The House Of Secrets. Elizabeth Blackwell

into marriage, yet you ignored my advice and proposed to someone who is utterly unsuitable.” She turned to face Evelyn. “Miss O’Keefe, I am not unsympathetic. I understand your position, your family’s precarious finances. You saw an opportunity with my son…”

      “I assure you, I didn’t,” Evelyn protested. “Charles pursued me.”

      Alma glanced at Charles, taking in his amused smile. Then she smiled coldly at Evelyn.

      “Very well,” she conceded. “My son showed an interest, and you took advantage of it. No doubt you are quite skilled. I confess I was completely unaware of this turn of events. However, if you are willing to consider an alternate solution, I’m prepared to be quite generous.”

      “I have no interest in your money,” Evelyn said. “Charles and I love each other.”

      Alma flinched.

      “As you see, Mother, this is not a commercial transaction,” said Charles, a note of contempt lurking beneath his cheerful words. “I have proposed, Evelyn has accepted, and we will be married. With or without your blessing.”

      Though Evelyn was heartened by Charles’s resolve, she felt momentarily chilled by the fury in his eyes.

      Alma nodded slowly. “If you are determined to go through with this, you will have it. Miss O’Keefe, may I offer my congratulations.” But the words were a mere formality. Alma did not offer an embrace or even a handshake. Her body remained rigid, as if she were afraid she would crack into pieces if she moved.

      “Don’t worry, our house will be finished soon enough,” Charles reassured Evelyn as they waited for the carriage to take her home. “You won’t have to spend a night under this roof.”

      Their house. The thought of it was almost enough to distract Evelyn from the memory of Alma’s insults. Construction had begun long before Charles’s proposal to Evelyn, but she had been delighted by the building when he’d shown her around a few days before. She had never imagined a place so elegant could also feel so welcoming.

      When the carriage arrived, Charles held the door open for Evelyn, then climbed in beside her. He closed the door behind him and drew her toward him for a kiss that obliterated her fears. Until now, Charles had given her nothing more than fleeting pecks on the cheek. Now, his lips explored her face in a frenzy of pent-up passion, his hands roaming along her shoulders and down her arms. Evelyn felt her body melt into his and wondered how she would manage to resist him until their wedding night.

      It was only much later, as Evelyn lay in bed, that she felt a pang of doubt. She had told Alma that she and Charles were getting married because they loved each other. Yet Charles had never once told her so.

      By the day of the wedding, however, any lingering worries about her future husband were overshadowed by the event itself. Evelyn moved through her duties as if in a dream. She glided down the aisle and repeated her vows in a firm but quiet voice. She smiled graciously as Charles escorted her back through the church and out the front doors.

      Then she saw Will Brewster, and the haze lifted.

      Charles hadn’t expected his brother to come. Will had gone abroad years ago—“To study art,” Alma had told Reverend Alderson’s wife, in the same hushed tone she might have used to discuss a fatal illness. Charles had informed his brother about the wedding in a letter, but when no response arrived, Alma had crossed Will’s name from the seating chart. Yet there he was, standing at the bottom of the church stairs, pulling off his grimy driving glasses and greeting Evelyn with a delighted smile.

      “Will Brewster,” he said cheerily, waving his hand. “I take it you’re my new sister-in-law? Can I give you a lift to the reception?” Evelyn looked into his blue eyes, the same piercing shade as Charles’s, but sparkling with an amusement she’d never seen from her husband. His dark blond hair was tousled from the drive, but despite his disheveled appearance, he held himself with the same strong confidence as the rest of his family. Evelyn couldn’t help but smile back.

      “A lift? In that monstrosity?” Charles asked incredulously.

      “Nice to see you, too, Charles.” Will laughed.

      By this time, guests were filing out around them, and friends called out Will’s name as they rushed up to greet him. It wasn’t long before Alma pushed her way to the front. She hurried toward her eldest son, then stopped in her tracks when she saw the condition of his car and clothes.

      “Oh, Will!” she admonished. “You look frightful!”

      “There was no time to change,” Will said. “I was trying not to miss the wedding—although apparently, I did anyway.”

      “Go to the house and clean up,” Alma ordered. “We’ll be serving dinner in one hour.”

      Will tipped his goggles in Evelyn’s direction. “I’ll look forward to getting acquainted this evening, Mrs. Brewster,” he said. His voice had a light, teasing tone, as if acknowledging how ridiculous it was that she should now bear that name.

      She meant to ask Charles about his brother, but she didn’t have a chance. Three hundred guests had to make their way through the receiving line, then she and Charles had to be presented as man and wife and take their places at a table with Alma and an assortment of elderly Brewster relatives. Evelyn became aware of Will only later, after the dessert dishes had been cleared and the orchestra began playing. Evelyn looked at Charles expectantly, only to have him announce, “I never dance.” There were so many things she didn’t yet know about him.

      A figure in an immaculately pressed tuxedo appeared at Evelyn’s side.

      “If my brother won’t take his bride for a pass on the dance floor, perhaps I might be permitted the honor.” Will’s words were courteous to a fault, but Evelyn sensed an undercurrent of amusement.

      Evelyn glanced at Charles, who waved her off. “Of course,” he said, before continuing a discussion of trade tariffs with his great-uncle.

      “Only Charles would discuss business during his wedding dinner,” Will said, as he lightly took hold of Evelyn’s waist and pulled her across the wood floor. “But I suppose you’re used to that by now.”

      In truth, she wasn’t. But revealing how little she really knew about Charles might seem disloyal. “The business keeps him very busy,” she said.

      “Oh, Charles was born an old man,” Will said with a wink. “He’s always been the serious one.”

      “And what are you?” Evelyn asked.

      “Haven’t you heard? I’m the black sheep.”

      Evelyn laughed, but she knew it was true. Charles seldom discussed his brother, and when he did, it was usually to criticize him.

      “You’re not at all what I expected,” Will said. “When I heard Charles was marrying a governess, I pictured a humorless old spinster, the sort who used to rap my knuckles with a ruler when I misbehaved.”

      “Did that happen often?” Evelyn asked lightly.

      “More than I care to admit.” Will smiled, and Evelyn caught a glimpse of the boy he once was, his eyes twinkling with mischief, but without malice.

      “You’re not what I expected either,” she admitted.

      “Ah, now things get interesting,” Will said, twirling her gently around the edge of the dance floor. “You imagined a clubfoot or some other deformity?”

      Evelyn laughed again. “No, not at all. I suppose…well, you don’t act like a Brewster.”

      “I take that as a compliment,” Will said. “There were many times growing up when I didn’t feel like a Brewster. And just think—now you’re one, too.”

      Evelyn flashed back to the moment Will had addressed her as Mrs. Brewster. How the sound of her new name—her new identity—had filled her with dread.

      “I understand