Chapter 5 #2
“I am being serious, Olivia.” His voice roughened with self-reproach.
“I know nothing about estate management. I can draft a lecture, debate policy, and command a classroom easily, but to take on my father’s legacy?
To manage the land, the tenants, the staff, the accounts…
” He exhaled a ragged breath. “I am wholly unprepared to be my father’s heir. ”
She met his gaze steadily. “You will learn.”
“It is not that simple.”
Taking a step forward, she asked, “Do you not remember how worried you were when you left for Eton? And again, when you went to Oxford. You were so nervous, so convinced you would not measure up to the other students.” Her voice softened.
“And look at you now. You became a Fellow at five and twenty, an accomplishment most scholars twice your age would envy.”
For a moment, silence stretched between them. Then Olivia reached up and lightly touched his arm. “You have faced daunting things before, Evander. You will face this, too. And you will not face it alone.”
He studied her face for a long moment, his expression guarded. Then, he asked, “Will you marry me?”
Evander was an idiot.
The realization struck him with a force that left him momentarily speechless. Why had he just blurted out a marriage proposal to Olivia? He had planned the perfect, well-crafted speech. So why had his words come tumbling from his mouth like an avalanche he could not stop?
He watched helplessly as Olivia reared back, her brows knitting in bewilderment. Her parted lips formed no words, only silent astonishment.
Closing his eyes briefly, he exhaled in frustration. “I boggled that quite nicely, didn’t I?” he muttered.
Her voice, low and uncertain, broke the silence between them. “Did you truly just mean to offer for me?”
Opening his eyes again, he forced himself to meet her gaze. He could see the questions there—so many of them—and perhaps a flicker of hope, though he dared not trust it.
“I did,” he said. “But before you say no—please—allow me to explain why I think we should marry.”
She crossed her arms slowly over her chest, adopting a guarded stance. “Very well,” she replied.
Drawing in a deep breath to steady himself, he began.
“As you know, my mother is gravely ill. Her one wish is to see me married before she passes. And I—I cannot bear to disappoint her.” His throat tightened, but he pressed on.
“I thought that you… that we… would suit nicely.” He ran a hand through his hair, tousling it further.
“And… if you marry me, the ton will be less inclined to punish you for past events. My name will protect you.”
Her brow arched. “Are you quite finished?”
“I am,” he said, though the words stuck in his throat. He held his breath as he awaited her reply.
For a long moment, Olivia said nothing. Then she opened her mouth, closed it again, visibly struggling to form her thoughts. At last, she said, “You do not truly want to marry me.”
“I do.”
“No, you don’t,” she countered. “You need a wife whose reputation is beyond reproach. Someone the ton will embrace as your viscountess.”
He stepped towards her, his voice firm. “I do not care what the ton says. I want to marry you.”
She placed a hand lightly against his chest, her touch sending a ripple through him. But the smile she gave him did not reach her eyes. “I know what you are trying to do.”
“And what is that?”
“You are trying to save me,” she whispered. “But you must think of your own reputation now. Of your family’s standing.”
He caught her hand in his. “I am thinking of that. This was not solely my idea. My mother suggested it. She wants me to marry you.”
“What of your father?”
He winced. “He may object for now. But he would come around… eventually. Especially once your dowry bolsters our coffers.”
Olivia’s gaze grew pained. “And what of the whispers? The stares that follow me everywhere I go? They are relentless.”
“That matters little to me.”
She slipped her hand free and stepped back. “You are the best of friends, Evander. But I cannot let you throw your life away for me.”
“I would be throwing nothing away.”
Her eyes shimmered with unshed tears. “And what of love?” she asked. “What of that? What if you grew to resent me because of it?”
He faltered. The words hovered on the edge of his tongue—I love you. I always have. But he swallowed them back, knowing she was not ready to hear them. “I could never resent you,” he said instead.
A tear slid down her cheek. She brushed it away quickly, her composure faltering. “I think… it is best if we avoid one another for a time.”
He stared at her, stricken. “I beg your pardon?”
“I care about you too deeply to risk jeopardizing your new position,” she replied.
Reaching for her hand again, he said urgently, “No. I will not accept that. We are friends, Livy. I do not care who knows it.”
“You say that now…”
“I will say it always. And it will remain no less true,” he declared. “If you try to push me away, I will only come right back.”
She smiled through her tears. “What did I ever do to deserve a friend like you?”
He grinned, leaning in. “I suspect you bewitched me the day you poured that mud over my head.”
She laughed—a real laugh this time—and wiped her cheek. “You cannot go about accusing people of witchcraft. Though… I daresay it would be entertaining. I could fly about on a broomstick and concoct potions.”
“I believe the broomstick part is a myth.”
“That is the only part you take issue with?” she teased.
He chuckled. “Very well. I promise never to accuse you of being a witch again.”
But her humor faded swiftly. “I cannot marry you, Evander.”
“Why not? We would have such fun together. You are the only one who makes me laugh as you do.”
“It would be selfish of me to say yes,” she said, voice thick with emotion.
“Does that mean you are tempted?” he pressed.
She nodded slowly, her shoulders slumping. “Of course, I am tempted. I am five and twenty, and my reputation is in tatters. You may well be the only offer I shall ever receive.”
“Then say yes. We will post the banns at once.” His eagerness rang clear—and perhaps too forcefully. He could sense her wavering.
“I need you to be certain.”
“I am certain.”
She let out a breathless laugh, but it was without joy. “You are a viscount now. Every choice you make carries weight. Do you truly wish to tie yourself to a woman with an annulled marriage?”
“That means nothing to me. You were tricked, and everyone knows it.”
“Not everyone is so kind or forgiving.”
He leaned closer, his tone fierce with sincerity. “But I am not ‘everyone.’ You knew me when I was but the second son of an earl. The spare. And you never treated me differently.”
“Why would I?”
“Exactly,” he said with a small smile. “You are the wife I need.”
She looked upward, as though the stars themselves might grant her wisdom. “You are good.”
“That is because I am charming, handsome, and keeper of your secrets,” he quipped. “Think of the disservice you will do to Society if we do not marry. Our children would be beautiful and brilliant.”
“You make a fair point.”
His expression sobered. “I do not wish to force you. Think on it. I will return tomorrow.”
“What if you change your mind?”
“I will not. That I promise.”
She bit her lower lip—a telltale sign of her inner struggle, one he had come to know well. He watched her with aching tenderness.
“You need not answer now,” he added gently. “But do not dismiss the possibility outright.”
She gave a small nod, tears glistening once more. “You are impossible,” she whispered.
“And yet, here I stand,” he replied, his gaze unwavering.
Turning her gaze towards the townhouse, Olivia asked, “Does Richard know that you were going to offer for me?”
“Yes,” Evander replied. “And he was rather excited by the prospect.”
Her lips pressed into a thin, resigned line. “I am sure he is more than anxious to be rid of me.”
“You are wrong,” Evander said. “Your brother loves you.”
“Yes, but I have caused him no small amount of grief these past months.”
He placed a reassuring hand upon her sleeve. “It is cold out here, and you do not even have a shawl. Come—we should go back inside.”
As they headed towards the townhouse, Olivia remarked, “Your father would be furious if we did wed.”
“All the more reason to say yes, then.”
“He has never liked me.”
Evander merely smiled. “That may have had something to do with the fact that you never listened to him,” he replied. “And that you constantly ran off into the woodlands.”
Looking entirely unrepentant, Olivia tilted her chin. “How else was I supposed to look for truffles?”
“We hired people to do that, you know,” he reminded her.
“Yes,” she said, “but if I wanted to keep them for myself, I had to find them and eat them before anyone discovered my stash.”
Evander gave her a long, knowing look. “You used to hide them under your pillow and eat them at night.”
“It was a delicious treat.”
They stepped inside and made their way to the drawing room, where Wilton and his wife were already waiting.
As they entered, Wilton held out his hands. “Are congratulations in order?”
“Not yet,” Evander responded. “But Olivia is considering it.”
Wilton’s brows shot up. “What is there to consider?” he asked, his voice rising in earnest. “This is the solution to all of our problems.”
Olivia turned to face him fully, her back growing rigid. “It is my choice, Brother.”
“It is,” Wilton allowed, though his mouth pressed into a grim line. “However, I feel—”
Dosia, standing beside him, nudged him with her elbow. “Leave her be. It is Olivia’s decision.”
“Yes, but there is a very clear right and wrong answer here,” Wilton muttered under his breath.
Sensing the growing tension, Evander inclined his head. “I feel this is a good time to take my leave.” He gave a courteous bow. “I will return tomorrow.”
Olivia turned towards him. “Allow me to walk you to the door.”
“I would like that.”
Together they left the drawing room, walking side by side until they arrived at the main door.
“Until tomorrow, Olivia,” Evander said, holding her gaze.
“Goodnight, Evander.”
He opened the door and stepped out into the cool night air. As the door closed behind him, he exhaled slowly. He felt confident that he had pleaded his case as best he could. But with Olivia, he never truly knew what she would do.
And that, perhaps, was why he loved her all the more.