Chapter 7
The moon hung low in the sky as Olivia rested her head against the cool windowpane in her bedchamber. Tomorrow was to be her wedding day.
She ought to be filled with anticipation, perhaps even joy. Instead, a strange weight pressed against her chest. It wasn’t fear—no, she trusted Evander implicitly. He would be a good husband, kind and honorable. That much she had never doubted. What gnawed at her was something far more complicated.
What if he came to regret it?
She knew Evander well—too well, perhaps.
He was loyal to a fault and would sooner trap himself in a life of discontent than risk wounding another’s pride.
What if this marriage was more duty than desire?
He claimed to want it, said it with such conviction, but would time erode that certainty?
Would he one day look at her and see not a partner, but an obligation?
They had been thick as thieves growing up. He’d pulled her out of more trouble than she could count, and now he was doing it again. Saving her. Marrying her.
She blinked back the sting of tears and exhaled. Just then, something sharp and small struck her cheek. “Ouch,” she muttered. She glanced down and saw a pebble tumble to the floor. Perplexed, she peered out the window and spotted a familiar figure in the moonlit gardens.
Evander.
He stood in the shadows, one arm drawn back as if preparing to launch another stone.
She stuck her head out of the window. “Have you taken leave of your senses?” she whispered fiercely. “What are you doing?”
He grinned up at her, boyish and utterly unrepentant. “I came to talk to you.”
“At this hour?”
“I had a feeling you’d be awake, second-guessing everything. I thought I might spare you the misery of overthinking.”
Her annoyance dissolved into a sigh. Of course he knew. He always knew. “You were right,” she admitted. “I could use someone to talk to.”
“Then come down before I rouse the entire household with my abysmal aim.”
She glanced down at her dressing gown, then turned back into the room. “Give me a moment.”
Evander gave a mockingly courtly bow. “I await you with great impatience.”
Suppressing a smile, Olivia crossed to her wardrobe and pulled out a soft muslin gown—plain, but easy enough to fasten without a maid.
She slipped it on, then paused before the mirror.
Her hair was slightly mussed from restlessness, pinned in a loose chignon with a few stubborn strands framing her face. It would do.
After tugging on her boots, she tiptoed into the corridor and padded silently towards the back stairs. The house was dark and hushed, the creak of the floorboards loud in her ears as she reached the door and slipped outside.
Evander was waiting on the veranda. He smiled as she approached—the smile that always made her feel seen, steady, understood.
“Well?” he asked softly. “How are you faring?”
She folded her arms. “I’m… anxious.”
“That’s perfectly reasonable,” he said, his tone gentle. “Everyone gets nervous before they’re shackled for life.”
She arched an eyebrow. “You hit me with a rock.”
He had the grace to look sheepish. “Yes, well. I needed to get your attention.”
“With terrible aim?”
“But effective,” he said with a rakish smile. “You’re here, aren’t you?”
“You’re incorrigible.”
He gestured towards a nearby bench. “Shall we sit? You can tell me all your doubts, and I shall heroically dispel them.”
She let out a soft laugh and moved to sit down. “Are you absolutely certain this is what you want?”
“Yes,” he replied as he sat next to her.
“You’re doing this for your mother,” she said. “What if you wake one day and resent the obligation?”
“I could never resent you,” he said, his voice firm. “You’re the one giving up everything. You’re the one being whispered about. If anyone should be grateful, it’s me.”
“I’m not sacrificing anything,” she remarked. “This marriage will restore my family’s reputation. For that, I’ll be forever grateful.”
He studied her. “I know how you feel about love…”
She reached for his sleeve, her fingers brushing the fabric. “That was the old me. I don’t feel the same.”
“What changed?”
She looked away. “I thought I loved Lord Harwood. He made me believe it. He even proposed… in secret. No one knew but you.”
Evander’s jaw tightened. “Harwood is a scoundrel.”
“And yet, you were friends.”
“Not willingly. He was more Bryon’s companion than mine. And I ceased speaking to him after what he did to you.”
She met his gaze, moved by the conviction in his voice. “You’ve always been a good friend.”
“I hope to be something more,” he murmured. “Perhaps we’ll fall madly in love, and have a boatload of children.”
“A boatload?” she echoed with a mock gasp. “That’s hardly reasonable.”
“Perhaps not,” he admitted. “But the trying will be… enjoyable.”
Her cheeks turned pink. “Evander…”
“What? You’re blushing?”
“You’re being improper.”
“I’m being honest.” His voice softened. “But your virtue is safe. I won’t rush you. We’ll take things slowly—at your pace.”
Looking down, she said, “We haven’t even kissed.”
“We could rectify that now.”
She hesitated as she brought her gaze back up. “What if it feels… strange? Like kissing my brother?”
“Do you often kiss your brother?”
“Of course not. It’s just an expression.”
“Then allow me to offer you a new one. What if you kiss me, and everything changes? I do tend to have that effect.”
She bit her lip before admitting, “I kissed Lord Harwood once. It was… underwhelming.”
“Excellent,” Evander replied. “That sets the standard very low. I’ve only to clear a small hurdle.”
“You’re not bothered by it?”
He shook his head. “Why should I be? Unless…” His expression sobered. “Do you still love him?”
Her spine straightened. “No. I see now that it was never love. He used me and discarded me.”
Evander reached up, brushing a stray curl behind her ear. “You deserve better than that.”
“I know,” she said softly. “But then I ran off and eloped to Gretna Green—”
He cut her off. “That’s in the past. Let it stay there. Stop punishing yourself for mistakes already paid for.”
She looked at him, her heart aching in a strange, tender way. “You truly believe we could be happy?”
“I know we can,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.
Olivia tilted her head, her brow furrowing softly. “How can you be so certain?”
Evander shifted on the bench, turning to face her more fully. The gravel crunched lightly beneath his boot as he angled himself closer, their knees now just inches apart. The moonlight cast a gentle glow across his features, emphasizing the quiet determination in his expression.
“What is the foundation of any good marriage?” he asked.
She considered the question. “Friendship?”
A small smile curved his lips. “Precisely. And we have that. In abundance.”
She couldn’t argue. They had shared secrets, scraped knees, laughter and heartache, books and biscuits since childhood. If any match could be founded on companionship, surely it was theirs.
He leaned in slightly. “And it certainly doesn’t hurt,” he added, “that we are both ridiculously attractive.”
A laugh caught in her throat, though it never quite escaped.
Her heart fluttered in a way it never had before, not even during her most dramatic moments with Lord Harwood.
She had never been this close to Evander, not like this.
Not with the weight of a kiss hanging between them.
There was an intensity in his gaze that made her pulse race.
She swallowed, her voice caught somewhere between breathlessness and disbelief.
Evander’s eyes flicked to her lips, then back to her eyes. The warmth of his breath brushed her cheek. “May I kiss you?”
“You may,” she whispered.
For a long, suspended moment, they simply stared at one another, the gardens around them utterly still. Then, slowly, Evander closed the gap.
And then, at last, their lips met.
It was soft at first, tentative. A question rather than a declaration.
But in that moment, something shifted within Olivia.
Something warm, unfamiliar, and astonishingly real.
It was unlike her kiss with Lord Harwood, which had been remarkably dull.
This—this was different. There was no rush, no desperation.
Just the warmth of Evander’s mouth against hers, and the feeling of being entirely, irrevocably seen.
When he pulled back, his breath still mingling with hers, he looked at her carefully. “Well?” he asked, his voice rough with emotion.
She gave a small, almost shy smile. “It was definitely not like kissing my brother.”
He let out a breath that sounded suspiciously like a laugh, though his gaze remained on her face. “Thank heavens,” he murmured. “I’ve been waiting my entire life to kiss you.”
“Truly?”
“There was always something about you. I suppose I’ve always known… but I was too much of a coward to admit it.”
“Did it disappoint?” she asked softly, searching his face for any flicker of doubt.
His eyes dropped to her lips again, lingering. “No,” he said, his voice hoarse. “It was better than I ever imagined.”
Olivia felt something inside her tremble. Not in fear, but in anticipation. Her hands twitched in her lap, and she had to resist the sudden urge to throw her arms around his neck and kiss him again. Instead, she sat straighter, drawing a slow breath to steady herself.
“Good,” she replied, managing to keep her tone calm, though her heart was far from it.
A comfortable silence stretched between them. They were engaged. It was a fact. In the eyes of Society, they belonged to one another already. Standing before the vicar was merely a formality. So she could just lean forward and kiss him. It would be so easy to do, but was she brave enough to do so?
“We don’t have to rush anything,” Evander said. “We’ll take it one day at a time. But I meant what I said. I want this marriage. I want you.”
Her breath caught again, but this time it wasn’t anxiety that filled her—it was hope. Trembling and uncertain, perhaps, but alive.