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E velyn lay on her bed, utterly defeated. She had returned the previous day and gone straight to her chamber, throwing herself onto the mattress and pulling the covers over her head—just as she had done the day after her mother died.

Of course, that had been the only day she’d allowed herself to grieve.

The very next morning, she had been up early to meet the undertaker, who came to drape the parlor in black.

She had to be present for her sisters, who had been deeply affected by their mother’s passing.

She had to support her father, who had not left his bed at all.

She’d cared for her sisters until their aunt arrived. Their uncle Frederick—still alive then—had joined them shortly after.

But now… now her sisters were with her aunt. They were safe. She didn’t need to tend to anyone. Her new friends from the ladies’ club wouldn’t expect her at the next meeting for several more days, when they were due to discuss Nathaniel’s speech in the House of Lords.

She had no reason to get up.

She rolled onto her back and stared at the ceiling.

Then, she turned on her left side to look at the wall.

Then her right, and finally to the window.

All she could see were birds flying past, but from outside came the sounds of life—carriage wheels crunching on gravel, voices in conversation, the occasional burst of laughter.

Now and then, a bird would land on the sill and peck at the window, as if asking for food or attention.

She barely moved except to turn her pillows. Eventually, she fell asleep again. When she woke, the light had changed. Evening.

For a moment, she was disoriented, surprised by how quite unfamiliar this familiar room now felt.

A knock sounded at the door, and her aunt entered.

“You’ve been in bed for over twenty-four hours,” she said gently. “Do you not want to get up?”

“I’m tired,” Evelyn murmured, though it wasn’t quite true. Her body was tired from lying too long in one position. When she sat up, her back gave a sharp crack, and her legs ached to be stretched.

“Why don’t I believe you?” Eugenia asked, sitting on the edge of the bed.

“Because you know me too well,” Evelyn replied.

“I do. I know you very, very well. And I can tell this isn’t just a fight with Nathaniel. Something more is bothering you, isn’t it? What happened?”

“He hasn’t come here, has he?” Evelyn didn’t know what she wanted the answer to be.

“He did,” Eugenia said.

Evelyn drew a sharp breath. “What? When? What happened?”

“He spoke to the butler, who came to fetch me—your father was out. I told him you were unwell and that I’d let you know he had visited. He tried to explain, saying there had been a misunderstanding. Something you overheard, perhaps…”

Evelyn scoffed. “Of course. Already lying again.”

“Lying about what, exactly?” Eugenia asked, visibly confused.

“About how he really feels. He said…” She trailed off. It was difficult to get the words out. She dropped her head, breathed deeply, and then told her aunt everything. What she’d overheard. What her father and Lord Halston had said. Her own suspicions.

When she finished, her aunt leaned back slowly.

“So you believe Nathaniel never truly loved you,” she said. “That he was using you. That he has carte blanche to do as he pleases, and that everything was a lie—all because of what Halston and your father said.”

“Well, yes. Not Halston, but my father? He wouldn’t lie to me about something like this. It’s in his interest that Nathaniel and I get along.”

“Is it?” her aunt asked. “Because to me, it seems the opposite. Your father and Nathaniel are not close. He may have helped with the climbing boys matter, but that was for your sake. In fact, if your marriage were to fall apart, your father might find that quite… convenient.”

“But that would be a scandal.”

“Not if it could be spun to look like Nathaniel’s fault. My dear, I must be honest—I do not trust your father.”

“You don’t trust your own brother?” Evelyn asked, shocked. “You’ve always defended him.”

“I know. But lately I’ve seen sides of him even I, as his sister, can no longer ignore. Marrying you off to that old man—God rest his soul—was the first warning sign. I should have intervened.”

“And Nathaniel?” Evelyn asked softly.

“I don’t know. But you must speak to him. You must ask him. There may have been a misunderstanding.”

“Or maybe he just regrets getting caught,” Evelyn muttered. Yet her conviction faltered. At the time, she’d been so sure. She had heard what she heard—of that she was certain. He hadn’t wanted her. He felt trapped.

And yet… She remembered the way he touched her when they fenced, the way they still sparred when fencing nearly every week with rigor and joy. The way he looked at her, like she was a mystery he wanted to solve. When she entered the breakfast room, he smiled as if seeing her for the first time.

He had not seemed like a man who felt trapped.

“Then what am I to do?” she asked.

“Talk to him. And confront your father,” her aunt said firmly.

“No,” Evelyn replied, falling back onto the pillow. She pulled another pillow over her head. “No. No. No.”

“Evelyn,” her aunt said gently, removing the pillow. “This isn’t like you. You don’t run from things. Even when your father arranged to marry you off to someone old enough to be your grandfather, you faced it with strength.”

“On the outside,” Evelyn said. “Inside, I was crumbling. If that blessed date hadn’t intervened, I don’t know what would have happened.

And now? Even if this is a misunderstanding…

if I was so easily swayed, why would he ever want me back?

I look like a fool. Maybe I am a fool. Or maybe he really is treacherous.

I feel like I’m trapped in one of those wretched Gothic novels, fleeing imaginary demons through the countryside. ”

“Well, I haven’t read many Gothic novels, but they do sound thrilling. Still, this is not fiction. This is your life. You need to pull yourself together and wash your face. You look dreadful. Like one of those pantomimes left to melt in the sun.”

Evelyn finally swung her legs over the side of the bed and walked to her mirror.

She gasped.

She hadn’t removed her makeup the night before—white pearl powder, dark charcoal around her eyes and lashes, a soft red balm on her lips and cheeks. Normally, she wore very little makeup. But it had been a special occasion.

Now, she looked like a ghost. The powder had smeared, the charcoal had run like rivers down her cheeks, and the balm had smeared into a grotesque slash at one corner of her mouth.

“Goodness gracious,” she said.

“I’ll say,” her aunt replied. “Shall I ring for water?”

“Please.”

Her aunt went to the door and pulled the bell rope. Evelyn sat down again, but this time she felt something stir in her.

“When you’re clean and dressed,” Eugenia said, “you must speak to your father.”

Evelyn nodded, though the thought of speaking to anyone was overwhelming. Still, she couldn’t keep hiding. What would her mother say? She’d click her tongue and call her foolish—but with love and conviction.

Evelyn took a deep breath and stepped back to the mirror. She removed her earrings, took off her necklace, and let her aunt help unwind her hair. By the time the washbasin arrived, she had begun to feel like herself again.

As she scrubbed away the traces of her misery, she found her strength once more.

Whatever Nathaniel had said—whether he meant it or not—she would rise again.

Because that, after all, was what duchesses did.