by Bree Wolf
For a long moment, Miss Davenport’s gaze remained on Evelyn’s, and yet, her thoughts seemed to be miles away. Then she turned and continued farther down the path. “I dream of it sometimes,” she whispered as though to herself, and Evelyn hastened to catch up with her. “Or at least I think I do, for when I wake up, my dreams retreat so quickly that I cannot hold on to them. I cannot grasp them. They’re gone before I’m fully awake, and yet, I cannot help but feel that I dreamed of…that which I cannot remember.” Her feet stilled, and she turned to look at Evelyn, a tentative smile in the gentle curl of her lips. “Sometimes I hear him whisper to me.”
“Him?” Evelyn enquired, hopeful that perhaps Miss Davenport’s memories could be recovered after all.
Sighing, the young woman shrugged. “I don’t know who he is, or if he is even real. Believe me, I’ve contemplated the possibility that he is a mere figment of my imagination, drawn upon to fill the void that seems to rob me of everything I am.” Scoffing, she shook her head, a tiny spark flashing in her eyes. “I know that I’m not myself. I know that you all are worried about me, and I’m sorry to cause you all such trouble.”
“Do not concern yours–”
“A part of me wishes to remember,” Miss Davenport continued, quite unaware that Evelyn had spoken, which Evelyn took to mean that her old self was re-emerging. It was a start. “Not knowing is torture. Still, I cannot help but wonder if it is for the best.” Her eyes met Evelyn’s and held them with an almost painful intensity. “What if what I don’t remember is so awful that once I do remember, I wish I could forget? What if this…dream is simply a way to keep me from digging deeper? Something to shield me from the truth?” She sighed, and her gaze dropped from Evelyn’s. “Perhaps he is merely a figment of my imagination. Perhaps I ought to be grateful for that. Perhaps I should not try to remember.”
Seeing the misery on the young woman’s face, Evelyn reached out and grasped her hands through the thick muff. “You said you hear him whisper to you,” she said, holding Miss Davenport’s gaze. “What does he say?”
“I don’t know,” the young woman whispered, utter disappointment darkening her eyes. “I can’t make out the words. All I can tell is that they have a strange lilt to them and that they feel as though they’re…” She swallowed, hesitating.
“They’re what?” Evelyn urged, wondering if the strange lilt came from a Scottish accent. After all, whatever had happened to Miss Davenport had happened in Gretna Green. Scotland.
A slight blush came to Miss Davenport’s cheeks, and she could not quite suppress the enchanted smile that forced its way up to the surface. “Endearments. As though they’re endearments.”
Gently squeezing Miss Davenport’s hands, Evelyn returned her smile. “Do you think he was someone you cared about?”
The young woman shrugged; her eyes going wide as her mouth opened, groping for words. “I cannot say. How could he be though? If he is indeed real, then I must have met him there that night after William had returned home with his brother. And then the next morning, my own brother discovered me in the room William had procured for us before we had been discovered.” Staring at Evelyn, she shook her head. “It was one night. One night. How can he be someone I care about?” She sighed, and all strength left her body. “And if he is real, where is he? If he truly cared about me, why would he have left me alone?”
“I don’t know,” Evelyn whispered, her hand tightening on Miss Davenport’s once more, urging her to look at her. “But I do believe that not knowing is worse than anything else for it will haunt you for the rest of your life. You will always be left wondering, trying to remember, asking questions there are no answers to. You will never be at peace.”
Miss Davenport nodded. “I do believe you’re right,” she whispered, her voice weak, “but I cannot help but fear what I don’t know.”
“In your dreams, do you feel safe, at peace?”
Miss Davenport hesitated, her gaze turning inward as she recalled the moments of her waking when her dreams had slipped from her grasp. Then she nodded. “I do, yes. I feel safe. I feel…loved.”
Evelyn smiled. “That’s good. For even if what you see in your dreams is not exactly what happened, I do believe that the feelings associated with it are not a figment of your imagination. They’re real. They’re a clue to how you felt in that moment…even if your conscious mind cannot recall what happened.”
A relieved glow came to Miss Davenport’s gaze. “Do you truly believe that?”
Evelyn nodded, herself relieved to see her charge’s spirits lifted. “With all my heart. Our mind might forget, but deep down, nothing is ever lost.”
Miss Davenport heaved a deep sigh. “So, you think I should try to remember?”
Evelyn nodded. “Do not pressure yourself. Do what you can and try to hold on to as much of your dreams as possible. Perhaps over time, you’ll receive some answers.”
“I will,” Miss Davenport mumbled almost breathlessly. “Thank you.”
Evelyn could only hope that one day Miss Davenport would find out what had happened and that the answer might lead her to a happy life, perhaps even to a man who cared about her. Perhaps she ought to urge Lord Ashwood to have someone look into what happened in Gretna Green. Perhaps a Bow Street runner could find out more details. Certainly, it would be a risk; however, it might be worth it. After all, Miss Davenport’s peace of mind depended on it.
Before Evelyn could open her mouth to suggest such a course of action though, she caught sight of Lady Ashwood striding toward them. The woman’s pale eyes swept over them, only to narrow when they fell on her daughter’s smiling face. For a moment, Lady Ashwood seemed stunned, shocked almost witless, before her mouth curved up into an equally relieved smile. “Here, you are,” she beamed, rushing toward her daughter. “I’m glad to see you so well.” Gently, she brushed a hand over Miss Davenport’s cheek, her eyes shining as she looked at her child.
Touched by the way mother and daughter gazed at one another, Evelyn took a step back. “If you’ll excuse me,” she mumbled, wanting to give them a moment alone.
“Wait,” Lady Ashwood said, turning to look at Evelyn. “My son wishes to speak to you. You’ll find him in his study.”
Evelyn nodded, confused about this sudden development. Ever since he had called on Mr. Bragg to see to his sister, Lord Ashwood had avoided her as though on principle. Not unlike he had after the day he had kissed her. What could he want now?
After changing out of her heavy cloak and sodden boots, Evelyn once more approached the heavy oak door behind which Lord Ashwood sat awaiting her. Upon her knock, he bid her to enter.
Once again, Evelyn’s heart thudded loudly in her chest as she stepped over the threshold. Every step that carried her closer to him seemed to unhinge her more, and she cursed herself for allowing him to affect her thus. After all, he was only a man. A most insufferable man at that. There was nothing special about him. He had ordinary looks. An ordinary smile. Ordinary–
The moment his dark grey eyes met hers, a shiver went down Evelyn’s back and all the way down to her toes, and she knew her words to be lies. While he may be insufferable, and he certainly had a talent for upsetting her, there was nothing ordinary about him.
His presence took in the entire room, and she could feel it like a caress on her skin. He stood tall, his head held high and his eyes watchful. Always watchful, as though he feared to miss something that was right in front of him. Although he rarely smiled, there was kindness in his eyes, as well as honesty. Never had he seemed conceited as though he held something back, as though he had an alternate agenda he tried to hide. Although Evelyn often disliked what he said, he never seemed to weigh his words, always speaking his mind.
And there was something deeply intimate about the way he sometimes looked at her as though their bond was far deeper than what the circumstances of their situation dictated.
“Miss Procten,” he greeted her as she closed the door, his voice even, polite, and
yet, his gaze swept over her as though he could not bring himself to look away. “Thank you for coming.”
“Certainly,” Evelyn croaked, then cleared her throat, trying to appear unaffected. Lifting her gaze, she forced herself to look at him, wondering what he wished to talk to her about.
Lord Ashwood, however, merely stood behind his desk as the silence between them stretched on. His gaze held hers, and although he said not a word, his mind seemed to be overflowing with unexpressed thoughts. Now and then, his jaw would tense, and his lips press together as though something had angered him. Then he began pacing up and down the floor, occasionally casting a glance in her direction that had Evelyn’s senses reeling. What was going on?
“Is something wrong, my lord?” she finally asked, unable to bear the suspension any longer. Judging from the look on his face, something was horribly wrong. Never before had she seen him so at odds about what to say or do. He seemed completely at a loss, torn, as though his world had been turned upside down.
It frightened her to see him lose control thus.
Finally, he stopped beside his desk and picked up a parchment. For a long moment, his eyes seemed to trace the words written there before he looked up and strode toward her. “Here,” he said, holding out the letter to her. “Read this.”
Confused, Evelyn stared up at him, then slowly extended her hand and took the offered letter. For a short moment, they both held on to one side of the parchment, their eyes locked, before Lord Ashwood stepped back, releasing his hold, and returned to his seat behind the large desk.
With trembling hands, Evelyn dropped her gaze, unable to shake the feeling of foreboding that had come over her upon seeing Lord Ashwood’s odd behaviour. Her eyes sought the words written on the page, and her heart skipped a beat when she realised it was a letter from his father, the late Lord Ashwood. Lifting her head, Evelyn looked at the young lord and found him looking back at her, his eyes watchful as always. “Are you certain you wish for me to read this?” she asked, wondering what reason there could be for him to want her to read such a private missive. “It seems rather personal.”
“Read,” was all he said, his gaze not wavering from hers.
Nodding, Evelyn once more dropped her eyes to the page, a sense of unease encroaching upon her as she began to read.
My dearest son,
I beg your forgiveness for this letter as I have no doubt that it falls far short…
…I see kindness and strength in you, and it gives me joy to see you come into your own…
Evelyn could not help but smile as she read his father’s words. Although it felt intrusive for her to read them, she could not deny that they were true. Had she not thought the very same thing a moment ago? Or rather admitted it to herself a moment ago?
…I see something in your eyes that gives me reason for concern. Please, do not ever think that I am disappointed in the man you are becoming…
…What concerns me is the absence of happiness I see on your face. You only see duty and obligation, commitment and devotion, and I fear that you will never know the truest joys the world has to offer…
…For me, it was Josiah Procten who made that difference. His selflessness and compassion have brought great joy to my life…
Evelyn’s heart rejoiced at seeing her father’s friendship thus appreciated. Always had he spoken with deep affection about his old friend, and she herself had fond memories of the late viscount. He had been a good man, and his death had grieved her.
Still, she wondered why Lord Ashwood would want her to read this letter.
…A few weeks ago, Josiah visited Farnworth Manor with his young daughter Evelyn…
…Being raised by a man like Josiah, I have no doubt that she will grow up to be an impressive, young woman…
Although the late viscount had always been kind to her, Evelyn would never have thought that he had held her in such high regard.
…A woman who might be able to do for you what Josiah did for me…
Here, Evelyn stopped, a frown creasing her forehead, before she chanced a glance at the man behind the desk.
With his hands folded and resting on the top of his desk, Lord Ashwood watched her. His gaze was still as was the rest of him. Almost painfully still, as though every muscle in his body was taut with anticipation of her reaction.
With a hammering heart, Evelyn turned her gaze back to the words on the parchment.
My old friend and I have come to an agreement…
…Josiah worries about her future…
…we came to realise that you and young Miss Procten might benefit from a union–
Shock froze Evelyn’s features as a gasp escaped her lips. Her head snapped up, and she stared at the man behind the desk. How could he remain so calm when she felt like succumbing to panic?
But he was not calm, was he? He merely seemed calm. However, underneath that cold and controlled exterior of his, his emotions surely boiled…like her own.
Swallowing, Evelyn stumbled backwards, her left hand reaching for the armchair she knew was positioned somewhere behind her. Still, she could not bring herself to drop her gaze, to look away from those silver-grey eyes as they held hers, allowing her to breathe, holding insanity at bay.
Only when she sank into the steadying softness of the chair did Evelyn avert her gaze, returning it to the words on the page, hoping – praying! – that she had misunderstood.
You are two halves of a whole. Whereas you, my son, are the rational and strategic side, she is guided by compassion and empathy. Together, you might help each other grow beyond your own limits. We pray it will be thus.
Bright spots began to dance before Evelyn’s eyes. This could not possibly be true?
“My father never told me,” she mumbled, her mind reeling with the implications of this letter. “He never told me. He never said a word.”
Therefore, Josiah and I have agreed that the two of you are to marry upon Miss Procten’s coming of age. While you might disagree with my decision, I can only urge you to honour it…
What? Evelyn frowned. But she was already of age? Then why–?
Realisation dawned, and her gaze lifted off the page, once more seeking the other who no doubt felt as unhinged as she did in that moment. “Your father died when…”
Holding her gaze, he nodded while the rest of him remained unchanged.
Still.
Unmoving.
…Heed this agreement, Richard, and be good to Evelyn.
I have no doubt she will be good to you as well.
Your loving father
Staring at the words before her, Evelyn was at a loss. They wanted them to marry, did they not? She had not misunderstood, had she? But how could they agree to something like this? How could they…? And without saying a word.
“You didn’t know.” As a mere observation, Lord Ashwood’s words hung in the air, and yet, they drew Evelyn from the stupor that had engulfed her.
Lifting her head, she met his eyes. “I did not,” she whispered, shaking her head. Then all of a sudden, she surged to her feet. “Did you?”
Scoffing, Lord Ashwood rose from his chair as well. “Not until a few days ago,” he admitted, crossing the room to stand in front of her. “Not until my mother brought me this letter.”
Trying her best to ignore his close proximity, Evelyn could barely think. “Why now? Why not before? Why…?”
Lord Ashwood’s features seemed to harden as though a sudden anger had seized him. “Because Mr. Bragg was kind enough to inform her of his betrothal with you.”
“He…?” Slowly, Evelyn closed her eyes, unable to believe that such an egotistical exaggeration could have brought forth such a life-changing decision. What ought they to do? They could not possibly marry, could they?
Opening her eyes, Evelyn could not deny that as she looked into Lord Ashwood’s eyes, her first thoughts were of his lips on her own and his arms holding her tightly.
As though he had read her mind, his gaze grew he
ated and he took a step toward her. “What do you wish to do?” he asked simply, and for a short moment, it seemed he knew exactly what he wanted.
The realisation made Evelyn shrink back, overwhelmed and completely torn between a sudden desire to comply with their fathers’ wishes and the knowledge that it would be wrong to do so. After all, they did not suit. They were like fire and water, day and night. Was that not what his father had said also? Was that not why he wanted them to marry so they could…change each other? Bring each other…happiness?
Evelyn swallowed. Was that even possible? Would they not rather claw each other’s eyes out? Live in misery as neither one of them could truly understand the other?
And what of social as well as professional repercussions?
Shaking her head, Evelyn hardened her heart. No, nothing good could come of this. It was paramount that she put a stop to this.
Immediately.
Before she could be tempted to–
“Do you truly care for what I want, my lord?” she said in as harsh a tone as she could conjure.
Her cruel abrasiveness did not miss its mark, and she watched with a heavy heart as Lord Ashwood’s face grew hard. All tenderness and care she had glimpsed there before vanished, replaced by a cold and indignant mask. His jaw clenched, and his lips pressed into a thin line as though he fought to hold back the myriad of curses he wished to hurl at her head.
Despite a strong sense of guilt, Evelyn marvelled at the thought that he might have truly wished to marry her. Could he have? But why on earth would he want to? After all, a union between them was far from reasonable, no matter the argument his father had brought forth.