"Miss Parker."
The Duke's voice stopped Evelyn with one gloved hand already on the iron latch leading toward the servants' passage. Three ladies stood behind her beneath Westbridge House's stone portico, silent now that William Harrington had appeared at the top of the front steps.
"I believe you were told to use the wrong door."
Evelyn felt Lady Caroline Ashford's gaze sharpen against her back.
"There has been no mistake, Your Grace," Caroline said. "Miss Parker is here on behalf of her aunt, not as one of your invited guests."
William descended one step. His expression did not change. "Then the mistake is considerably worse than I thought."
Evelyn's fingers tightened around the handle of her small traveling case. She had endured laughter before; pity was worse. But a duke publicly contradicting one of society's most eligible women was something else entirely.
William looked directly at Evelyn. "I have been waiting for you."
"Why?" she asked before caution could stop her.
His eyes held hers. "Because of the letter you sent me."
Six hours earlier, Evelyn Parker had been sitting beside her aunt's bed in a modest house in Bath, attempting to persuade a stubborn woman with a fever that high society could survive one afternoon without her.
"Westbridge will not collapse because you miss a reception," Evelyn said, folding a cool cloth.
"You have never met the Duke," Aunt Helen murmured.
"Neither has his roof, I hope."
Her aunt gave a weak laugh, then pointed toward the sealed packet on the bedside table. Helen Parker had promised to deliver several charitable committee papers to Westbridge House before the Duke's autumn gathering began. With the physician ordering her to remain in bed, the task fell to Evelyn.
At twenty-nine, Evelyn had learned that unmarried women became socially invisible in stages: at twenty-two, people asked whom she hoped to marry; at twenty-five, they offered advice; at twenty-nine, they began discussing marriage in front of her as though she had become an educational warning.
She dressed accordingly for the journey: brown wool traveling dress, cream collar, sensible gloves, no ornament except her mother's small silver brooch. Nothing that invited inspection.
The hired carriage reached Westbridge shortly after three. The estate rose beyond clipped lawns and ancient oaks, its pale stone facade catching the thin autumn sunlight. Carriages crowded the circular drive. Footmen carried trunks beneath a front entrance large enough, Evelyn thought, to admit several inflated reputations at once.
She had just stepped down when Lady Caroline Ashford emerged from a lacquered carriage with two companions. Evelyn recognized her from Bath—beautiful, wealthy, and possessed of the particular confidence that came from never having been asked to wait anywhere.
Caroline's gaze traveled from Evelyn's plain dress to the packet beneath her arm. "Miss Parker, isn't it?"
"Lady Caroline."
"Are you delivering something for my aunt?"
Caroline glanced toward the entrance where guests were being announced. "Then you will want the service door around the east side."
A younger woman beside her looked uncomfortable. "Surely she can leave the packet with the footmen."
"The front entrance is rather crowded," Caroline said lightly. The meaning was not.
Evelyn looked at the broad steps. "Remarkable. I had thought doors indifferent to marital status."
One companion smothered a cough. Caroline's smile cooled. "Westbridge is receiving distinguished guests today."
Evelyn could have argued. She could also have handed over the packet and returned to Bath with her dignity technically intact. But Aunt Helen had made her promise to place the committee papers directly into the household secretary's hands.
"East side, you said?"
Caroline gestured with two fingers.
Evelyn walked along the gravel path, hearing skirts whisper behind her. Near the corner of the house, she stopped. Through an open window came two male voices.
"His Grace asked twice whether Miss Parker had arrived."
"Miss Parker? The lady from Bath?"
"Apparently, she wrote to him about the relief fund."
Evelyn's breath caught. Three weeks earlier, she had written one letter to Westbridge after discovering that a tenant widow known to her aunt had been denied assistance despite qualifying under the estate's own rules. She had expected no answer. She certainly had not expected that Duke to remember her name.
Behind her came Caroline's voice. "The door is farther around."
Evelyn turned and heard the heavy front doors open above the steps. Footsteps crossed stone. A man's voice called down, calm and unmistakably authoritative.
"Miss Parker."
Evelyn turned fully. William Harrington stood at the top of the steps without a hat despite the cool afternoon air, one hand resting against the open door. He was taller than she had expected, broad through the shoulders, dressed in a dark coat cut with the severe simplicity of a man who did not require embroidery to announce his importance.
His gaze moved from Evelyn to Lady Caroline, then to the narrow path leading toward the servants' entrance.
"Miss Parker," he repeated.
"Your Grace." Evelyn made a small curtsy.
Caroline climbed two steps. "I was merely directing Miss Parker to the appropriate entrance. She has brought papers for the charitable committee."
William's expression remained polite. "I know why she is here."
"Then you understand she is not attending the reception."
"I understand that Miss Parker was expected."
Caroline's smile became very still. "Expected?"
William descended the steps until he stood level with Evelyn. "By me."
Silence settled over the drive. Even the nearest footman suddenly found a carriage wheel fascinating.
William reached for Evelyn's traveling case. She instinctively tightened her grip. His eyebrow lifted.
"I am capable of carrying it, Your Grace."
"I suspected you might be."
"Then why are you trying to take it?"
Something changed at the corner of his mouth. "Habit."
"A dangerous defense."
"You mentioned that in your letter."
Evelyn stared at him. William released the handle.
"Come inside, Miss Parker."
He turned toward the main staircase. Evelyn glanced once at the path she had nearly taken, then followed him through the front door. Caroline entered behind them.
The great hall glowed with afternoon light reflected from polished marble. Voices drifted from the drawing room, accompanied by the delicate clink of porcelain and the occasional bright laugh of someone determined to be heard.
William stopped beside a table where a silver tray held calling cards. "Your aunt is unwell?"
"A fever. The physician ordered rest."
"I am sorry to hear it." His eyes dropped to the packet beneath Evelyn's arm. "Those are the committee papers."
"Yes."
"Keep them for now."
"I was instructed to give them to your secretary."
"You may. After tea."
Evelyn blinked. "I beg your pardon?"
"You have traveled from Bath. You are staying for the reception."
"I was not invited."
"You are now."