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    Such was the sentiment that she had longed to hear for what felt like an eternity, until Eve dared no longer hope. On this very day when she least expected it, Colin’s admission disarmed her. Why? Could it stem from the fact that his gentle cadence and avowals of devotion were so very convincing? Is that why she felt unsteady? Eve never expected that Colin would be happy to see her let alone admit to caring for her.  
    Anger came so easily when she thought him to be a liar, when she suspected she would never hear such avowals again, when she ceased believing Colin ever meant the words in the first place.
    Clutching her reticule against her chest in an attempt to steady her erratic pulse, a myriad of emotions warred within Eve. She wanted to despise Colin, wanted to remain angry with him from now until the end of time.  
    Why couldn’t she?  
    Was it possible that she still cared for the man?
    Damn her for even contemplating such a notion! Eve squeezed her reticule until her knuckles turned white. How could she possibly care about Colin MacAlistair? After he had forsaken her, after all the hateful words he uttered to her on this very day, how could she feel anything other than a profound loathing towards the man?  
    In her current state of turmoil, Eve began to question her sanity, certain that she had gone utterly mad. What other explanation could there possibly be for such foolishness?
    Consumed by her silent contemplation, Eve failed to notice the carriage sway to a stop in front of her family’s estate known as Waltham Manor. After descending the steps with the assistance of her driver, she paused in the cobblestone drive, taking a moment to view the impressive brick structure that represented generations of Westons – Viscounts, Viscountesses, and their children. A legacy to uphold. One Eve took to heart, though the rich history that Eve often sought strength from offered her no such relief on this day.  
    Eve waited, instructing herself to breathe.
    Gather your wits. You are a Weston.
    Eve placed her hands flat in front of her. Steady at last. She exhaled a substantial sigh of relief as her plump, russet haired butler greeted her at the heavy, mahogany front door.
    “Good afternoon, Miss,” her butler pronounced, viewing her through his thin gold spectacles. “Did you have a nice outing?”
    “Yes, Durstan, thank you,” Eve smiled, noting how proficient she had become at feigning happiness since Colin’s original departure.  
    “Do you know where I may find my grandmother?” She asked as the elderly man relieved Eve of her gloves and reticule.
    “In her suite, Miss,” he replied with a formal bow.
    Eve nodded then ascended the grand staircase, all the while wondering what she would say to her grandmamma. She wanted the kind woman’s advice, longed to unburden her soul to the one person who mattered most to her, but Eve couldn’t do so.  
    Blame it on her stubborn pride. It dictated Eve’s silence. After all, the last thing Eve ever wanted to admit is just how much of a fool she had been over Colin MacAlistair. Or perhaps she couldn’t bear to see the inevitable disappointment in her grandmother’s loving gaze?  
    Pausing in the doorway of her father’s childhood bedchamber, Eve leaned against the doorframe. Upon further reflection, she couldn’t tolerate disappointing her grandmother. Moreover, Eve refused to hurt the dear woman. Not the way Eve’s own father had.
    Although her grandmother never spoke of it, Eve was well aware of the deep wounds her father had inflicted. The Viscountess loved her son and pampered him. Too much it turned out, since Eve’s father matured into a spoiled and reckless man, gambling away his inheritance while spending most evenings inebriated.  
    James Weston was a rake, the type of man most reputable families wouldn’t allow near their eligible daughters. His title and annual income were enough, though, to convince some members of the haut ton to forgive