Page 64 of The Best-Kept Secrets
She had not yet moved from the place where he’d left her when the elder Mrs. Seymour happened past. She paused on her way to the stairs and gave Eve a quick look-over.
“The blue gown again?” was all she said and kept walking.
Mrs. Seymour knew why Eve wore the same gown each night. Eve herself had told her she didn’t have any other options. There was no need for the comment, no reason beyond cruelty. And the cruelty was pointed and well-aimed.
Eve’s emotions were too fragile and too raw in that moment to push the mortifying comment out of her mind. The humiliation that often accompanied being poor hurt, as it always did, yet it wasn’t what hurt most in that moment.
Being abandoned was far more painful.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Duke had dithered long enough.He needed to stop standing at the figurative crossroads and start actually walking into his future. And he would find a way of convincing himself that he wasn’t utterly crushed by the fact that Eve couldn’t walk that path with him.
Keeping his distance from her, physically and emotionally, was agonizing. He’d seen the hurt in her eyes as he’d told her the night before that he couldn’t be the one she turned to with her worries. And he’d watched his words land a more stinging blow than he’d intended when he’d told her that all they’d shared during their journey to Fairfield had been a mistake. That, he felt certain, would haunt him for years to come.
Rather than go for a morning ride, he made his way to Penfield, having heard that his uncle meant to spend the morning there. The door was locked when he arrived, so he pulled out the key from the hiding place Uncle Niles had revealed to the Pack on their first day and let himself in.
He opened the drapes on the back windows, then lit various lanterns, the early morning sun not being strong enough this late in the year to adequately light the space.
Duke undertook the preparations he’d memorized during visits to Fairfield over the years, when he had joined his uncle here. He soon had a borrowed pair of trousers on, his shirt off, his knuckles wrapped in strips of fabric, and his gaze firmly on a hanging bag of hay ready to be pummeled while he waited.
His family was squabbling, as always, but doing so in front of others, which they usually managed to avoid.
He landed a fist against the hanging bag.
Father and Grandmother had declared their intention to remain at Fairfield specifically to make trouble for Aunt Penelope.
He landed another punch.
Though he hoped he was about to secure for himself a future that offered some respite from family discord, it was far from the dreamed-of future he and Eve had jokingly attempted to guess for each other, because none of the paths stretched out in front of him included her.
Two more punches.
The door opened, and Uncle Niles stepped inside. “Good morning, Duke.”
“Is it?” Another punch.
Uncle Niles hung his hat and coat on hooks near the door. He then walked around and stood on the other side of the bag of hay. He set his shoulder against it. They’d done this before; Duke knew his part. He lifted his hands into a fighting position once more. He gave the bag a quick jab.
Uncle Niles had a way of looking at him that said without a single word that he saw far more than he ever let on.
Duke landed another blow on the hay bag. “My family is driving me mad.”
“I suspect the Pack and the Huntresses feel the same way.”
“I managed to shield my friends from our family’s brokenness for years only to have it spill out all over this house party.” He punched the bag far harder this time. “And my only chance for having a bit of peace is—” He eyed his uncle hesitantly.
“Talk while you punch,” Uncle Niles said. “That often makes it easier.”
“Makes which part easier: the talking or the punching?”
“Both, I suppose.”
Duke stepped back from the bag. “I actually think better when I pace.”
Uncle Niles nodded. “There’s plenty of room.”
Duke began his pacing. Still at the hay-filled bag, Uncle Niles landed a series of perfectly executed blows, an almost graceful dance.
