Evelyn knew something was amiss the moment the carriage slowed.

Eastbury Manor was never quiet before an assembly, but today the drive looked more like a military campaign than a respectable manor house preparing for a major event.

Footmen hurried across the gravel with armfuls of greenery. A musician jogged past, carrying a music stand under one arm, his coat unbuttoned, his expression harried. From the open front doors drifted the sound of strained, brisk voices, efficient but unmistakably urgent.

Adjusting her gloves, Evelyn's fingers tightening despite the tinge of annoyance that curled in her chest. Perhaps if she had arrived a few hours earlier, she would have received a warmer welcome.

The carriage halted. Before the door even opened, Evelyn caught sight of her aunt and uncle standing at the front entrance. Her uncle looked thinner than she remembered. His shoulders were slightly hunched with age despite his usually rigid posture, his attention divided between his wife and a man standing beside them.

The burly man had his back to the drive and balanced himself on a cane.

A shiver of anticipation bolted down her spine.

Evelyn hesitated as the footman lowered the step. She took in the stranger with quick, assessing glances—the dark cut of his coat, worn but well kept; the quiet authority in his stance. He was listening rather than speaking, his head inclined slightly toward her aunt.

Nathaniel looked up then, and whatever strain had been etched into his features vanished at once.

"Evelyn," he said, his voice warm with unmistakable relief.

Her aunt turned, her smile gentle and welcoming. "There you are, my dear."

Evelyn stepped down, smoothing her skirts; her unease sharpened into alertness. Her uncle did not look merely pleased to see her. He looked saved. And that, more than the bustle of this evening's preparations, set her nerves on edge.

She had just begun to return Beth's embrace when the man beside them came into focus.

Evelyn froze.

Eight years had done little to dull her recognition.

Lord Emmett Shaw stood before her, one hand resting on his cane, his expression already darkening as his gaze landed on her face.

Where had he been? She remembered he had joined the army, but whenever she met his brothers or father, she couldn't recall his name being mentioned.

He was taller than she remembered. Or perhaps simply broader. Not in the soft way he had been as a boy, but with the hard lines of muscle. His hair was shorter, his features leaner, more angular. There was a hardness to him now that had not been there when they were children.

And yet—

Before she could collect herself or decide whether to greet him with familiar warmth or pretend he was a stranger, he spoke.

"Well," he drawled, one brow lifting faintly. "If it isn't Puck."

The nickname struck her like a slap.

Her spine stiffened. Her eyes turned into slits. "Do not call me that."

His mouth curved, not quite into a smile. "Still hate it, then?"

She bristled. "I hated it then. I hate it now. And, come to think of it, I still don't want to talk to you."

Beth's gaze flicked between them, sharp with interest, though her expression remained placid. Nathaniel cleared his throat, clearly preparing to intervene, but Evelyn was already past caring.

Eight happy years. Almost a decade, and he thought he could stand there, leaning on that ridiculous decoration of a cane, and address her as if nothing had changed.

"I thank you for your kind invitation," Evelyn said, turning sharply toward her uncle. "But the thought of spending time with this man revolts me. If you need my help for the assembly, I shall stay the night, but if he plans to remain longer, I shall return to Petworth in the morning."

Nathaniel stepped between them.

"We do need your help," he said carefully. "And we are grateful you can attend the assembly."

Evelyn nodded once, though slightly perplexed. "Then perhaps we can get on with it." She glanced pointedly at Emmett, adding, "And he can stay out of my way."

Emmett's gaze lingered on her a moment longer than she liked. Then he shifted his weight, the cane tapping softly against the gravel.

"As you wish," he said. "Though you have not, it seems, outgrown your fondness for theatrics."

She shot him a glare. "And you were always insufferable."

His lips twitched.

She let out an unconscious, dramatic sigh before catching herself—then resisted the temptation to stamp her foot when he grinned. Even after all these years, he still knew how to rile her. She hated it when he was right.

Nathaniel seized the opportunity. "Evelyn, we have a special role we would like you to play in this evening's assembly."

Her stomach tightened. Of course there would be a catch, but the incredulous expression that Emmett gave his uncle gave her pause.

"This is the agent you want me to work with?" Emmett looked her up and down before guffawing. "This is going to be interesting."

"What do you mean, agent?" Evelyn asked, looking between the men.

Nathaniel explained swiftly. All she would need to do was enjoy the party and make it known she knew an Aiden Deely. If anyone seemed interested, escort them to Emmett.

"And so," Nathaniel finished, "we wondered if you might be persuaded to allow Emmett to escort you for the evening."

Evelyn stared at her uncle.

"Absolutely not," she said immediately. "If he were to stay close to me, people might think he's courting me. I refuse to have any scandal over me before my coming out."

The words came swiftly and firmly. She clutched the diary she held against her chest—the one she had been given the day at age nine when Emmett made her cry, its pages now filled with carefully clipped illustrations, notes, and dreams. Drawings of ball gowns, assemblies, elegant couples captured mid-turn beneath chandeliers.

Her Prince Charming—who was yet unnamed but always perfect in her mind—would not look kindly on the situation.

Nothing like the man who stood there grinning like a jester.

"No," she repeated. "You know I cannot. I am not out. To be paraded before society under false pretenses would be my ruin. I have waited my whole life for my coming out," she stressed, waving her diary, even though they had no idea what it contained.

"And I will certainly not…" she broke off, her hand flicking accusingly toward Emmett. "Pretend to be courted by this."

Emmett's brow lifted in distaste. "Courted? Most certainly not."

She ignored him, though her fingers tightened on the diary's edge. In her mind, Emmett was everything her ideal husband was not.

Her Prince Charming would be graceful. Polished. He would smile without smirking and speak without teasing. He would not lean on a cane or look as though he'd rather be anywhere else than on a well-appointed drive.

And yet—irritatingly so—she could not stop noticing Emmett. The way his shoulders looked more muscular up close. The gunmetal in his deep blue eyes. The press of his lips as if he were resisting the urge to laugh.

At her.

She growled, and he chuckled. Oh, why did he vex her with such ease?

"Evelyn," Nathaniel said, his tone measured. "You would be doing us a great service."

"I came here to get away from stress. I just want to enjoy myself."

"You will," Beth reassured. "This is a family party, so your reputation would not suffer."

Evelyn knew her aunt's words were the truth. Her eyes, a few shades darker than Emmett's, showed only calm certainty.

"It would be for one evening only," Beth continued. "There need be no expectations beyond civility. And no one would think you are being courted. Though you are not related by blood, society knows you have long been connected. You have both been under this roof since the nursery. Nothing would be amiss."

Evelyn opened her mouth to object again—and stopped. As usual, her aunt silenced all the excuses playing on her lips.

Her gaze drifted, unbidden, to the cane.

She had noticed it when she first arrived, of course. She was not blind. But now, with him standing so close, it was impossible to ignore.

"Why," she asked abruptly, "are you holding that?"

Emmett did not flinch.

"I lost my leg in the war," he explained. "When my artificial leg pains me too greatly, I rely on the cane for support, which is most of the time."

Straightforward, matter-of-fact. She knew, as society dictated, that she should ask after his health. Or offer him sympathy.

A shake of the head dispelled that notion. She would not give him the satisfaction of being interested. Silence stretched between them, thick and awkward.

Evelyn felt heat rise to her cheeks, a disconcerting mix of mortification and something dangerously close to curiosity. She had expected deflection. Or bitterness. Or some attempt to soften the blow.

Instead, he had given her the truth and left her to do with it what she would. She looked away first when he raised a brow, expecting her to comment.

Nathaniel exhaled quietly. Evelyn knew he was grateful she had held her tongue. "As your aunt said, this need not be anything more than you attending an event with family."

Alarm bells rang as her mind warned her to retreat. But it was too late to return home now. "My mother would never allow it."

Beth's smile did not waver. "But she has agreed or you wouldn't be here. I believe she ensured that you would arrive at this moment to help me prepare for it."

Was her mother involved in this in some way? Had Evelyn been a fool not to read the letter before excitement claimed all reason?

There was something in her aunt's quiet, assured tone that suggested she was not merely speaking of social niceties. Other considerations were at play, ones Evelyn did not yet understand.

Beth, she realized, was trying to soothe her concerns. The alarm bells rang louder, but Evelyn couldn't pinpoint why. So, she shook her head.

"No, if it were anyone else, I might say yes. But we'll get into an argument like we usually do and cause a scene. And then I shall be ruined by it for the rest of my life. No, I'd prefer to stay in the shadows, as I originally planned."

Nathaniel placed a gentle hand on his wife's arm as she opened her mouth to speak. "I understand completely. I'll just have to cancel the appointment with Mrs. Silk."

Evelyn's eyes widened as her grip on her diary tightened. On page twelve, she had made a list of her top dressmakers she wanted to make her gowns. Mrs. Silk was number one.

"That's impossible," she breathed. "Only the most influential and wealthy receive an appointment."

Nathaniel shrugged. "I might not be extremely wealthy, but I do rub shoulders with a lot of influential people. She has several finished gowns awaiting selection at her Hanover Square rooms," he continued. "You may choose whichever suits you. Her seamstresses will alter it at once."

Evelyn swallowed.

Hanover Square. Mrs. Silk. Finished gowns—real ones, not fantasies pressed between diary pages.

Beth touched her arm. "I must go as well. I have a gown waiting, and I thought we might keep one another company."

Evelyn looked down at the diary in her hands. They knew how to get her to surrender. This was not a chance she could pass up.

"Only a fool would refuse the opportunity of an introduction to one of the most famous dressmakers in town," she said stiffly, her resistance falling apart. "I will not enjoy this."

Emmett inclined his head. "I think I will."

She glared at him as he grinned openly. No doubt his statement was meant to tease.

Nathaniel's relief was immediate. Beth squeezed her hand.

"Very well," Evelyn said. "One night and I'm keeping the dress. Nothing more. Are you leaving in the morning?"

Emmett shook his head, a shadow crossing his face.

Evelyn hesitated, trying to understand what ghosts he hid. Refusing to dwell on it, she nodded. "Then I will."

As they turned toward the house, servants already completing the task of bringing her luggage inside, Evelyn felt the weight of what she had agreed to settle upon her shoulders.

She would attend the assembly.

She would be seen.

And she would do so on the arm of a man who was nothing like the Prince Charming she had imagined—and yet far more unsettling than she was prepared to admit.

Evelyn clutched her diary, already sensing that, after tonight, its pages would be filled with more than gowns, invitations, and dreams.