Page 32 of The Duke's Accidental Wallflower
Evan glared at him, crossing his arms. “I was in the middle of something.”
Cedric’s grin widened. “Brooding, no doubt. And here I thought I was doing you a favor, rescuing you from whatever grim thoughts you have been stewing in all day.”
Evan grabbed his own glass, more out of frustration than desire, and finally took a sip. The burn of the brandy grounded him for a moment. “If you have come to torment me, Cedric, I will remind you that we have a ball to attend shortly, and I am already in no mood for insipid conversation.”
Cedric leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Ah, but the question is what’s brought about your foul mood. I’ll play charades with you, shall I?” With his free hand, he sketched a clear letter “M” in the air.
Evan’s hand tightened around the glass, but he didn’t rise to the bait. Instead, he drained the brandy and set the glass down with a sharp clink. “You are insufferable.”
“You are deflecting,” Cedric countered, his grin fading slightly. “Come on, Evan. You have been out of sorts for weeks. Ever since that gallery exhibit where you both mysteriously disappeared at the same time.”
Evan ran a hand through his hair, a rare display of frustration. “It is not about her.”
Cedric raised an eyebrow, his expression skeptical. “Then what is it about? Because if you keep brooding like this, you’ll scare off every debutante in London. Not that you have ever been interested in them, of course.”
Evan hesitated, his gaze dropping to the floor. “It is nothing worth discussing.”
Cedric straightened, his playful demeanor giving way to something more serious. “You forget, I have known you for years. If you’re not chasing women or gambling your fortune away, something’s wrong. So what is it?”
Evan let out a long breath, leaning back in his chair. He didn’t want to talk about it, didn’t want to dredge up memories he had spent years burying. But Cedric’s steady gaze was unrelenting.
“It is my father,” Evan finally admitted, his voice low. “Or the man who raised me, at least.”
Cedric leaned forward, his expression softening. “Go on.”
Evan’s jaw tightened, and he looked away. “I found out when I was twelve. My mother thought she was protecting me, but the truth came out eventually. My father—my real father—was her lover. A man who treated her with kindness, who gave her the love my... the Duke of Colburn never could.”
Cedric’s brows knit together, but he didn’t interrupt.
Evan’s voice grew rougher as he continued. “My father had always been cold to me, I just thought it was his nature. As I got older, I began to wonder, why he always looked at me like I was something foul beneath his shoe. When I finally found out, it all made sense. I wasn’t his son. I wasn’t a Pembroke. I was just... a stain on his name.”
Cedric’s eyes filled with sympathy, but he chose his words carefully. “And yet he kept you as his heir.”
“Because he had no choice,” Evan spat bitterly. “Because appearances mattered more to him than anything else. Legitimate son or not, I bore his name, and that was all that mattered to society. But to him, I was a daily reminder of my mother’s betrayal—and of the man she truly loved.”
Cedric was silent for a moment, letting the weight of Evan’s words settle. “Evan, you have carried this for too long,” he said softly. “You are not your father. Whatever cruelty he showed you, it doesn’t define you.”
Evan shook his head, his expression shadowed. “Doesn’t it? I have spent my entire life proving him right. Running from responsibilities, avoiding attachments. Living up to the very image he painted of me.”
Cedric’s voice sharpened. “That’s a lie, and you know it. You have built a life for yourself despite him. And as for attachments... well, perhaps it is time you stopped running.”
Evan’s jaw clenched, the words cutting too close to home. “I cannot risk it,” he said quietly. “I cannot risk becoming him. I saw what marriage did to my parents, how it destroyed both of them. I won’t do that to anyone—least of all Minerva.”
Cedric’s gaze softened again, his tone gentle. “Evan, you’re not your father, and Minerva is not your mother. You have the chance to write a different story.”
Evan didn’t respond, his thoughts a tangled mess of fear and longing. Minerva’s face flashed in his mind again—her sharp eyes, her defiant smile. He had been avoiding her for weeks, hoping distance would dull the ache she left behind. But it hadn’t worked. If anything, his feelings had only grown stronger.
Cedric rose, clapping a hand on Evan’s shoulder. “You’re too stubborn to admit it, but you care for her. And if you do, then stop punishing yourself for sins that aren’t yours.”
Evan looked up at his friend, the weight of his past pressing down on him. “What if I fail?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.
Cedric’s grip tightened, his expression firm. “Then you fail. But at least you’ll have tried. At least you’ll have given her the choice.”
The room fell into a heavy silence, and Evan let out a long breath. He wasn’t sure if he could take that risk, if he could trust himself to be anything more than the man his father had paintedhim to be. But for the first time, a flicker of something else stirred in his chest—hope.
“Come on,” Cedric said, his tone lighter now. “We have a ball to attend, and I suspect the Bellingham sisters will be there. Who knows? You might actually enjoy yourself.”
Evan huffed a humorless laugh, rising to his feet. “I doubt it.”
