Evelyn relaxed, seeing Octavia’s obvious chagrin. She believed that Hugo’s sister really had not meant any offense; it was there in the redness of Octavia’s cheeks and the way she clasped a hand to her heart, as if she might rip it out to offer in apology.
Is she right? Would Hugo make Selina miserable, and vice versa?
She considered the sudden change in her friend, stemming from Hugo’s recent dismissal and coldness toward Selina. Now that Evelyn thought about it, perhaps that wasnotthe most stable foundation to build a successful marriage upon, if it relied on an endless game of chase, of blowing hot and cold, of never quite knowing where one stood.
Thrilling in the beginnings of a match or a marriage, maybe, but hardly sustainable in the years afterward.
Did I bid upon the wrong man?Evelyn frowned.Or did I bid for the wrong woman?
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
“Have I spoken out of turn?” Octavia asked, a few moments later, prompting Evelyn to realize that she had not said anything in response. “I truly did not mean to offend. Selina is exceptionally beautiful, she seems to be well-liked, she is the diamond of the Season, and she is your friend, so she must be a truly wonderful woman.”
Evelyn patted the other woman’s hand. “No, not at all. I was just… distracted.”
“Your ankle?”
Evelyn nodded. “Indeed.”
Or, rather, the gentleman who had made sure that she was well tended to and had held her close to his chest as if she were something precious, carrying her and caring for her as if she was of importance. And yes, the gentleman who had distracted her enough to make her hit the branch in the first place.
“I doubt my brothers would have done such a kindness,” she said, gesturing to her leg. “Then again, they might if it did not mean they had to be kind to their sister. For someone else, they might have been very chivalrous indeed.”
Octavia furrowed her brow as though Evelyn was speaking a foreign language. “They would not have helped you if they were the ones who had found you in the woods?”
“They probably would have told me to stop making such a fuss,” Evelyn replied wryly. “Matthew, certainly. Luke, perhaps not. Sometimes, I can see Luke fighting with himself to not be like our father, but he does not always win. He is just… marginally nicer to me than the others. Almost kind, now and then.”
Octavia’s jaw dropped. “But they are your brothers! They should treat you as if you were a princess and they your loyal guards.”
“I do not doubt that that has been your experience,” Evelyn said with a laugh, “but it is not mine. I envy you for the relationship you have with your brother. Then again, I suppose he was… making up for the wretched behavior of your father.”
The other woman’s eyes widened in surprise, a misty sheen glazing those pools of blue. “He told you of that?”
“Briefly.” Evelyn nodded, squeezing Octavia’s hand. “I am sorry you both endured such things. My father is dismissive and would likely prefer it if I were a son, or did not exist, but he has never been cruel.”
A strange sort of smile crept onto Octavia’s lips. “I cannot believe he told you about our father. He never speaks to anyone about that. No one but me, anyway, and that is a rarity.”
“I hope you do not mind that he told me of it?” Evelyn suddenly wished she had not mentioned it, but Octavia shook her head effusively.
“Goodness, no. I am… oddly glad of it, to know that Hugo has spoken to someone else about it all. I have often told him that it would be of benefit to him to unburden himself, but he is very much a donkey in that regard, preferring to shoulder all of the weight, in perpetuity.”
Evelyn lowered her gaze. “Then, I hope that I was able to take some of the weight, even if it was just for a few moments.” She paused. “If I had brothers who were more like yours, and you had a father who was more like mine, I wonder where we would be. Is it not peculiar to think of how shaped we are by the people who raise us, and who surround us?”
“It is something I have often thought about,” Octavia agreed, her own shoulders seeming to relax, as if a weight had been removed. “But I do not mind who I am, now that it is just Hugo and me. I have made mistakes, I shall never deny that, but… I am starting to like myself again.”
Evelyn was not certain what mistakes Octavia was referring to, and did not feel it was right to pry, instead leaving the subject open for Octavia to fill in, if she felt she wished to.
“You see, I almost found myself in a scandal a while ago,” Octavia whispered, allowing Evelyn into that confidentiality, trusting her without needing to say it. “I was… cornered by a very unpleasant fellow, and Laurence came to my aid. There was a duel. It could all have ended very badly, but I survived it mostly unscathed. Nevertheless, I have not quite been myself ever since… but I am beginning to feel like myself again.”
Evelyn shuffled closer, gripping tight to the woman’s hand. “I am sorry to hear that. I am sorry that actions that were not your own led you to feel as if you were not yourself. I am sorry that someone so… dishonorable has caused you harm.” She smiled. “But I am glad that I have met you, just as you are becoming yourself again.”
“As I am glad to have met you, while you too are seeming to flourish,” Octavia said, a genuine warmth radiating between the two women, a feeling like this was the moment that would begin a lasting friendship.
But what would become of that friendship when Hugo settled upon a bride? Evelyn’s ankle twinged as if in response, while her gaze drifted across the room to where Selina now stood as part of a small group of young ladies, laughing and smiling. Ladies who were no doubt encouraging Selina in her pursuit of Hugo, in a way that Evelyn was no longer certain that she could.
Hugo sipped his port and stared intently at the man who was supposedly betrothed to Evelyn. A baron, whose name Hugocould not quite remember. A rather dull sort of gentleman, if Hugo was being honest, who did not appear to be at ease in such esteemed company.
The gentleman had mostly kept to himself. Even at dinner, the baron had concentrated on his food instead of conversation, and though he now stood with a couple of men by the garden doors, he did not seem to be involving himself in the discussion. He was just standing there, nursing his drink, like a statue.
