The letter, when he finally wrote it, was brief.
You were right about everything. I wish you every happiness and success in the life you choose for yourself. You will always have a friend in me, should you ever have need of one, though I understand if that friendship is neither wanted nor welcomed.
I remain, with profound respect and deeper regrets,
Adrian Blackburn
Duke of Everleigh
Chapter 13
"You were right about everything."
The words hung in the air of the small lodging room, carried on Harriet's voice as she read from the crisp parchment. Morning light filtered weakly through muslin curtains, casting everything in shades of grey that matched Eveline's complexion.
"Continue," Eveline said from her nest of pillows, though her fingers clutched the coverlet with enough force to whiten her knuckles.
Harriet cleared her throat, adjusting her spectacles. "I wish you every happiness and success in the life you choose for yourself. You will always have a friend in me, should you ever have need of one, though I understand if that friendship is neither wanted nor welcomed. I remain, with profound respect and deeper regrets, Adrian Blackwood, Duke of Everleigh."
The silence that followed was broken only by the distant clatter of carriage wheels on cobblestones and the soft crackle of the fire Harriet had insisted on maintaining despite the relative mildness of the day.
"Well," Eveline said finally, her voice carefully neutral. "I am glad of it. I wanted his honesty, and now I have it. The matter is closed."
"Evie..."
"The matter is closed, Harriet." Eveline pushed herself upright, ignoring the way the room swayed slightly with the movement. The fever had broken during the night, leaving her weak but clear-headed—perhaps too clear-headed, given the circumstances. "Would you be so kind as to bring me my writing materials? I have correspondence to attend to."
"Correspondence? You should be resting, not..."
"Society will not pause for my recovery. Why should I indulge myself?" Eveline swung her legs over the side of the bed, testing their steadiness. "I need employment, Harriet. The sooner I secure it, the sooner I can leave London and all its... complications behind."
Harriet set the letter aside with obvious reluctance, moving to support Eveline as she stood. "You're still shaking."
"From weakness, nothing more." But Eveline accepted the help, leaning onher friend as they made their way to the small writing desk by the window. "I thought I might write to Mr. Blackwood at the York Circulating Library. He mentioned once that he was seeking someone to catalogue his collection. York is far enough from London that the gossip might not have reached..."
"Evie, you cannot simply run away."
"Can I not?" Eveline sank into the desk chair, pulling a sheet of paper toward her with hands that trembled only slightly. "Watch me craft my escape with nothing but ink and determination."
"Your mother..."
"Will understand, eventually. She knew the risks when I took the position." The quill pen scratched across paper as Eveline began her first letter, her handwriting less steady than usual but still legible. "Dear Mr. Blackwood, I write to inquire about the cataloguing position you mentioned when last we corresponded..."
Harriet watched for a moment before sighing and moving to prepare tea. "You're the most stubborn woman in England."
"Second most," Eveline corrected without looking up. "Lady Hastings still holds the title, though I'm mounting a strong challenge."
The morning progressed with Eveline writing letter after letter, each one a carefully crafted inquiry about positions that might take her away from London and the suffocating weight of scandal. Harriet alternated between bringing tea, broth, and increasingly pointed observations about Eveline's pallor.
"I've written to six potential employers," Eveline announced, sealing the last letter with a satisfaction that was only slightly dimmed by exhaustion. "Surely one will..."
A knock at the door interrupted her. Both women froze, exchanging glances that spoke of shared anxiety. In the two days since the incident at Everleigh Manor, they'd had no visitors save the physician Harriet had insisted on summoning.
"I shall answer it," Harriet said, smoothing her skirts with nervous hands.
She returned moments later with Mary, the maid-of-all-work who served the lodging house. The girl's eyes were wide with the particular gleam that suggested gossip of the highest quality.
"Begging your pardon, miss," Mary said, bobbing a curtsey that nearly sent the market basket she carried tumbling. "I've brought the groceries as requested, but I thought you should know that everyone's talking about you in the shops."
