• Fractured Silence
The carriage rolled steadily over the winding path back to the Sinclair estate, the wheels crunching softly over gravel as the golden hue of late afternoon bathed the grounds in a warm, fading glow. Inside the carriage, neither Evelyne nor Adrian spoke. The silence clung to them like mist — heavy, unspoken, unresolved.
As the vehicle came to a stop before the grand entrance, Adrian shifted forward and opened the door. Without a word, he stepped out and turned, extending his hand toward her. Evelyne hesitated only a moment before placing her hand in his. His grip was firm and steady, and for a fleeting second, his touch lingered — longer than propriety called for.
Their eyes met briefly.
A breath.
A pause.
Then it passed — unspoken, unexplored — and they stepped apart as though nothing had happened. Yet beneath the surface, Evelyne felt the weight of something she couldn't name. They stood side by side, close enough to feel the warmth of each other's presence, yet it felt as though an entire ocean stretched between them.
At the threshold, they parted ways without a word. Adrian disappeared down the east corridor, while Evelyne ascended the staircase with slow, quiet steps. She clutched the folds of her skirt, her chest tight, her thoughts a tangled mess of confusion, jealousy, and a sadness she had no words for.
• Moonlit Doubts
That night, Evelyne sat curled in the window seat of her chamber, the pale moonlight spilling over her as she stared out into the velvet sky. The estate was quiet — the kind of stillness that made every heartbeat feel louder, every thought sharper.
Her fingers fumbled for the small satin bag of sweets resting on the cushion beside her. She held it in her lap, her thumb brushing the fabric again and again. For a moment, she simply stared at it.
She thought back to the museum — the brief peace between them. Adrian had seemed different there: less guarded, more... human. He had even smiled, if only faintly, at her flushed embarrassment in front of those scandalous paintings. And when she had nearly collapsed from dizziness, he had caught her without hesitation, his arm firm around her waist, his voice laced with alarm. That touch had steadied her far more than she would admit. It lingered in her memory like a phantom warmth.
But then everything had changed. Cassandra.
The memory of the woman's elegant silhouette swept through her mind. So effortlessly poised. Regal. Confident. That voice, smooth as velvet, had spoken Adrian's name like a private melody — one laced with secrets and shared history. Evelyne had felt her stomach twist the moment Cassandra smiled and claimed closeness to him.
And then... the sweets.
Evelyne looked down at the bag in her lap again. She had offered it with innocent kindness, a memory of comfort and childhood warmth — and he had recoiled as if she had wounded him. The pain in her chest flared once more.
She closed her eyes and clutched the bag tightly before pushing it into her drawer with trembling hands. The soft thump as it landed felt final. She bit her lip to keep the tears at bay.
"I was foolish," she whispered. "Foolish to think he was softening. Foolish to care."
• The Embers
Downstairs, the fire in the study had burned low, casting flickering shadows against the mahogany-paneled walls. Adrian stood before it, one hand braced on the mantel, the other clenched into a fist at his side. The flames danced low and quiet, mirroring the turmoil in his chest.
He had returned to his study hours ago, intent on reviewing the documents his loyal butler, Mr. Thorne had left for him — estate reports, political correspondence, financial summaries — but his eyes passed over every page without reading a single word.
He ran a hand through his dark hair, jaw tight.
That moment in the carriage — Evelyne's soft voice, her open gesture, the bag of sweets cradled so gently in her hands — it had struck something raw in him. And he'd snapped.
Not at her, not truly.
But at the memory.
At the past.
His rejection had been sharp. Too sharp. He had seen the flicker of hurt in her eyes before she turned away. A flash of guilt pierced him now, deeper than he expected.
"She doesn't know," he muttered under his breath, his voice rough with emotion. "She couldn't know."
But still, he had wounded her. And she had offered nothing but kindness.
Adrian sank into the leather chair behind his desk, shoulders heavy, staring down at the untouched papers. The flickering fire cast golden light across his face, but there was no warmth in his expression.
He hated that he was starting to care.
And even more, he hated how much it frightened him.
• Curtained Glances
At breakfast the next morning, the air between Adrian and Evelyne remained strained. The Duchess, cheerful as ever, chatted away about garden blooms and upcoming social events, oblivious to the silence stretching between her son and daughter-in-law.
"Did you two enjoy the museum yesterday?" she asked brightly, slicing into her poached pear.
Evelyne paused, her fork hovering mid-air. "It was… informative," she said politely.
Adrian gave a small nod without looking up from the newspaper. "Yes. Quiet."
The Duchess beamed. "Wonderful. I do think it's important for newlyweds to spend time exploring together."
Evelyne managed a faint smile.
She sat quietly, barely touching her food. Her thoughts lingered on the moments they'd shared during the trip — the closeness, the confusion, the quiet things left unsaid. She avoided looking at Adrian, her expression distant.
Adrian, pretending to read the newspaper, stole glances at her. She looked tired. Pale. When their eyes met briefly, Evelyne looked away, a faint flush on her cheeks. Adrian frowned and set the paper down.
"You didn't eat much," he said quietly.
"Just not very hungry," Evelyne replied, her voice low.
"Still dizzy?"
She nodded. " sometimes..."
Neither said more.
The Duchess continued speaking, unaware, but the silence between Adrian and Evelyne had changed — less cold now, more uncertain. Fragile.
A space waiting to be filled.
• Beneath The Pulse
After a silent and awkward breakfast, Evelyne retreated to her room. She sat at her writing desk, pen in hand, composing a letter to her parents. She needed to talk to someone who might understand, someone who wasn't wrapped up in the same confusing emotions as she was. The quiet scratching of the pen was interrupted by a knock on the door.
"Come in," Evelyne called out, not looking up.
Adrian entered with Dr. Lennox- the family doctor in tow. Evelyne blinked in surprise, her hand faltering over the letter she was writing.
"I didn't call for the doctor," she said quickly, shaking her head. "I'm fine."
Adrian didn't seem convinced. "It's just a precaution," he said. "The doctor is here at my request."
Evelyne hesitated. She felt uncomfortable, like her privacy was being invaded. "I really don't need a check-up," she protested, but Adrian's insistence was unyielding.
The doctor stepped forward, a kind but firm expression on his face. "Madam, if you would be so kind. It's for your own well-being."
Evelyne sighed but didn't argue further. As the doctor moved to check her condition, Adrian took a step back. "I'll leave you to it," he said, already turning toward the door.
But just as he reached the threshold, the doctor stopped him. "Lord Adrian, I believe it would be better if you stayed. It's customary for a husband to remain present while his wife is being examined."
Adrian froze, a flicker of discomfort flashing across his face. Evelyne glanced at him, noticing the hesitation in his eyes. He didn't want to be there, but the doctor's insistence left him no choice. With a reluctant sigh, he stepped back into the room and lingered awkwardly near the door. Evelyne could feel the tension between them, the air thick with embarrassment.
He took her wrist in his gloved hand, fingers checking her pulse. His brow furrowed faintly as he observed her, then retrieved a small notepad from his breast pocket.
"Have you experienced fatigue? Any headaches or lightheadedness since returning from the trip?"
"A little," Evelyne said softly. "Mostly in the mornings."
The doctor asked a few more questions, his tone clinical but not unkind. All the while, Adrian remained silent, though Evelyne could sense his discomfort thickening the air like a heavy curtain. She glanced at him once—he stood with his jaw tight, his eyes flickering occasionally in her direction, but never quite meeting hers.
After a few more moments, the doctor stepped back and gave a small nod. "Your pulse is a bit weak. You're underweight, and your energy levels are low. It could be exhaustion or something nutritional. I'll prescribe a tonic and some rest."
He paused, then added more firmly, "No marital relations for the time being. I strongly advise it."
The room went still.
The words hit Evelyne like a physical blow. She couldn't quite process what the doctor had said. Refrain from marital relations? That was a problem, wasn't it? But she couldn't bring herself to ask about it, not in front of Adrian.
Adrian, too, stood there in stunned silence. His face was a mixture of shock and confusion, but he didn't speak. Both of them were caught in an uncomfortable limbo, too embarrassed to know how to respond.
The doctor, oblivious to the tension in the room, gathered his things. "I'll leave you with the prescribed medicine," he said. "Take it as directed, and rest. I'll check on you in a few days."
As the doctor left, neither Evelyne nor Adrian spoke for several long moments. Finally, Adrian, still looking slightly bewildered, cleared his throat.
"Is there anything you need?" he asked softly, his usual aloofness replaced with uncertainty.
Evelyne shook her head, though a part of her wanted to ask what this meant for them, for their relationship. Instead, she smiled faintly. "I'm fine," she replied, though she wasn't sure if she believed it herself.