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At the time, Evelyn had thought they’d been making fun of the McNab brothers’ low upbringing compared to Lady Vivian. However, if Ollie had gone to Eton and Oxford, it was quite likely they did have an aristocrat in their family. But who?

Mr. McNab bit his lip. “Well, yes, but I wasn’t exactly the best student. My marks were horrific; they always were, no matter how many private tutors I had.” He shuffled in his stance. “I’m not exactly the brightest.”

“Don’t be silly, Mr. McNab. One shouldn’t speak of themselves like that.”

“Even if it’s the truth?” But his good humor returned.

“Anyway, like I said, tough times tend to work out in the end. I love my life now. Despite everything being stacked against me, I now work in a successful pub with my brothers day in and day out. I’ve never been as happy as I’ve been these last several years. ”

Evelyn forced a smile. “I wish I had your confidence in the future, Mr. McNab.”

He tilted his head, as if he genuinely cared. “If you change your mind and need the ear of a friend for what’s bothering you,” he continued, “you have mine.”

Unable to help herself, she smiled up at him and nodded. “Thank you, Mr. McNab, for the offer. I do appreciate it.”

“Of course.” As he said this, something behind her grabbed his attention.

He moved past her and crossed the room to one of the studio’s bookshelves, grabbed something, and hurried back.

“Look what I found.” He held out an object.

“It’s the rest of your potato!” He gleamed ear to ear at his discovery, as if he had done something magnificent for her.

Evelyn burst into tears and began wailing.

The Earl of Wellingham would never be this kind to her.

The earl would never proudly show her something he’d found for her.

To the earl, Evelyn was the object to show off and use as he wished, not a person with her own needs and wants and emotions who would need comfort occasionally.

The earl was far older than her, a widower with a round liquor belly and not an ounce of tenderness.

And she was the lucky lady whom he’d decided would be his after his first wife had died.

For whatever reason, he wanted no one else to be his second wife, and she knew this by the way his eyes followed her at social events, tracking her like prey.

He touched, smelled, obsessed over her auburn hair as if he owned it.

But there was no room for complaint. She had consented to marrying him when he’d offered a large sum of money to Papa for her hand that would keep the family out of the poverty which threatened them.

This was unheard of, as usually, brides came with a dowry for the groom.

But if Evelyn had a dowry, which she doubted, it would have been funded by her sister, who’d had had to support the family financially a few times over the years.

Instead, the earl had paid them to take Evelyn off their hands.

How much money he’d given Papa, she’d never found out. But ever since then, the house’s doors closed correctly, the peeling paint was no more, and the cracked, leaky ceilings were mended and unmarred. And Papa and Mama were much happier.

For that, she was glad.

But the thought of marrying terrified her.

It was why she’d negotiated her ten years of freedom with her parents.

She hadn’t gotten much attention the first year of her debut, as she’d been known for having emotional outbursts, though as an adult, she managed them a bit better.

But the attention she had received, she’d turned down immediately.

Evelyn and her parents had had an explosive argument about it in the middle of a ball and she had stormed out.

It had been quite embarrassing, but the next day, when her parents had still been recovering from the shame, the decade of freedom idea had sprung upon her.

She’d framed it as ten years to grow up more, and had promised to agree to marry whomever they chose at the end of the ten years.

To her absolute surprise, they’d agreed to it in their moment of weakness.

Since then, Evelyn had become a “pioneer” for women in the arts, as the museum director had once referred to her at a fundraising gala.

All of these thoughts bounced around her mind like erratic rubber balls and her wailing only worsened. Why did she have to have a breakdown now? And why did it have to be in front of Mr. McNab? Oh, he must have thought her utterly mad.

Humiliated to be so exposed to a client, and desperate for a place to collect herself, Evelyn ran and shut herself in the small supplies closet. Tears streamed down her face and sobs reverberated through her ribs as she sat down and curled into herself.

For a while, she sat in the closet, and Mr. McNab had hopefully left, though she knew she’d been awfully rude to rush away without so much as a goodbye. Unfortunately, a moment later, someone knocked upon the closet door.

“Miss Sparrow?” Mr. McNab’s voice was slightly muffled by the wooden door. “Are you all right?”

“No!” she cried back.

A long pause. “I had no idea you felt so strongly about potatoes.”

“Oh, Mr. McNab,” Evelyn mumbled to herself between her sobs. Then spoke loud enough for him to hear. “I am not crying about potatoes!”

“Why are you crying, then?”

“I don’t know!”

“I’m opening the door, Miss Sparrow.”

Evelyn buried her face in her arms, which rested atop her knees. There wasn’t really anything she could do but let him in. She had quite literally backed herself into a corner.

The door cracked open, and a ribbon of light spilled into the closet.

“You may come in, but please close the door,” Evelyn said. “I don’t want you looking upon me at the moment.”

Without arguing, Mr. McNab came in, shutting the door, and Evelyn sensed him sitting on the floor against it.

“What’s the matter?” he asked in a gentle voice.

She swallowed. “I’m sorry, Mr. McNab, but I don’t wish to tell you.”

“Is it something I can help you with?”

Knowing it was dark and he wouldn’t be able to see her, Evelyn lifted her head. “Unfortunately, it is not.”

“All right. Perhaps distraction would be of help? Let’s see.

Something that would distract Miss Sparrow.

Ah! This is an obvious one. I know my knowledge about art is practically zero despite your best efforts.

But, seeing as we need a distraction right now, could you tell me about your favorite type of art? ”

Evelyn sniffed. “Do you mean art style, technique, or period?”

Mr. McNab chuckled in the darkness. “Whichever you wish.”

Despite herself, Evelyn smiled a bit and wiped away her tears, though more continued to trickle down.

And she answered, for all three. She probably talked for twenty minutes straight, going deep into detail Mr. McNab would not care about, but one of her biggest faults was her inability to stop talking whenever the subject of art or art history came up.

She had enough knowledge to talk through an entire day.

“Are you feeling even a little better?” he asked once he was able to sneak a word in.

Evelyn had been so focused on talking about art that she had forgotten all about the earl. And wouldn’t you know it, she did feel better. Even her tears had dried up. “Actually, yes, I am,” she said.

Mr. McNab clapped once, startling her. “Excellent! May I open the door, then?”

“I suppose. The others will be returning soon, though my red, swollen eyes will give away what I had been doing while they were gone.”

The closet door creaked open, and Evelyn squinted against the sudden light. Mr. McNab was already standing, and he held a hand out to her. Evelyn, however, stood on her own without accepting help.

“I am very embarrassed you witnessed that.” Evelyn forced a neutral tone. She needed to put space between her and her client.

He furrowed his brow at the change in her demeanor.

“That’s quite all right, Miss Sparrow. You don’t need to be embarrassed.

I can assure you I’ve made a bigger fool of myself in front of far more people, far more often.

” He gave her his gleaming smile, but it immediately fell away.

“Not that you made a fool of yourself, I’m just, you know, trying to…

Oh, I blundered that, didn’t I?” He seemed to say that last bit more to himself.

Evelyn successfully managed to push away the feelings of despair and melancholy that had been eating her alive.

Her heart now properly numbed, she felt more confident that she could get through the rest of the day.

She excused herself to Mr. McNab, who seemed thrown off by her dismissal, and he walked out of the door and her life.

Evelyn steeled herself and lifted a paintbrush one final time.