Page 98 of Never Besmirch a Wallflower: Dukes and Wallflowers

Rushing toward the dressing table, Eveline caught her foot on the bed covers and fell, crashing to the floor with a loud yelp. Her door flew open, and Ernest, half-dressed, burst into the chamber.

“Is everything alright?” he panted, his gaze flying around the room.

“I tripped,” she said, using the mattress for support as she climbed to her feet.

Ernest exhaled a deep sigh, relief ebbing into his face. He turned, paused, and turned back. After striding over to the bed, he knelt, stuck his hand under the frame, and pulled out the Duke of Lennox’s ruby ring.

“You must be more careful,” Ernest scolded, marching to the dressing table and dropping the ring into her jewelry box. “It would be a shame to lose such a beautiful piece.”

She knew he wanted to ask how she obtained the ring. She felt the question on his tongue, but he restrained his curiosity and exited without another word.

Eveline stared at the ring. The ruby glimmered in the firelight, a taunting reminder of a happiness she’d never experience.

She brushed her finger over the stone, swallowing the mound of sand growing in her throat. Cold. Just like the Duke of Lennox had been when he learned of her deception. The probability he’d attend the theater that evening was low, and the realization relieved and disheartened her.

“Miss Braddock, are you ready to depart?” Miss Webb asked from the doorway.

“Yes.” Snapping the jewelry box shut, Eveline spun around and forced a smile, blocking her dressing table with her body. “I do hope the play is a comedy.”

During the coach ride to the theater, Miss Webb and Miss Fernsby-Webb took turns beginning various topics of conversation. However, despite their best efforts, neither of them drew Eveline from her melancholy. After her sixth one-word reply, they gave up and fell silent.

The line of carriages waiting to drop off their occupants stretched around the block. With each passing minute, Eveline thought of another excuse to forego the evening and flee the coach.

“If you prefer,” Miss Fernsby-Webb said, leaning forward and placing a gentle hand on Eveline’s knee, “we will carry on referring to you as Miss Rowe. No one else needs to know the truth.”

Eveline shook her head, her eyes sliding to the window. “Miss Drummond wanted my secret revealed; now it is.”

“However,” Ernest said, bumping Eveline’s shoulder, “we will depart the moment you make the request.”

Nodding, Eveline kept her gaze on the people passing their coach. She hoped to see the Duke of Lennox’s familiar black hair among the throng and, at the same time, feared his reaction if he discovered her at the same event.

“He won’t come,” Ernest murmured as he reached around Eveline and opened the coach door.

Stepping down onto the street, he glanced to his left and right as though ensuring the accuracy of his words, then spun and held out his arm.

“How can you be certain?” asked Eveline as she descended from the cabin.

“Were I in the Duke of Lennox’s position, my only goal would be inebriation.” Ernest winked. “The theater would interrupt that noble aim.”

She laughed, the chunk of ice surrounding her heart loosening.

“Miss Rowe?” Miss Drummond’s melodious voice sent a shiver slithering down Eveline’s spine.

Eveline turned and pasted a giant smile on her face. “You must have mistaken me for someone else. My name is Eveline Braddock, and this is my brother, Ernest.”

Ernest offered a curt bow. “I’m certain you remember us, Miss Drummond. Your brother and I conducted business together on a handful of occasions.”

“Yes,” Miss Drummond said, dragging out the word, then curtsying. “Of course, Mr. Braddock. How lovely to see you again. I didn’t know you intended to visit.”

“Eveline sent for me.” Ernest wrapped his arm around Eveline’s shoulders, giving her a tight squeeze. “She said it was an emergency, and only I could assist her.”

“Good evening, Miss Rowe,” Miss Venning said, appearing behind Miss Drummond, holding her father’s arm.

“It’s Braddock,” Miss Drummond corrected, a hint of irritation in her tone.

Miss Venning frowned. “Is it? I apologize, Miss Braddock. I’ve referred to you by the incorrect name since our first introduction.”

“You aren’t the only one,” Miss Drummond murmured, her narrowed eyes skating over Eveline.