Page 56 of The Duke's Accidental Wallflower
Evan stumbled through the front door of his townhouse, the familiar space tilting slightly as he braced himself against the frame. He let out a low curse, rubbing his temples as the room seemed to steady itself around him. The midday light streamed in through the windows, far too bright for his liking, casting harsh beams over the marble floors and highlighting the disarray of his return.
He knew he was in no state to be out in society, yet he had done just that—walked straight into White’s, filled his veins with brandy, and nearly gambled away his sanity. Now, back in the quiet, empty halls of his home, he couldn’t shake the gnawing sense of regret that clung to him like a heavy fog.
His butler, Harrison, appeared in the entryway, his usual composed expression slipping ever so slightly as he took in his master’s disheveled state. “Your Grace,” he said, his voice carefully neutral, though concern flickered in his eyes. “Shall I fetch you some water?”
Evan waved a dismissive hand, but the motion made him wince. “No, Harrison. Just—” He trailed off, pressing a hand to his forehead. “Actually, yes. Water. And perhaps a damp cloth.”
“Very good, Your Grace.” Harrison bowed slightly before retreating, leaving Evan to stagger toward the sitting room, where he all but collapsed into a leather armchair. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, and buried his face in his hands.
The silence of the room pressed against his skull, and he let out a shuddering breath. How had he let himself come to this? Running away from his feelings like the coward he had sworn he’d never be. He could still feel the ghost of Minerva’s lips on his, a touch so brief and yet so searing that it had shattered whatever defenses he had left.
Moments later, Harrison returned with a glass of water and a cool cloth, which Evan accepted with a muttered thanks. The cold water did little to ease the burning guilt in his chest, but it brought a measure of clarity to his muddled mind. He pressed the damp cloth against his forehead, leaning back in the chair as he tried to focus on anything other than his roiling emotions.
Harrison cleared his throat, drawing Evan’s attention. “A letter arrived for you earlier, Your Grace,” he said, holding out a pristine envelope on a silver tray. “From Lady Chastity.”
Evan’s hand paused mid-motion, the cloth slipping from his fingers and landing on his lap. He stared at the envelope as if it were a snake poised to strike, his heartbeat thudding painfully in his chest. Minerva’s sister. A connection to her, even now, when he had resolved to keep his distance.
He reached out, his fingers trembling ever so slightly as he took the envelope. The elegant handwriting on the front confirmed it was indeed from Chastity. Breaking the seal, he unfolded the letter and scanned the contents.
Chastity and Wellford were to host an engagement ball, a grand celebration of their love for all thetonto see. And, to his surprise, he was invited. He could practically hear Minerva’s voice echoing in his head, scolding him for being reckless, for playing the part of the rake he had always claimed to be.
Evan’s jaw tightened, the letter crumpling slightly in his grip. An invitation to the very event where he would have to face Minerva again. Where he would have to watch her pretend that she had moved on, that his kiss had meant nothing to her, just as he was supposed to pretend it had meant nothing to him.
He set the letter down on the table beside him, his mind racing. Part of him wanted to tear it up, to shut himself away and never think about her again. But another part, the part that had ledhim to that kiss in the first place, yearned to see her. To make sure she was all right.
Harrison, still hovering nearby, studied Evan’s expression with polite curiosity. “Will you be attending, Your Grace?” he asked cautiously.
Evan let out a shaky breath, his decision wavering. “I don’t know,” he admitted, the words thick with uncertainty. “I am not sure if I can.”
Harrison bowed and left him alone once more, the letter lying on the table like a challenge he didn’t know if he was strong enough to face.
Twenty-Three
Minerva sat in the drawing room, the late afternoon light filtering through the lace curtains and casting soft patterns on the walls. Her fingers toyed nervously with the embroidery hoop in her lap, the once-delicate linen now stretched taut under the pressure of her hands. She hadn’t made much progress on her stitching; her thoughts had been elsewhere, swirling like autumn leaves caught in a breeze. It had been two weeks since she had last seen Evan, and though she told herself she didn’t care, her heart stubbornly disagreed.
The butler appeared in the doorway, clearing his throat softly. “Lady Minerva, Lord Gillies has arrived to see you.”
Minerva’s heart sank, but she forced herself to set aside the embroidery and stand, smoothing the fabric of her gown. Lord Gillies had been visiting more frequently, his intentions growing clearer with each encounter. The idea of marriage to him had once seemed like a secure, respectable choice, but now, in the quiet moments of the day, she couldn’t help but feel a twinge of unease.
Lord Gillies entered, his posture as impeccably upright as ever, his dark hair neatly combed, and his expression pleasantly confident. “Lady Minerva,” he greeted, bowing slightly.
“Lord Gillies,” she replied, putting a polite smile on her face. “It is a pleasure to see you.”
He smiled in return, though there was something calculating in his gaze. “You are as radiant as ever,” he said, stepping forward. “I hope I am not interrupting any important endeavors?”
“Not at all,” Minerva replied, gesturing for him to sit. “I was only working on some embroidery.”
“Ah, the mark of a refined and elegant lady,” he remarked, taking the seat across from her. He glanced around the room, his gaze lingering on the family portraits that adorned the walls. “You must be quite proud to belong to such a distinguished lineage.”
Minerva tilted her head slightly, unsure of the conversation. “I am proud of my family, yes,” she replied carefully, the embroidery hoop slipping slightly in her clammy hands.
Lord Gillies leaned forward, his expression growing earnest. “And it is precisely that pride, that sense of duty and legacy, that makes you an ideal match.” He reached for her hand, and Minerva instinctively stiffened, though she did not pull away.
“Your father and I have had many discussions,” he continued, his voice lowering slightly, as though sharing a secret. “He spoke quite fondly of the legacy our families would continue together. A union between us would only strengthen those ties.”
Minerva’s breath caught in her throat, and she struggled to maintain her composure. “A... union?” she echoed, her voice trembling ever so slightly.
He nodded, his grip on her hand tightening. “Indeed. It is the natural progression, is it not? You are a lady of impeccable grace and sensibility, and I believe we would complement each other perfectly in both society and—” His voice lowered, his eyes gleaming with a certainty she found unnerving. “—in the private matters of a household.”
