The carriage wheels hummed steadily beneath her but Evelina barely noticed. Her thoughts were elsewhere, still caught on the shadows of Kingswood, on Lucian's voice as it broke through the hush of the forest. His words clung to her, unwelcome yet impossible to shake.
Not a jewel, not a pawn. Unyielding.
She pressed her gloved fingers together in her lap, willing her heart to settle. It was foolish to let her mind wander, so dangerously even. And yet, every time she tried to tuck his words away, they rose again, vivid, and persistent.
By the time she reached the Everleigh Estate, the late sun had faded into the first blush of evening. Her maid, Anna met her at the entrance with a small bow.
"My lady," Anna said softly, "the family is in the dining hall with a guest."
Evelina's brows lifted. "A guest?"
"Yes, my lady. His Grace, the Grand Duke Montclair." She replied.
A quiet breath escaped Evelina before she could stop it. She composed herself quickly, smoothing her skirts as she crossed the hall. Laughter drifted through the open doors ahead of her father's deep timbre, Arabella's swinging notes and Clarissa's gentle amusement. It was joined by a voice unmistakable in its richness and command.
When she entered, Alistair was seated comfortably at the long table beside her father, his presence filling the room as easily as ever. Plates of roast and warm bread lay spread before them and the air was bright with the ease of shared conversation.
All heads turned at her arrival, Evelina dipped into a graceful curtsy. "Good evening, Father. Your Grace." Alistair rose slightly, a warm smile breaking across his face. "Lady Everleigh. How fortunate I am. You have arrived just in time to join us."
Her father gestured for her to take her seat and Evelina obliged, settling beside Arabella. A maid quickly placed a fresh plate before her, though her appetite was still far away, tangled in thoughts she dared not voice.
Alistair's gaze lingered, steady and kind. "It has been a week since I last saw you," he said, his voice pitched low, almost apologetic. "I regret I could not meet you sooner or even send a word. Duties have kept me bound tighter than I wished."
Evelina folded her hands in her lap, offering a polite smile. "I understand, Your Grace. The matters of state must weigh heavily on your shoulders." Alistair's smile deepened, a flicker of warmth in his eyes. "Even so, neglecting the chance to see you was not my intention. For that, I hope you will forgive me."
Her family watched the exchange with quiet approval, her father's eyes glinting while her mother barely containing a knowing smile. Evelina lowered her gaze to her plate, feeling the weight of both expectation and memory pressing down on her.
Alistair was everything he should be, noble, devoted, unwavering and yet, in the quiet space of her mind, another voice lingered, one that no apology could dislodge.
The room was alive with laughter and ease but Evelina felt the weight of expectation in every glance that passed between her parents and their guest. She raised her wine glass delicately, giving herself a moment to gather her composure.
Alistair leaned ever so slightly toward her, his tone warm and low. "I was told the summer ball was the talk of the season. I regret I had too few moments with you that night. You were… unforgettable."
Evelina kept her gaze steady, though the compliment pressed against her composure. "You are kind, Your Grace. But I would rather not be spoken of so freely. You know how quickly a word becomes a rumor in court."
For a heartbeat, Alistair looked as though he might protest but instead he inclined his head, lips curving faintly. "Forgive me. I did not mean to place you where whispers might reach. That was never my intent."
Her shoulders eased, just slightly. "Then I thank you," she said, her voice calm though her heart beat faster than she wished.
Arabella eager to lighten the air, laughed gently. "Evelina downplays everything. At the ball, half the noblemen could not look away, and yet she thinks it nothing worth remarking upon."
Alistair's smile deepened, though his eyes never left Evelina. "Then I hope I may have the honor again, perhaps at the autumn fête. If you will allow it, I would be proud to stand beside you."
Her fork stilled against the porcelain plate, she had told him then she did not want to be placed in such a position again. And now, here, Alistair was offering her another place at his side, openly, before her family.
Evelina lowered her gaze politely. "If my parents wish it, then I will attend. Beyond that… I would rather not speak of what may come."
The Marquess chuckled softly, a note of pride in his voice. "She is cautious, Your Grace. But it does her credit."
Alistair inclined his head, unbothered. "Her caution is part of her grace. I shall not press her further tonight."
The conversation turned then, flowing back to lighthearted talk of estates and travels but Evelina felt herself caught between worlds. Alistair's devotion was clear, open, and behind her calm replies, her thoughts betrayed her, circling back to the forest, to the quiet words she had wanted so badly to ignore. For all the brightness of the table, it was the shadows of Kingswood that lingered in her mind.
The meal stretched pleasantly into the evening, full of laughter and warm conversation but Evelina felt her energy slip away little by little. When the last course was cleared, she rose, smoothing her skirts with practiced grace.
"If you'll forgive me," she said softly, "the day has been long, and I find myself quite tired. I should retire for tonight."
Alistair stood as well, as courtesy demanded, his expression gentle. "Of course, Lady Everleigh. I only regret our time together was so brief. May I hope it will not be another week before we meet again?"
Her lips curved in a faint smile. "I know your busy, Your Grace. Good night."
She dipped into a curtsy, bade her family good night and left the hall. Their voices softened behind her as she ascended the stairs, the lively glow of the dining room replaced by the stillness of the upper halls.
In her chambers, Anne moved to help her with her gown but Evelina waved her off. "Not tonight. I only wish for quiet."
Left alone, she sat on the edge of her bed, her hands folded in her lap. Evelina closed her eyes, pressing her palms together tightly. She had told him then, firmly, that she would not be put in such a place again. She had meant it. She still meant it.
Alistair's devotion echoed in her mind, his apology, his warmth, his promise to see her again soon. Any other young lady might have been overjoyed. Her family surely was.
And yet.
Her thoughts betrayed her, slipping back to Kingswood. Remembering Lucian's voice, low and steady as he told her he saw more than the court did. That he saw her as unyielding, alive, and free, something the world could not contain.
And still, his words lingered, quiet, insistent, refusing to let her rest.
She rose at last and crossed to the window, where moonlight spilled across the gardens in silver threads. A faint whisper escaped her, unbidden:
"Why must it be your voice I remember?"
The night offered no answer, only silence.