Page 43 of The Duke's Accidental Wallflower
Minerva swallowed, her pulse still racing as she struggled to find her voice. “Your Grace,” she replied, her tone quieter than usual. She couldn’t hide the concern that colored her words, though she quickly tried to regain her composure. “I did not expect to see you here.”
Evan gave her a small, tight smile, though it did not reach his eyes. “Nor did I.”
Seventeen
Evan couldn’t tear his eyes away from the painting. The soft blues and muted grays of Ellington’s landscape seemed to pull him in, the familiar brushstrokes creating a scene that tugged at a part of him he rarely acknowledged. The landscape was quiet, serene, but to him, it felt alive with echoes of his childhood. The gentle curve of the trees, the rolling hills, and the distant horizon—it all felt so similar to the place he and his sisters had once called home.
The nostalgia washed over him in waves, heavy and thick. It had been years since he had allowed himself to think about those days, and now, standing in front of this painting, the memories resurfaced with startling clarity.
Minerva approached slowly, her footsteps quiet on the polished floor. The gallery room was nearly empty—Ellington’s work, while impressive, wasn’t exactly the kind of art that drew large crowds. For now, it was just the two of them.
Minerva hesitated, her steps slowing as she approached. “You seem... lost in thought, Your Grace.”
Evan glanced at her, his lips twitching into the faintest smile. “I could say the same of you, Lady Minerva.”
Her gaze shifted to the painting, its vibrant strokes capturing a woman standing amidst a field of wildflowers, her face turned toward the sky. “It’s a beautiful piece,” Minerva said softly. “Unapologetically hopeful.”
Evan’s smile faded, replaced by something quieter. “Hopeful, yes. And fleeting.”
Minerva turned to him, frowning. “What do you mean?”
He let out a breath, his gaze fixed on the painting. “It reminds me of a place I once knew—a clearing near the woods where my siblings and I used to play. We’d run there when the house grew... unbearable.”
There was a weight in his words that caught her off guard. “Unbearable?”
He didn’t look at her, his expression distant. “My parents had a talent for making each other miserable. Arguments that shook the walls, cutting words that left marks far deeper than they realized. I used to think if I could keep my siblings distracted, maybe they wouldn’t notice.”
“That must have been difficult,” she replied, her voice kind and warm, which surprised him.
Evan finally looked at her, searching her face. “It was what it was. You learn to survive.”
Minerva stepped closer, her voice quiet. “It’s not fair, though. Children shouldn’t have to survive their parents.”
For a moment, Evan said nothing, his gaze returning to the painting. “And yet they do.”
“You don’t seem like the sort of man who dwells on the past, Your Grace,” she said, her voice careful.
His lips curved into a faint, rueful smile. “I don’t. Not often, anyway. But sometimes, certain things... remind you.”
She nodded, understanding more than she cared to admit. “Yes,” she murmured. “Certain things do.” Minerva glanced at him, curiosity evident in her eyes, but she did not push. She simply stood beside him, her presence quiet, patient.
Evan’s gaze stayed fixed on the painting, but his mind was far away. The gentle hills in the background reminded him of the grounds where he and his siblings used to run, the distant trees casting shadows just like those in their family garden at dusk.
“We used to play hide and seek,” he said, his voice softer now, as though speaking too loudly would break the fragile threadof memory. “My siblings and me. In the gardens and the forest behind our house.”
Minerva tilted her head slightly, unusually quiet as she waited for him to continue. “Our parents...” He said, surprised by his own willingness to continue, even as he searched for the right words. “They fought a lot. Loudly. Cruel words, sharp jabs... It was like they did not care if we heard. And we did—every word.”
Minerva’s eyes softened, and she took a small step closer, her hand moving slightly, as though she wanted to reach out to him but wasn’t sure how.
“To protect my siblings,” Evan continued, his voice low, “I would Do anything to keep them away from the shouting, from the slamming doors.” His jaw tightened as he remembered the way his younger siblings had looked up at him, wide-eyed and frightened, depending on him to make everything right. “They were so small. Too young to understand.”
Minerva did not speak, did not interrupt. She just listened, her gaze steady, searching his face as though trying to piece together the puzzle of who he truly was.
“I had to protect them,” he added quietly, more to himself than to her. “It was the only thing I could do.”
There was a long silence after that, his confession hanging between them.
“I never would have imagined…” Minerva started, but trailed off softly.. “It is such a burden to bear.”
