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34
Aphrodite
At the funeral of Mr. Fitzwilliam Topwells were six people—the clergyman, Datura, Evander, and me, along with two drivers, one for each of our carriages. No one else dared come. The town was overjoyed to see the villain I had exposed slain, and even more that it had been done by the father of the young heroine they thought lost but was now close to freedom in France. Verity had refused to come. Evander had sent word to his youngest brother, but he would not arrive back in time. The war between Evander and Fitzwilliam had come to an end the same way all wars did—in blood and death. And Evander did not celebrate. He did not smile. He had long sought to bring Fitzwilliam to justice but was not pleased, and I could finally understand why. Despite how much he hated the man and how much Fitzwilliam had wronged him, he was still Evander’s elder brother, a person also cursed by their father’s actions.
“What more of a price must I pay?” Datura whispered, looking truly low. It was the first I had ever seen her not in jewels or silks. Nor was her face covered in powders or hair styled with curls and wigs. She looked common and meager. She glanced at us tiredly. “Was seeking better for myself so wrong? From beginning to end, you have done all one could to remind me of my place in this world, and when I refused, you take my son? Who is the villain here? It is you. All of you.”
Evander inhaled once and then looked at her. I thought he would fight her on those remarks. But instead, he bowed his head once to her. “May God be with you during this difficult time.”
With that, he took my hand and led me to the carriage. He did not look at her again, and neither did I. Her cries and her sobs filled the air, and any sight of her would have been heartbreaking.
“Drive on,” Evander called out, gripping my hand tightly. I lifted it to my lips and kissed the back of his hand. “This was not how I wished it to end.”
“I know.”
“Your father was right. I ought to have settled things before marrying you, as I have only shown you the horrors of the world,” he said bitterly, shaking his head.
“You have not,” I replied. “I promise, you have not.”
“From now on, it shall be just you and me,” he said, gently placing his other hand upon my own. “Evander and Aphrodite.”
“Aphrodite and Evander,” I said with a smile to tease him, to get his mind off darker thoughts.
“Why would your name be first? That is not how tales go.”
“Alphabetical order? Do you prefer Aphrodite and the duke?”
He chuckled and then hugged me. “I see, just as your father seeks to tease your mother, you seek to tease me.”
I could not wait for a quieter future with him. Closing my eyes, I felt I could rest for days. He kissed the top of my head gently.
“My love, we are here,” he said.
When I opened my eyes, we were already home. “That was quick.”
“It was not so far. Shall they see you holding me like this?” he teased. I glared and released him to adjust myself, but he leaned in and kissed the side of my cheek, whispering in my ear, “I am also glad we did not listen to your father and wait to be married, for having you beside me has been the greatest solace.”
I smiled but said nothing as the doors opened for us. He helped me out first, and when I looked upon Everely, I was reminded that though our days were to be less dramatic, I still had so much to do here. This was just the closing of a chapter.
“Welcome back, Your Graces,” Mr. Wallace said as we entered.
“Thank you. Where is Emeline? I should go to her.”
“With her nanny, Your Grace.”
I turned to Evander, and he merely nodded.
Evander
Little brother, why? Fitzwilliam had asked me. Those were his last words to me, and now, days later, I looked up at the answer to his question.
My father’s portrait, painted to be fierce and wise, surrounded by books and draped in finery. He was puffed and proud, severe in his brutality, but wise, he was not. What would all of our lives have been like had he been a man of greater honor? I wondered if Fitzwilliam and I could have been as true brothers had we not been pitted against each other, had he been the firstborn of my mother and not his. Had I ever even called him brother? Whenever he had called me his little brother, I thought he attempted to mock me, to remind me that he was the one who should have inherited this damned title. But at that moment, when he stared up at me, he had not appeared to be mocking. He had looked as sorrowful as I was, as though he were wondering all these same things as well.
Why?
I had wished him gone, punished, but never did I wish him dead. I’d never believed this would be the end, and it felt…gutting, not relieving. The pain had not been removed, and I could not bear to look upon this portrait any longer.
“Take it down,” I muttered as I lifted my brandy to my lips.
