The Duke Asked May I Continue On Their Night — How a Forced Marriage in 1848 Became True Romance

Chapter 5

Winter arrived at Ashworth Park with a ferocity that seemed personal.

Snow fell for three days without stopping, burying the gardens, the paths, the distant fields. The house became a world unto itself, cut off from everything beyond its walls. The silence was so complete that Evelyn could hear her own heartbeat when she lay in bed at night. She found herself listening for his footsteps in the corridor, for the sound of his voice in the next room, for any sign that she was not alone in this vast, frozen house.

She sought warmth in unexpected places. The library became her sanctuary. She would sit by the fire for hours, reading, thinking, watching the flames consume the logs. Julian would join her in the evenings, and they would sit across from one another, each lost in their own book, the fire crackling between them. Sometimes she would look up and find him watching her, and he would look away quickly, pretending to read. She began to recognize the signs of his attention — the slight pause before he spoke, the way he turned his body toward her even when his eyes were on the page.

One afternoon, she suggested they walk in the snow. He agreed, and they bundled themselves in coats and scarves and stepped out into the white silence. The cold bit at her cheeks, but she did not mind. They walked side by side, their boots crunching in the snow, their breath forming clouds between them. He pointed out the tracks of a fox, the shape of the distant hills, the way the light fell on the frozen lake. She listened to his voice, low and steady, and felt something expand in her chest that she could not name.

That evening, she sat by the fire in the library, her book open but unread in her lap. She was thinking about the way he had looked at her in the snow — not with desire, but with something quieter. Recognition, perhaps. As if he was seeing her for the first time. She heard his footsteps in the hall and felt her heart quicken. She did not look up when he entered. She did not need to. She knew it was him by the way the air changed.

One evening, he spoke without looking up from his page.

“Do you regret marrying me?”

The question was so unexpected that Evelyn did not answer at first. She set down her book and considered it.

“I feared it,” she said. “But regret is not the same as fear.”

He looked at her then. “I feared becoming what I already was. A man who lives beside another without ever reaching her.”

The honesty of his words struck her like a physical blow. She had spent so long preparing for cruelty that she had no defense against vulnerability.

“I do not know what I am yet,” she said softly. “But I do not want to be alone.”

“Neither do I.”

They held each other’s gaze for a long moment, and the space between them seemed to shrink. The fire popped and settled. A log broke apart, sending sparks up the chimney. Neither of them looked away.

That night, for the first time, he called her by her name. Not “Your Grace” or “my wife” — just Evelyn. She carried the sound of it with her to bed, turning it over in her mind like a gift.

The snow continued to fall. The days grew shorter. And something between them grew, too — slow, quiet, inevitable.

A week later, they were standing by a window in the main hall, watching the snow drift down like ash from a distant fire. Evelyn shivered, and without thinking, Julian removed his coat and placed it around her shoulders. His hand brushed her arm as he did. Neither of them moved away.

Evelyn felt her breath catch. The touch had been brief, accidental, but it had sent a current through her that she could not ignore.

“I should not,” Julian said quietly, but he did not withdraw his hand.

“I did not mind,” she replied.

The silence that followed was charged with everything they had not yet said. She could feel the warmth of his body beside her, could smell the faint scent of wood smoke and wool on his coat. She wanted to turn toward him, to close the distance, but she did not know how.

He left her at her door that night without another word. But the look in his eyes before he turned away stayed with Evelyn long after the candles had burned out. It was the look of a man who was beginning to hope, and who was terrified of what that hope might cost him.