"I just exchanged greetings with Earl Montclair," Rowan said, his voice taking on that overly cheerful, brisk tone he used when he was trying to sell her on an idea. "You haven’t met him yet, have you?"
Ines shook her head slowly. "No, Rowan. I have not."
"He might be a boring man," Rowan admitted, leading her back toward the golden glow of the ballroom doors. "He is quiet. He doesn’t race horses. He doesn’t duel. But he is decent. He is kind. And frankly, Ines, after the excitement of this week, I think a little ’boring’ might be exactly what you need. I’m sure you will like him."
He patted her hand, which was resting lifelessly on his sleeve.
"I’ll introduce you," he said firmly. "Let’s go."
Ines let him lead her. She felt like a small boat being towed by a very large, very determined ship. They stepped back into the heat and noise of the ballroom. The music washed over them, a cheerful quadrille that felt mocking to her somber mood.
She scanned the room, not really looking, just letting her eyes gloss over the sea of faces.
Then, she saw them.
Standing near a large potted palm, away from the chaotic center of the dance floor, was Lady Amelia. Her bright, peacock-blue dress was a beacon. And standing close to her, looking somewhat like a deer caught in a hunter’s sights, was a young man.
Ines studied him as they approached. He was not tall and imposing like Carcel. He was slender. He had the same pale, corn-silk blond hair as his sister, and the same light blue eyes. He stood with a slight stoop, his hands clasped behind his back, looking as though he would very much prefer to be invisible.
That must be the Earl, Ines thought. He looks... harmless.
Rowan navigated them through the crowd, nodding to guests but never stopping, his target locked.
"Amelia!" Rowan boomed as they arrived. "And Earl Montclair."
The young man jumped slightly, startled by Rowan’s loud voice. He turned. His face was pale, his features delicate and refined. He looked nothing like the rugged, sun-tanned soldiers Ines was used to.
"Duke Hamilton," the young man said. His voice was soft, polite, and very quiet.
Rowan stepped aside, presenting his sister like a prize. "May I introduce my sister. Lady Ines Hamilton."
Evans Montclair bowed. It was a perfect bow. Not the deep, sweeping, dangerous bow Carcel had given her earlier. This was a polite, respectful, geometric angle.
"It is a pleasure to meet you, Lady Hamilton," Evans said, straightening up. He offered her a small, shy smile.
Ines curtsied, her golden dress rustling. "I am pleased to meet you too, Earl Montclair."
Silence descended.
It was the awkward, heavy silence of two strangers who have been thrown together by eager relatives and have absolutely nothing to say to each other. Rowan was beaming at them expectantly. Amelia was watching with bright, encouraging eyes.
Ines sighed internally. I suppose I must try. For Rowan’s sake.
She cleared her throat. She tried to think of a standard topic.
"Is this... is this your first time in this region, my lord?" she asked.
Evans nodded. He seemed relieved she had spoken first. "Yes, it is. My estate is in the north. In Northumberland. It is where I was born and raised. I rarely leave it."
"I see," Ines said. She racked her brain for facts about the north. "The north... it seems like it would be cold. Is it true?"
It was a terrible conversation starter. Is it cold? She sounded like a debutante discussing the weather because her head was empty.
Evans, however, did not seem to mind. He took the question seriously.
"It is probably colder than here," he answered thoughtfully. "The winds from the sea are quite harsh. Although..." He paused, looking a little sheepish. "To be honest, Lady Ines, I don’t go outside much. So I am not very knowledgeable about the weather."
Ines blinked. She looked at him properly for the first time.
He doesn’t go outside much?
Most men she knew—Rowan, Carcel, Weston—lived for the outdoors. They hunted, they rode, they shot things. They complained if they were indoors for more than an hour.
"If you don’t go out often," Ines asked, her curiosity genuinely piqued, "what do you do usually? How do you spend your days?"
Evans hesitated. He looked at his sister, Amelia, as if checking for permission. Then he looked back at Ines, a faint blush coloring his pale cheeks.
"I enjoy reading," he confessed quietly. "Novels."
Ines’s eyes widened. Her mouth fell open slightly.
Novels?
She had expected him to say "ledgers," or "philosophy," or "ancient history." Men did not read novels. Men read newspapers, educational books and reports. Women read novels.
Her mind, which had been dull and gray, suddenly snapped to alert.
"What... what kind of novels do you read?" she asked, leaning in slightly.
Evans shrugged, a small, self-deprecating gesture. "I read a variety of things. Adventure. Romance. Travelogues. Whatever comes to hand, really."
He smiled then, and for the first time, it reached his eyes. It was a gentle, dreamy smile.
"It is an easy way," he explained softy, "to see the world from home. I can go to Africa, or the America, or... or to a ballroom in Paris... all while sitting in my armchair."
Ines felt a jolt of recognition so strong it was physical. The sadness that had been weighing down her heart lifted, just a fraction.
He understands, she thought. He actually understands.
"Me too," she said. Her voice was no longer polite and formal. It was eager. "I think the same way. Exactly the same way."
She smiled at him, a real, joyful smile. "I have always said that books are the only ships that can take you anywhere without getting seasick."
Evans chuckled. It was a nice laugh. Quiet and kind. "That is a wonderful way to put it. Thank you."
"For what?"
"For appreciating what others call a trivial hobby," Evans said, glancing briefly at Rowan. "Most people think a man should be out riding horses, not turning pages."
"Not at all," Ines said firmly. "I think it is... wonderful."