The Midwife and the Marquess

Chapter 10: A Name

The study door shook on its hinges as Evan slammed it shut behind him.

His desk, on top of which lay several piles of paperwork and books, was his first casualty as he swiped his hand across the surface, discarding the contents onto the ground.

He couldn't remember the last time he had been so shaken to his very core.

A baby? Why hadn't he ever thought of it? He was a cad, a blackguard, a scoundrel of the worst caliber. He hadn't even considered it. And what about Maria? Why had she kept this from him for so long? Did she blame him? A feeling of bile rose in his throat as he thought of her suffering alone all those years ago.

He was angry. Angry with her for not telling him. Angry at God for taking his child from him. But most of all, angry with himself for being the worst kind of man.

"Dammit!" he shouted as he slammed his fist down on the surface.

"All right..." a voice drawled in a distinct accent from one corner of the room.

Evan held his face in one hand, the other splayed out of the table where it'd landed, as he spoke, "What are you doing here, Garrett?"

"I think, before I answer that question, I should first inquire after your distressed state. I haven't seen you this riled-up since the incident with Tobias."

"No. It has nothing to do with you and I have no wish to speak of it," Evan snapped.

Garrett uncrossed his legs and stood from the low armchair he'd been lounging in. He walked over to Evan and moved as if to clamp a hand down on his shoulder. "You're not getting away th-"

Reflexively Evan half turned and harshly brushed his friend's hand away. "Don't touch me right now, Garrett."

Garrett hesitated for a moment before speaking, "That bad?"

"Yes."

Garrett sighed and walked to a cabinet, retrieving a bottle of scotch and two glasses. "Well if you won't talk about it then I shall have to distract you with some other news."

Evan's blood boiled with the familiar feeling of self-hatred that had haunted him since he was a boy. A part of him wanted to haul Garrett out of the study by his coattails, turn his desk over onto its head and push it against the door, barring himself inside to rot away like the filth he was. Another part of him wanted to run immediately to Maria and beg for forgiveness, plead for salvation.

Evan forced a ragged breath through his aching lungs. He would do neither of those things. He would stay here and seethe quietly until the heat in his blood cooled. He would give Maria time to finish her duties for the day, and then he would face her with a calm and clear-headed countenance.

Evan sighed and with a heavy heart looked down at the chaos of papers scattered about the floor. He just kept making a mess of things. "What is it?" he asked resolutely.

Garrett deftly evaded the clutter, his slick brown leather boots stepping lightly over the heap of papers and disheveled books. Garrett was slightly shorter than Evan, but his mass of ruddish red hair nearly made up for the height difference. He was wearing the light brown trousers and brown overcoat that made up the entirety of his wardrobe outside of the black and white suits he wore while working. Garrett was not a man of extravagance, even after nearly a decade of being the Royal Theater's chief conductor. He placed two glasses down on the now clear surface and poured a serving for each of them.

Evan glared at the bottle. "Where did that come from?" he asked.

"I brought it with me the last time I was here and left it in that cupboard over there."