Page 97 of A Bluestocking’s Secret Courtship

“Sarcastic arse,” Jonathan mumbled as Margrave left the room.

The servants had brought in refreshments and were setting up the table in the adjoining dining room by the time Margrave returned. He passed the paper to Wedmore first. Evangeline’s uncle scanned the document and held it out to Jonathan and Dom. They read it together.

“Is that good enough for you, Lord Dominic?” Margrave asked.

Dom blanched, still staring at the declaration.

“Are you all right?” Jonathan asked under his breath.

Dom’s lips thinned, and without a word, he strode from the drawing room.

Margrave held up his hands in mock surprise. “Is he always a gracious host, or did we arrive on a good day?”

Jonathan chuckled under his breath. “When did you get a sense of humor?”

“I spent four weeks trapped on a ship with Beatrice’s hellhound,” Margrave said. “You either develop a sense of humor or upset the love of your life.”

Jonathan tipped his head. Margrave cocked an eyebrow.

“Sophia doesn’t like it when I’m grumpy.”

“It sounds like she’s good for you,” Jonathan said. “I thought you were hopeless.”

“So did I, but here we are.” Margrave pointed toward the dining room. “Can we eat now? And I want to know what Wedmore means by you being in love with Evangeline.”

Jonathan sighed. “Speaking of hopeless.”

Thirty-nine

Evangeline woke to her sisters talking softly in the adjoining room. She didn’t know how long she’d been asleep.

After allowing her to cry herself dry and declining to drink the calming elixir Joy offered, Aunt Beatrice had coaxed Evangeline to put into words why she was sad. Words had never been difficult for her, but they had stumbled over each other or evaporated mid-sentence as she tried to explain how the betrayal of a man she had known only a fortnight had wrecked her.

Now, she stared at the broad shadows stretching across the ceiling with a warm bundle of poodle tucked against her side. Maybe she should lie here forever. Then she wouldn’t have to face her sisters, who had each found a love and contentment that evaded her.

Once, she believed antiquities and books left no void, but after opening her heart to Jonathan, she felt depleted—empty. She had lost who she always had been.

Movement in the sitting room drew her out of her ruminations. The savory scents of rosemary and garlic wafted through the open door, and Cupid’s head popped up, his ears twitching. When the outer door snicked closed, he dashed off to investigate.

She rolled over and forced herself to crawl from bed, combing her fingers through her wild curls and trying to smooth wrinkles from her light cotton gown. Her hair was still damp at the nape from when Aunt Beatrice helped her wash it. She felt slightly less out of control with the dust washed from her and a dreamless sleep. Maybe she would feel more like herself after a decent meal.

Sophia glanced up from placing silverware around the small table close to the window. “We asked to dine in here tonight. We thought you might not want to dress for supper.”

“Where is Aunt Beatrice?” Evangeline asked.

“Dining with everyone else,” Regina said. She was already seated at the table. The color in her cheeks had returned. “She wanted to interrogate Sir Jonathan.”

Evangeline groaned.

“Xavier promised to supervise.”

“You gave your husband an impossible task,” she said as she joined Regina at the table.

Cupid was on guard underneath—just in case any wayward food tried to escape.

Regina shrugged. “He volunteered.”

Sophia carried a platter of fish arranged on a bed of tomatoes and olives to the table and offered it to Regina first.