The stillness of Evelyn's chamber was broken by a soft knock at the door. The sound reverberated in the silence, drawing her attention away from the unfinished letter and the open journal.
"Enter," she called softly, her voice steady, though her heart raced in her chest.
The door creaked open, and Clara stepped in, her hands folded neatly before her.
"His Lordship has requested that you meet him in the garden, my lady," Clara said, her tone polite but with an underlying sense of urgency, as though the request was unexpected.
Evelyn's breath caught in her throat. The shock was immediate, her mind struggling to make sense of the sudden summons. She hadn't seen Nathaniel much since last night, and the thought of facing him again stirred unease in her stomach.
"Of course," Evelyn replied, her voice a little too calm, betraying none of the turmoil inside. She stood slowly, smoothing down the silk of her gown as she followed Clara out of the room.
The corridors were quiet, and as they moved toward the garden, Evelyn's mind raced. What did Nathaniel want with her now? Why out in the open, in the garden, where anyone might see them? The air was cool against her skin, the scent of the flowers mixing with the earthiness of the garden as they walked.
When they reached the garden, the sight of Nathaniel standing by the fountain caused her heart to skip. He was there, tall and imposing as ever, his dark eyes watching her approach. Beside him stood Sir Locke, the older man's face unreadable, his posture formal but not as intimidating as Nathaniel's.
Nathaniel's gaze shifted to Evelyn as she came into view. His lips curved into a slight, almost imperceptible smile.
"You skipped breakfast," he said, his voice soft but firm, as if he were speaking to someone who should have known better. "So I brought it out here in the garden."
Evelyn's throat tightened. A meal? A subtle reminder of her place? She stood there for a moment, trying to gauge his expression, but there was no reading him. His words were casual, but the tension in the air wasn't lost on her.
He nodded toward a small table set under the shade of a nearby tree, the delicate porcelain plates arranged with food. "Come with me," Nathaniel said, his voice gentle, though the command was clear.
Evelyn hesitated, but only for a second. She forced herself to move forward, her steps measured, her mind still trying to catch up with the suddenness of it all. This was no ordinary breakfast. No ordinary meeting. Something was different.
As she approached the table, Sir Locke gave a respectful bow, but his gaze lingered on Evelyn for a moment longer than necessary, before he turned away, leaving her alone with Nathaniel.
She sat down, her hands folding in her lap as she awaited whatever he was about to say next. The garden, with its colorful blooms and the quiet murmur of the fountain, seemed a world away from the turmoil inside her.
Nathaniel's gaze softened, but there was something in his eyes—an edge of calculation masked behind concern—that made Evelyn's stomach twist. He sat across from her, his movements measured, yet deliberate.
"Eleanor," he began, his voice smooth, almost apologetic. "After what happened last night... I may have been a bit rough. I'm sorry. I thought that might be the reason you refused breakfast." His eyes searched her face, waiting for her reaction.
Evelyn's cheeks flushed crimson at his words. She stiffened slightly, her hands clutching the edges of her gown as though it could somehow ground her. The weight of his gaze, the casual acknowledgment of what had transpired between them, made her feel exposed.
"I'm still quite sore," she murmured softly, the words slipping out before she could stop them. The admission made her feel vulnerable, as though it revealed too much of her true state, too much of the discomfort she hadn't wanted him to see.
Nathaniel's eyes flickered with something that almost resembled amusement, but it quickly vanished. His gaze remained steady, unyielding, and yet there was a softness now, a thread of something like concern woven into his expression.
"I see," he said, his voice low, a slight tilt to his head as he observed her. "I'll take more care next time. I don't want you to feel… uncomfortable." The words were calm, even, but the undercurrent was unmistakable. There was a strange tension in the air—one that Evelyn couldn't quite place.
Her hands tightened in her lap, her heart racing. She looked down at her plate, unable to meet his eyes. "Thank you," she whispered, unsure of what else to say. What was he expecting from her now? Was this some kind of test? Was he trying to see if she would break?
The silence stretched between them, heavy and thick, before Nathaniel's voice broke it again, this time softer, almost intimate.
"Eleanor, I know this situation is difficult," he said, his tone almost thoughtful. "But I believe we can make it work. Together."
Evelyn's breath caught in her throat. Together. The word felt so hollow, so empty coming from him. She wanted to believe there was a chance for her, for something real, but everything in her warned her not to.
Still, she kept her gaze averted, pretending to focus on the food before her, as the garden around them seemed to grow quieter, more oppressive with each passing moment.
After breakfast,
As Evelyn moved to rise from the table, her hand brushing the edge of her chair, Nathaniel's voice stopped her in her tracks.
"Eleanor," he called softly, his tone carrying an air of finality. "Before you go, there's one more thing I'd like to do with you today."
She froze, her hand still on the back of the chair, her heart skipping a beat. She turned to face him slowly, a knot tightening in her stomach.
"One more thing?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper, uncertainty flickering in her eyes.
Nathaniel smiled—nothing warm or inviting about it, but a smile nonetheless. He stood up from the table with an elegant fluidity that seemed almost rehearsed. His gaze locked with hers, and for a moment, there was no pretending—no mask of polite distance. She could see the sharpness in his eyes, the quiet command that made everything about him feel imposing.
"Yes," he replied, his voice carrying an edge now, more authoritative than before. "It's something important. It won't take long, I promise."
Evelyn swallowed, her fingers tightening around the chair's back. She didn't trust him. Not anymore. But what choice did she have? If she refused, if she walked away now… would he grow angry? Would he punish her somehow, even if just with his silence?
"I… I understand," she said finally, nodding slowly.
Nathaniel's smile deepened slightly, though there was no warmth in it. He gestured toward the door.
"Good. Follow me, then. It's just outside." He paused for a moment before adding, "It's for your own good, Eleanor. Trust me."
For your own good.
The words hung in the air, sharp and ominous, as she followed him silently, the unease in her chest growing with each step. Whatever he had planned for her next, Evelyn had a sinking feeling she wasn't going to like it. But there was nothing she could do to stop it.
She could only follow.