CHAPTERNINE
Evie floatedon air all the rest of the day. The duke paid her favor all of the afternoon and into the evening. In fact, he remained stationed at her side.
Though she’d told herself a hundred times she didn’t wish to be a duchess, she had to confess that Evan’s kiss, his attention, made her pulse trot faster than any horse could carry her.
Her mother appeared to be nearly as happy about the turn of events as Evie herself. Now, as the women left the dining room for the men to smoke, her mother linked her arms through Evie’s.
“That dress looks lovely on you, dear,” she said as they walked together down the hall.
Evie’s brows rose in surprise. Not only had she chosen her own gown for dinner, but her mother was complimenting it? “Thank you,” she said but she didn’t experience the same joy she had earlier when her mother had approved her conversation skills.
She’d always had perfectly good judgment in her choice of clothing. And her mother only acknowledged that fact because of the duke’s attention. Not because she actually trusted Evie any more than she did before.
Evie grimaced as she kept walking toward the music room. She wanted people to trust her more. That was for certain. Too many people overlooked her, treated her as though she hadn’t much value just because she was quiet and kind.
But did the duke’s attention make her a more valuable person by default?
Certainly, people would think more highly of her just by being a duchess, but that wasn’t her goal. Never had been.
She wanted to be valued for herself.
And she wished for a husband who could give her the quiet life she craved out of the prying eyes of the ton.
They reached the music room and Lady Matilda waved from the corner.
Evie made her way straight over, glad to have a chance to speak with her new friend, and equally happy to escape her mother. “Lady Evelyn,” Matilda said, her eyes dancing with delight as she rose to clasp Evie’s hands.
“Please. Call me Evie.”
Matilda nodded. “And you must call me Tillie.”
“Tillie.” Evie nodded, liking the name. It had a soft charm that suited the pretty and petite brunette. She sat next to Tillie on the settee, glad for the spot out of the way of the rest of the ladies. “How has your evening fared?”
Tillie wrinkled her nose. “Well enough, I suppose.”
“Well enough?” Evie asked.
Tillie clasped her hands. “I have a question I’d like to ask you.”
“All right,” Evie answered, turning toward the other woman.
Tillie shifted. “It’s rather personal and I know we don’t know each other very well…”
Evie waved her hand. “Don’t worry about that.”
“It’s about Lord Rangeley.”
Evie waited, allowing Tillie to collect her thoughts. She’d suspected that the attractive lord was the topic, but she wondered what Tillie wished to know. By all accounts, Tillie had the lord well in hand.
Tillie drew in a deep breath. “I’ve not had very many suitors.”
“I understand.” Evie scooted closer, reaching for the other woman’s hand. “Neither have I.”
Tillie shook her head. “I’m not even sure I want them. I don’t know that I am meant for the traditional path.”
Evie’s eyes widened in understanding. “Oh.”
“You think I’m mad, don’t you?”