoke to her mind.

Her family was in a state of apoplectic confusion. Her mother’s fury had curdled into a kind of bewildered dread. She could not comprehend the Duke’s behavior. She had spent eighteen years training Cordelia to be the perfect duchess, and now this impossible man was ignoring her in favor of the daughter she had carefully rendered invisible.

Cordelia, to her credit, was more intrigued than jealous. “He is a very strange man, is he not?” she mused one afternoon, watching from the window as the Duke’s carriage pulled away. He had paid a formal call—spending twenty minutes discussing agricultural reforms with their father, and five minutes asking Evelyn for her opinion on a new exhibition at the National Gallery.

“He is thoughtful,” Evelyn replied, her heart fluttering at the memory.

“He is besotted,” Cordelia corrected, a knowing smile playing on her lips. “I may be oblivious to many things, sister, but I am not blind. The man looks at you as if you are the only person in the room.”

Evelyn shook her head, but a tiny, dangerous seed of hope had taken root in her chest.

One afternoon, a package arrived for her. It was a flat, rectangular box wrapped in simple brown paper with no card. Inside, nestled in tissue paper, was a first edition of Wordsworth’s poems, bound in soft, dark blue leather. The pages were crisp and new, the gold lettering catching the light. Evelyn’s breath caught in her throat. She ran her fingers over the gilded title, a tremor running through her.

No one knew of her love for Wordsworth. No one except…

She pressed the book to her chest, her heart pounding. A wild, impossible hope began to bloom in the barren garden of her heart. It was a terrifying, beautiful thing.

The breaking point came at the Duchess of Blackwood’s annual masquerade. It was the pinnacle of the season, and Lady Helena had spent a fortune on Cordelia’s costume—a confection of gold and feathers meant to represent the dawn. Evelyn was dressed as Twilight, in shades of deep violet and silver, a simple domino mask hiding the top half of her face.

Her mother’s final instruction had been delivered with a sigh of weary resignation. “For heaven’s sake, Evelyn, just try not to be found.”

Evelyn had taken refuge on a deserted balcony overlooking the gardens. The cool night air was a relief after the oppressive heat of the ballroom, and she leaned against the stone balustrade, watching the paper lanterns sway in the breeze. She felt more herself in the quiet darkness than she ever did in the blazing light of a party.

“I had a feeling I might find you out here.”

She turned, her heart leaping into her throat. The Duke of Ravenswood stood in the doorway, a figure of stark black against the golden light spilling from the ballroom. His mask was simple, unadorned, yet it did little to disguise the commanding force of his presence.

“Your Grace,” she said, her voice a little shaky. “The gardens are lovely tonight.”

“They are,” he agreed, walking to stand beside her. He kept a respectful distance, his hands resting on the stone balustrade. “But I did not come out here to admire the horticulture.”

He turned to face her, and even with the mask, she could feel the weight of his gaze. “I came to speak with you, Miss March. Away from the prying eyes and whispers.”

A knot of anxiety tightened in her stomach. “Is something amiss?”

“That depends on your perspective,” he said cryptically. He was silent for a long moment, his hands resting on the stone. She could see the tension in his knuckles, the way his jaw was set. For the first time since she had met him, he seemed not entirely composed. He seemed nervous.

“Miss March, for the past several weeks, I have sought you out. My reasons, I fear, have been selfish.”

“Selfish?” she asked, confused. “I do not understand.”

“Your presence brings me a measure of peace I have not known in a very long time.” He stared at the distant dark line of the trees. “The world I inhabit is loud, demanding, and hollow. It is filled with artifice and ambition. And then there is you. You are quiet. You are real.”

Evelyn’s heart felt as if it would beat its way out of her chest. She could not form a reply.

He continued, his gaze fixed on the darkness beyond the garden. “I have spent my entire adult life building walls around myself. It was necessary. It kept me safe. But it has also been a prison of my own making. A very lonely prison.” He finally turned to look at her, and his eyes were filled with a raw vulnerability that stunned her. “When I am with you, even for a few moments, I feel the walls begin to crumble. I can breathe.”

Before she could process his words, another voice, dripping with malice, sliced through the quiet night.

“Well, well. Look what we have here. The big, bad Duke cornering the little gray mouse.”