Page 95 of Never Besmirch a Wallflower: Dukes and Wallflowers

“Just you and I in the house, then?”

“And apparently, Mr. Philbert’s spirit.”

CHAPTER NINETEEN

EVELINE/HELENA

“Perhaps it’s best if I leave.” Ernest appeared in the parlor doorway, his face cycling through various shades of red.

Eveline—it seemed appropriate to refer to herself as such now that Ernest inadvertently revealed her secret—pushed up from the sofa pillow.

“Tell me that you didn’t punch the Duke of Lennox.”

“I should have,” Ernest said, walking to the fireplace and warming his hands in front of the fire. “However, after the difficulties that arose from my arrival this morning?—”

“Please stay.” Eveline wiped a tear from her cheek with her palm. “I’ll be alone.”

“We’re not leaving, either.” Miss Webb strode into the room carrying a silver tea tray laden with a teapot, cups, and saucers.

“You’re not?” Eveline’s heart nearly burst from her chest.

Miss Webb and her sister exchanged a glance as they sat. “We discussed the situation, and we believe your decision to hide your identity wasn’t meant to be cruel toward us.”

“However,” Miss Fernsby-Webb said, lifting the teapot and filling the cups, “we have some questions.”

Before Ernest protested, Eveline nodded, folding her hands and setting them on her lap. “What would you like to know?”

“The fiancé that you jilted, is he dangerous?” Miss Fernsby-Webb held out a cup and saucer.

“To me, most definitely.” Eveline’s hands trembled as she accepted the teacup. “To others, I’m uncertain. Humphrey showed his true nature on a handful of occasions, but the day I rejected him…”

Eveline shuddered and dropped her gaze to the steaming liquid.

“He struck me so hard that I passed out for several minutes. When I awoke, he’d vanished, leaving me on the floor of his study with a note shoved in my hand that read that only he would determine when our relationship ended.”

“Why didn’t you inform your brother?” Miss Webb gestured toward Ernest with her cup.

“I did.” Out of the corner of her eye, Eveline caught Ernest’s flinch. “He thought I was being fanciful.”

Hanging his head, Ernest sank beside her on the sofa and squeezed her hand. “It wasn’t until after Eveline disappeared that I witnessed Humphrey’s vicious inclinations, and I knew Eveline’s decision saved her life.”

Eveline’s head whipped toward her brother. “Did Humphrey hurt you?”

Ernest didn’t reply, but the crinkle around his eyes belied his silence.

“I’m confused,” Miss Fernsby-Webb said, returning her teacup to the silver tray. “If you intended to remain hidden from this vile fiancé, why would you send for your brother?”

“She didn’t,” Ernest replied, digging the letter from his pocket. “This isn’t her hand.”

Miss Fernsby-Webb took the crumpled paper, unfolded it, and scanned the words. “If you suspected she hadn’t written the missive, why did you come?”

“I hadn’t seen Eveline in three months.” The corner of his mouth pulled. “I came, hoping it was her and praying it wasn’t.”

“If Miss Rowe—Braddock,” Miss Fernsby-Webb corrected herself as she handed the page to her sister, “didn’t send this request for assistance, then who did?”

“I wondered the same thing,” a deep voice said from the doorway.

“Merritt!” Jumping from her chair, Miss Webb dropped the missive, raced across the parlor, and dove into the Duke of Roxburghe’s open arms.