Katherine repeated her warning. “That’s exactly what he said. They will destroy you.”
Evelyn had been too afraid to meet with a lawyer herself in case word got back to Alma or Charles, so she asked her mother to make inquiries. She could not bear to confess what had happened at the party—the humiliation of that woman laughing at her, mocking her in her own house—but she revealed her suspicions that Brewster Shipping was losing money. The firm’s instability, she said, intensified Charles’s moodiness and his appetite for liquor. She spoke of her dread on those nights, ever more frequent, when he stormed through the front door, drunk and belligerent. Unhappiness wasn’t grounds for divorce, she told her mother, but fear of her husband might be.
Katherine had promised to be discreet. She took the train to Philadelphia, where she met with the friend of a distant cousin who had a law practice. Evelyn knew her mother strongly disapproved of divorce. It was a measure of how much Katherine loved her daughter that she agreed to help, despite her misgivings.
“I didn’t mention names, as you requested,” Katherine said, “only that I was asking on behalf of a woman who’d married into a prominent family with friends in the government. He said that judges would inevitably favor a family with social connections over a young woman of no status. If Charles objected, the judge would refuse to grant the divorce. You would remain a Brewster but your reputation would be ruined. He was quite clear on that.”
“Suppose I didn’t care about my reputation and continued petitioning. Would a divorce ever be granted?”
“If you were in grave physical danger, perhaps,” Katherine said. “A wife who has been maimed by her husband might convince a judge to release her. But in most cases, if a husband chooses to deny a divorce, the law sides with him. A wife may attempt to argue her case to a higher court, but that takes money. And the moment a wife begins divorce proceedings, the husband is under no obligation to support her.”
“I don’t want his money,” Evelyn said.
“Easy to say now,” Katherine said. “You’re well fed, and in good health. But you’re not the only one who would lose everything.”
Evelyn nodded. If she took on the Brewsters, her mother would be tainted as well. No one in town would hire her as a dressmaker. They would both be shunned by society, forced to move away. Could she scrape together enough money to start over? Charles gave her a meager allowance. Even if she saved all of it for the next few months, it wouldn’t be much of a nest egg.
“My heart aches for you.” Katherine wrapped an arm around Evelyn’s shoulders and pulled her close. “But perhaps you can make the best of a bad situation.”
“Perhaps.”
Evelyn had prepared herself for the shame of a divorce. But she hadn’t realized the odds would be so stacked against her. Charles could refuse the divorce and she would remain Mrs. Brewster, at his mercy in the eyes of the law. He would never forgive her for exposing his family to scandal. How would he take his revenge?
“All is not lost, surely?” Katherine asked. “You won’t change him, but you could change your expectations. Ignore your husband’s indiscretions. Once you have a child, his behavior might improve.”
“Yes, a child,” Evelyn said. She’d told her mother Charles no longer shared her bed. Couldn’t she see that a child was less likely now than ever?
“In any case, there’s no need to rush matters,” Katherine said. “Make sure you know what you’re doing before you take such a drastic step.”
Evelyn nodded. “I’d hoped it would be easier.”
Katherine hugged Evelyn closer, one hand stroking her daughter’s hair as she used to do years ago. “I wish I could make it all better,” she whispered.
“I know.” But Evelyn had gotten herself into this mess by marrying Charles Brewster. She would have to save herself.
Evelyn walked home slowly, depression weighing down each step. The days stretched out before her, hopeless and unchanging. Charles was in New York on business, which was a relief, but Will was gone as well, to Baltimore for a few days. There would be nothing waiting for her under the garden bench today. For the past few weeks, ever since the night of Charles’s birthday party, Evelyn and Will had left messages for each other in the garden, notes that had become her lifeline. It began with the letter she wrote him the night of the ball, a cry for help as she reeled from her husband’s betrayal. She’d hidden it in the garden the next morning, wondering how long it would take Will to find it.
To her surprise, she found an envelope waiting for her when she looked under the bench the following day. Will’s handwriting was a rushed scrawl, as if he knew how anxiously she was awaiting his reply.
My dearest Evelyn,
What a sordid end to a splendid evening! Don’t you realize you are in fine company? All the best wives in America and Europe have found Lady Dorchester hanging off their husbands. Indeed, you have entered a most exclusive sisterhood…
She read on, smiling at his irreverence. She knew Will would find a way to lessen the sting. It was one of the things she loved most about him.
Later that evening, Charles informed her that he would be moving into one of the guest bedrooms.
“This way I won’t disturb you with my comings and goings late at night,” he explained.
“But, if we want a child…” she began.
“Enough!” he snapped, all pretense of calm and politeness vanishing. “I am well aware of the need for a precious Brewster heir!”
The following night, Evelyn was startled when the bedroom door flew open. Charles stood in the doorway, his face flushed.
“Wake up!” he commanded. As he swaggered toward the bed, Evelyn took in his grim expression and tried to turn away. He slapped her face and she bit her lip to keep from crying out.
“Isn’t this what you wanted?” he shouted.
The nightmare was mercifully brief. Charles pounced on her like an animal attacking its prey. She swallowed her screams, terrified that any sound might infuriate him more, and endured the pain. Suddenly, Charles collapsed. He took a few ragged breaths, then pulled himself off her. She kept her eyes clenched shut, afraid to see the triumph in his face.
But when he spoke, she heard appalled bewilderment.
“Good God,” he murmured. “You drive me to such a state, Evelyn.” He sighed, and she felt the bed shift as he settled next to her. “I don’t think I did you a great favor by marrying you. It’s all gone wrong since then. Brewster Shipping is losing money, the dockhands are threatening to strike, tenants are grumbling whenever I raise their rents…You can’t understand the burdens I have to bear. I come home, to the place that should be my sanctuary, and do you know what I feel? Disappointment.”
Evelyn lay still, her body turned away from him. If Charles was willing to apologize for his behavior, she would listen. But she would not forgive. Not yet.
“Nothing in my life has gone as hoped,” Charles said. “My passion for you blinded me to how unsuitable we are. You could never be the sort of wife I need—how could you be, a girl from Oak Hill who has seen nothing of the world? I thought I glimpsed something more in you, some impertinent spark that intrigued me. But it’s gone. You no longer excite me. I’m prepared to do my duty as a husband, but I won’t tolerate accusations or demands. You are my wife, and you will obey. Don’t provoke me, and tonight’s events don’t need to be repeated.”
Evelyn didn’t respond. Silence was the only weapon she had left.
After a few minutes, Charles rose and left the room. Evelyn lay in bed, exhausted and yet unable to sleep. Much as she longed for a baby, she prayed that she wouldn’t conceive now. No child deserved to be born from such violence.
As the sunlight slowly filtered into the bedroom, Evelyn realized it was Sunday. She and Charles were expected at Alma’s for dinner. She dragged herself out of bed and stood in front of the mirror at her dressing table. Her cheeks were raw from the force of Charles’s blows, and she had a bruise under one eye. The throbbing ache
between her legs made walking painful.
When Peggy arrived with breakfast, Evelyn asked her to tell Charles that she was unwell and would remain in her room for the day. Charles didn’t come to check on her, for which she was grateful. Seeing him in the light of day, immaculate and unrepentant, might have sent her over the edge.
She tried to sleep, tried to read, but could only brood over what had happened. When she was sure Charles had left for Alma’s, she pulled out her stationery and began a letter to Will.
I am so sorry I had to miss dinner today. Did you miss my sparkling conversation?
She stopped, tore up the paper and started again.
I eagerly await the highlights of today’s dinner. Did Winslow recount another dull tale of his school days?
She stared at the words. Try as she might, she couldn’t be amusing today.
She took out a fresh sheet of paper and began once again, this time writing from the heart. She described how Charles had attacked her, and how she feared he would hurt her again. She begged Will not to confront his brother, as it would only make things worse. Simply telling you has already brought me some relief, she wrote.
Evelyn pulled a robe over her nightgown, slipped on a pair of shoes and limped downstairs. She saw Mrs. Trimble walking toward her across the foyer, carrying a tray of food. The housekeeper’s usually impassive face flickered with vague surprise.
“Mr. Brewster left instructions that you were to be attended in your room,” she said.
“What are you doing here?” Evelyn demanded. Although Peggy and Mrs. Gower had only Sunday evenings off, Mrs. Trimble and her husband were given the entire day.
“Mr. Brewster asked me to care for you.” Mrs. Trimble peered at the welts on Evelyn’s face. “He said you had a fever.”
“Yes.” Evelyn turned away so the woman couldn’t get a closer look. “I came down for some fresh air. I think a short stroll in the garden will do me good.”
“Shall I accompany you?”
“I won’t be more than a few minutes,” Evelyn said. “Could you have tea ready when I return?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
That would get her out of the way for a short time, at least. Evelyn walked outside and caught her breath as a chilly breeze hit her. Soon, it would be too cold to walk outside. What excuse would she have for retrieving Will’s messages? She couldn’t bear the thought of months without them.
Then, suddenly, Will was there in person, standing in front of her. He grinned as he walked toward her. “Ah, Juliet…” he began. His words trailed off as he moved closer and saw her more clearly. He reached out his hands, then stopped, as if touching her might cause pain.
“What happened?” he asked.
“It’s all here,” Evelyn said, holding out the note. “I was going to leave it for you under the bench.” She turned her face downward, self-conscious of how she must look to him.
“Did Charles do this?” Will asked.
Evelyn had been able to write everything down, but she wasn’t strong enough to say it out loud. Not yet.
“My God,” he murmured. “I never dreamed it was as bad as that.”
“Neither did I,” Evelyn said.
Will took a step toward her, but she pulled back. “Mrs. Trimble’s in the kitchen. She mustn’t see us.”
“Come with me.” He put one hand on her elbow, ready to escort her to their secret place in the private garden. Evelyn pulled away again.
“No, you have to go,” she said. “Charles told her to keep an eye on me. He can’t know you were here.”
“He won’t. I’ll go,” Will said.
“Please, just promise you’ll keep writing,” Evelyn begged. “It’s such a comfort.”
Will took the letter from her and brushed his lips along her forehead, more a caress than kiss. “Be careful,” he said. Then he turned and slipped away through the hedges.
Will might have joked once of being her Romeo, but he was no impetuous boy. He didn’t challenge Charles to a duel, or whisk Evelyn off in a daring rescue. He simply wrote to her as a friend, offering support and sympathy. At times she wished for the distraction of a love letter, hoping Will would acknowledge the longing they both felt. But mostly she was grateful for his discretion. Romantic dreams would only make her situation more impossible.
Will was the one who first raised the possibility of her leaving Charles. He reassured Evelyn that divorce no longer meant social suicide—many divorcées were still received by the best families in New York, including the infamous Lady Dorchester. Evelyn never would have consulted a lawyer without his encouragement. But on the day Katherine went to Philadelphia for the consultation, Will left a note saying he’d gone to visit an old friend in Baltimore for a few days.
It felt like years. She hadn’t realized until then how much she depended on his notes. She would wake up in the morning and wonder when to make her trip to the garden. After breakfast? Or wait until afternoon to prolong the anticipation? She would read Will’s letters over and over. After nightfall, she would sneak outside and hide her reply, her pulse racing as she tried to avoid the servants. These exchanges brought a thrill to her stifling, unchanging routine.
Now, as she walked home from her mother’s, she wondered how to tell Will that a divorce might be impossible. When she entered the house, she saw an envelope addressed to her, propped up on the table next to the door.
She pulled out a small rectangular card.
10 p.m.
No name, no place. But she knew the handwriting. Will would be waiting for her tonight in the garden.
That evening, as she trod through the dark, silent house with only a candle to guide her, Evelyn’s heart thumped with nervous excitement. It was the same way she’d felt when Charles began flirting with her, a year ago. A lifetime ago. It had all seemed like such an adventure then. She’d been in love with the idea of love. But her feelings had nothing to do with Charles himself.
Now, with Will, Evelyn knew the difference. Her love for him had bloomed because of who he was: a man who looked at the world with optimism and hope. Someone who made happiness seem possible. If meeting Will was the only good to come of her marriage to Charles, perhaps everything else was worth it.
“Evelyn!”
She rushed through the opening in the hedge at the sound of his voice. Her eyes took a few moments to adjust to the darkness. Will was there, in front of her, his gaze meeting hers over the flame of the candle. Then he blew it out. Their arms found each other, and they clung together. His breath warmed her neck.
“Come, sit,” he said, pulling Evelyn toward the bench. She drew her shawl tight around her shoulders and nestled in next to him.
“I had to see you,” Will confessed.
“When did you get back?” Evelyn asked.
“This afternoon. I left the note at your house as soon as I returned.”
“I have news,” Evelyn said before he could continue, wanting to get the worst over with. “It’s not encouraging. My mother talked to a lawyer about the divorce. I’m not worried about my reputation, but the lawyer says I’ll have very little recourse if Charles refuses, which I have no doubt he will. I don’t have the money to fight him in court.”
Will watched her impassively. Perhaps he’d expected this outcome.
“So, I need to find another solution,” Evelyn went on. “I thought Charles might agree to a separation instead of a divorce. Many couples make that sort of arrangement.”
“Is that what you want?” Will asked. “An arrangement?”
“Of course not,” Evelyn said indignantly.
“Neither do I.” Will sighed. He reached over and intertwined his fingers with hers. “Do you know what I really want?” he asked. “I want you to divorce Charles and marry me.”
The declaration was so unexpected, so heartfelt, that Evelyn couldn’t help smiling.
“Is the idea so ridiculous?” Will asked.
“No, no,” Evelyn protested. “It’s not every day a
married woman receives a proposal.”
“Then we’re agreed?”
“There’s nothing I want more,” Evelyn said. “Only—you make it sound so simple.”
“It is.”
Evelyn felt Will’s hand against her cheek, turning her face toward his. Then they were kissing with an intensity that shattered all her doubts. This was how it was meant to be. She could battle any obstacle if she knew Will was waiting for her on the other side.
“We are agreed, then,” he murmured.
“What about Charles?” Evelyn asked. Just saying his name brought back the churning fear. “He won’t let me go easily. Your family will disown you if you take my side. Even if we ran off together, how would we support ourselves?”
Will gently put a finger to her lips to silence the panic. “Being disowned doesn’t scare me. I’ve been the family’s black sheep long enough.”
“Because of the canceled engagement?”
“It goes back much further. I’m not really a Brewster, never have been.”
“What do you mean?” Evelyn asked.
“I’m the product of my mother’s first marriage,” Will said.
“Alma was married before?” Evelyn asked, amazed.
“Yes, though she’s done her best to cover it up,” Will said. “She doesn’t come from a grand family, you know. She always wanted to move up in the world. My real father was a young minister in Baltimore. Not a very lucrative profession, but he was a respectable man with a promising future. She set her sights on him, and they married a few months after meeting. She was pregnant with me when he died. Struck by a carriage in front of their house. Even I can manage some pity for her then—a young widow expecting a child on her own.
“Only someone like Mother could have gone from such tragedy to social triumph. Edward Brewster was a member of my father’s congregation. I imagine Mother sorted through her prospects, found the richest man she could and set out to catch him. She must’ve put on quite a show—the poor young widow looking for a protector. They were married soon after I was born, and had Charles the following year.
The House of Secrets Page 11
