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“Suppose he doesn’t like me?” Evie indulged herself in worrying out loud, toying with the end of her traveling cloak as she allowed Sebastian to guide her out of the carriage and towards the manor house. As much of a foolish, vain spendthrift as Sebastian had painted him, the duke was still her husband’s only living family, and the idea of making a poor impression on him chafed. Even now— her sense of self-regard having been greatly bolstered by the strength of Sebastian’s love— she still couldn’t quite manage to shake off the damage years of isolation and disdain had wrought on her. The lingering suspicion that the longer somebody had to get to know her, the more they would find to drive them away.
“There’s nothing about you to dislike— watch your step, pet,” Sebastian said, as she came within a hair’s breadth of tripping over her own shoes and had to steady herself on his muscular forearm. “My father doesn’t even particularly dislike me, and I’ve given him ample enough reason to. For all of his many faults, the man’s amiable enough, and certainly to a woman’s face.”
Evie stood still for a moment, conjuring up plenty of reasons why a duke who was snobbish about the term ‘marquis’ might think her a poor match for his son— the dubious circumstances of her birth, her unconventional looks, the slight stammer that all the confidence and ease in the world would most likely never cure— which was when Sebastian grasped her chin. “If he says so much as a stray word in your direction, you will never make his acquaintance again,” he said smoothly, rubbing his thumb along the underside of her jaw. “He’s more of a hindrance than a help to me financially— as I’m sure you’re well-aware by now— and there’s no great tenderness between us, either.”
“Do you wish there was?” Evie asked, before she could think better of it.
Sebastian’s thin lips flitted into a half-smile. “I’m afraid you’re the only person I’ve ever considered demonstrating an ounce of it towards. And you make that far easier than he ever did.”
“You look remarkably well for a man who’s just taken a bullet, Sebastian.”
The Duke of Challon was younger than she expected, his hair still more gold than silver, and he carried himself with some of his son’s leonine grace— his waistcoat and breeches were both made of sumptuous burgundy fabric, and the rings shining on almost all of his fingers made Evie think, guiltily, that she had no difficulty believing that the family fortune had slipped through them like sand. He was flanked by a phalanx of servants, hovering around him as though anticipating needs he didn’t even realize he had yet. The slight furrow between his brows displayed the only evidence that he had ever known a care in the world.
“Father.” Sebastian clasped his arm without much in the way of warmth, but without the thinly-veiled resentment and dislike that had characterized all of Evie’s interactions with her mother’s family, either. He could have been speaking to any one of the vendors at the club, presenting a shipment of dice for his signature— perhaps that was unsurprising, considering that whenever he spoke of the duke, it was similar to how you’d discuss an irksome error at the bank that was keeping you from withdrawing funds. “Please, you don’t have to pretend to be interested in the details of my convalescence— she’s right here.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, your grace,” she said, dipping into a brief curtsy— at least she hadn’t stammered, even if a blush couldn’t be helped. “Sebastian’s told me so much about you.” The truth, even if most of it was less than flattering.
“Don’t stand on ceremony, child,” he said, surprising her by drawing her up by the arm, “I hope he told you that I was eager to make your acquaintance. I’ve spent more time than I care to admit wondering what sort of woman could possibly entice my son to finally settle down and marry— or what sort of woman would care to saddle herself with him for the rest of her life.”
“A truly desperate one,” Sebastian muttered under his breath.
Evie shot him a baleful look, as the duke began to guide them inside the house and into one of the spacious drawing rooms, where tea service had already been laid out. She had been to her share of grand estates before, and had not exactly been reared in poverty herself, but she couldn’t help but goggle at the marble sculptures and gold trim lining the halls— she had not imagined Buckingham Palace would be so ornately decorated. Then, once again, she had to scold herself for another terrible thought: wondering just how much of this could be auctioned off in order to pay the duke’s growing debts. “His lordship has shown me nothing but kindness since the day we met,” she said firmly. “Something I had received v-very little of in my life, before. Our marriage is no b-burden on me.”
If Sebastian was capable of blushing, she was certain he would have in that moment. She could only bring herself to feel so sorry for her words, though, until he stopped in his tracks to hover in the doorway. “Let me leave the two of you to get acquainted— and give Evie an opportunity to speak freely about all of our newlywed bliss,” he said, with a note of false jauntiness in his voice. Evie had rarely seen her lord husband look so awkward before, but she could think of no other way to describe his demeanor. He was lurking in that doorway, if she was to get even more specific. “I wanted to go take a look at the grounds and the tenant farms, while I was here. See what kind of condition they’re in since I saw them last.”
This was both an obvious and embarrassing lie— Sebastian knew just about as much about farming and animal husbandry as she did, and would only be meddling in the steward’s business unnecessarily. The duke seemed ill-inclined to believe him, either. “Let me say my piece to you first,” he said, gesturing towards one of the plush velvet chairs, “and then you can critique my running of the estate all you like.”
Whether out of curiosity or the smallest residual trace of fillial obedience, Sebastian flung himself into it and picked up a flower-patterned teacup, looking every inch the bored and indolent aristocrat. “You must think me cold-blooded,” the duke said, looking at Evie, but seemingly to neither one of them in particular. “I just never knew what the devil to do with him— pardon my language, my dear.” He stirred his spoon around his own cup aimlessly. “With his mother already gone by the time he was scarce old enough to toddle… the girls all doted on and petted him, of course, especially Arabella, my eldest, but then…” He took a sharp, short breath. “I sent him off to school, and that was that. I washed my hands of him.”
Evie could no longer deny that she had secretly harbored no small amount of blame towards him, thought that perhaps a father’s love and guidance could have prevented Sebastian from having such a profligate, misspent youth— could have kept him from feeling so utterly alone in the world, growing up, and having to form a chrysallis of iron around his heart in order to survive. It had not occurred to her that the duke had lost his wife and four of his children in just the span of a few short years, that he might have been left similarly adrift himself.
“Father, don’t bore her with a maudlin recitation of every tragedy that’s befallen this family since Napoleon invaded Russia. She’s aware of the story.” Sebastian’s sardonic, careless tone might have fooled somebody who knew him any less well, but his knuckles were whitening against the handle of the teacup. “Do I want to know where this is headed?”
“I think you should come around more often,” the duke said, as though the words required Herculean strength. Sebastian, who she knew prided himself on his ability to keep a straight face, let his eyebrows shoot up close to his hairline. “You and your lovely wife. I know it’s more than a bit of a trek from London, but at the holidays, at least—“
“Are you ill? Terminally? Then you wonder why I want to get a good look at the estate before you go, and see the kind of mess I’ll have left to clean up.” Sebastian’s face was shuttered like somebody had drawn a blind over it, but all Evie saw was the child he must have been, watching everybody he’d ever loved slip away from him one by one. “Pretending to evince some care for me in order to ingratiate yourself with my wife is low even for you, Father. As we’ve established, she has an eminently trusting and forgiving nature. She would have humored you regardless.”
“Is it inconceivable to you that the prospect of my only surviving child’s death might have posed a bit of a revelation for me?” Sebastian looked slightly chastened, a rare sight; the duke heaved a sigh. “I can’t beg your forgiveness, which I know I’ve done nothing to deserve. Perhaps what I’m asking for is your charity, now. I would like this house to be filled with my grandchildren’s laughter before my time on this earth does run out.”
Sebastian bit the side of his mouth, hard, and turned to Evie. She rested her hand in his lap and said nothing— it was Sebastian’s choice to make, and she wasn’t going to tip the scales either way. She wanted her children to have a grandfather, if they could, especially since they would never know one from her side— but she and Sebastian would be more than capable than making up for the lack, if necessary. They had love enough to give.
“Very well,” he said, still a touch stiffly, but his posture marginally more relaxed. “Christmas and Boxing Day, perhaps. If I can manage to get away from the club. There’s plenty of men dying to escape their families right around then.”
“We’ll be there,” Evie translated, and hid a smile behind the rim of her teacup.