Chapter 7 #2
And for the first time in days, she allowed herself to believe that happiness might not be a foolish dream, after all.
Evander rose and offered his hand. “You should get some rest. We have a big day tomorrow.”
She slipped her hand in his and allowed him to assist her in rising. “Thank you for coming here tonight.”
“It is what I do.”
Evander descended the sweeping staircase of his townhouse, his hand trailing along the polished banister, the weight of the day pressing against his chest—not as a burden, but as something startlingly bright and heavy with promise.
Today, he would marry Olivia. The woman he had loved for years in silence, the woman who had agreed to be his bride.
But affection was not love—at least, not yet—and he was fully aware that her heart was not his. Not entirely.
But he would win it. In time.
As he stepped into the entry hall, the butler was already waiting, composed and solemn as ever.
“The coach has been brought around, my lord,” the man announced with a slight bow.
“Thank you, Gillingham,” Evander replied with a brisk nod.
He had told no one of his true intentions.
There had been no formal announcement, no family gathering, no letters sent.
It was safer this way—for now. If his father were to discover he was marrying Olivia this very day, there would be fury, not celebration.
It was better to tell him after the fact and deal with the consequences then.
He stepped through the open door onto the front steps, only to find a familiar figure pacing beside the coach, arms crossed and expression tight with disapproval.
Evander halted mid-step. “Alcott? What are you doing here?”
Lord Alcott turned to face him, his mouth already set in a grim line. “I came to talk you out of this madness.”
“And what madness might that be?”
“You can’t marry Lady Olivia,” Alcott declared.
Evander stared at him. “How do you even know about the wedding?”
“Wilton told me. We were boxing this morning,” Alcott replied. “He was positively gleeful.”
“And you are… not.”
“I cannot stand idly by while another friend willingly throws himself into the parson’s mousetrap,” Alcott said, stepping closer. “Think of your future, Evander.”
“I am thinking of it.”
Alcott exhaled. “Then why rush? Why now?”
Evander hesitated, then answered with quiet certainty. “Because my mother wishes to see me settled before she… before it is too late. And because I love Olivia.”
Alcott raised both brows. “You love her?”
Saying it aloud surprised even him with its clarity. “I do.”
His friend studied him for a long moment, then nodded. “Then I’ll come with you. I’ll stand beside you at the altar.”
Nothing surprised him more. “You will?”
Alcott glanced at the townhouse behind them. “I take it your family is unaware?”
“You would be correct,” he said. “I would have told my mother, but her lady’s maid said she had a difficult night and was not to be disturbed.”
Alcott gestured to the open coach door. “Best we leave now, before I regain my senses.”
With a quiet chuckle, Evander stepped into the coach, settling on one side as Alcott joined him across the way.
“I still don’t like this,” Alcott muttered. “I thought we would stand together and refuse to be shackled to wives.”
Evander smiled. “I’ve changed my mind. If I must be shackled, I’d rather it be to Olivia.”
Alcott gave him a long look. “I knew you had a soft spot for her. I didn’t realize she returned your affections.”
He winced. “She agreed to marry me for her reputation’s sake, not out of love.”
“She doesn’t love you?” Alcott asked, brows drawn.
“Not yet,” Evander admitted, “but I have a plan.”
Alcott folded his arms. “Does this plan involve bribery or hypnotism?”
Evander smirked. “Neither. Just persistence. I’ll show her, day by day, that I am the man for her. Eventually, she’ll see it, too.”
Alcott gave a low whistle. “That is risky.”
“Perhaps. But necessary.”
After a pause, Alcott added, “Whatever happens, I’m here. You have my support.”
Evander looked at him, surprised by the sincerity. “That means more than I can say.”
They fell into a companionable silence until Alcott asked, “Are you taking her on a wedding tour?”
“In time,” Evander said. “But for now, I want to remain close. I’m not certain how much longer my mother has.”
The humor faded from Alcott’s expression. “I’m sorry, truly.”
Before Evander could reply, the coach slowed, then came to a full stop before the chapel. Without waiting for the footman, he pushed open the door and leapt down, taking the steps two at a time, propelled by a mix of nerves and anticipation.
But when he entered the chapel, he found it empty.
His heart stilled.
Where was she?
He pulled out his pocket watch. He wasn’t early, nor late. No, he was perfectly on time. Panic surged in his chest. Had she changed her mind?
A voice broke through his spiraling thoughts.
“She’ll come,” Alcott said calmly, appearing at his side.
Evander swallowed. “And if she doesn’t?”
“Then you recover and move on.”
He turned towards his friend. “You make it sound simple. I practically begged the Archbishop of Canterbury for a special license.”
Alcott was about to respond when the door opened with a gentle creak.
And there she was.
Olivia stood in the doorway, bathed in soft light, wearing a simple pink gown embroidered with delicate white flowers. Her golden hair was swept into an elegant coiffure, two soft curls framing her face. But it was her expression that undid him—serene, composed, and utterly radiant.
And in that moment, he knew, without a doubt, that Olivia was the best thing that had ever happened to him.
Alcott bumped his shoulder. “You’re staring.”
He didn’t care.
Crossing the nave in long strides, Evander stopped before her. “You came.”
She smiled up at him. “I told you I would.”
“I know,” he said, his voice thick. “But Alcott had his doubts.”
“Not true,” came the retort from behind him. “I merely encouraged him to run while he still had the chance.”
Olivia tilted her head. “Why would you run?”
“Alcott has a well-documented aversion to matrimony,” Evander said dryly.
“Ah,” she said. “That explains everything.”
The chapel door opened once more, and in walked Wilton, Dosia, and the Dowager Lady Wilton. Wilton spread his arms dramatically.
“Shall we make this wedding official?”
Olivia rolled her eyes. “Please ignore my brother. He’s far too excited.”
“We all are,” the dowager interjected.
As they stood near the chapel’s entrance, Olivia cast a glance over her shoulder. “Is no one from your family here?”
Evander inhaled through his nose, not quite able to suppress the flicker of tension in his brow. “My father is… not enthusiastic about our union, to put it mildly. But my mother—” He gave a faint, wistful smile. “My mother will be overjoyed once she hears.”
Understanding flashed in Olivia’s gaze. “Shall we get married, then?”
He offered his arm. “I am ready, if you are.”
Before she could respond, a tall, slightly stooped man in worn clerical robes approached them, spectacles perched on the edge of his nose. “Good morning,” he said, his voice crisp but warm. “I am Reverend Appleton, vicar of this parish. I understand there is to be a wedding?”
Evander nodded and reached into his jacket pocket, retrieving the neatly folded paper. “We have obtained a special license,” he said, extending it.
The vicar adjusted his spectacles and read it over with a slight nod. “Very well. Everything appears to be in order. If you’ll come stand with me at the front.”
As they moved up the aisle together, Olivia’s gloved hand rested lightly on his arm, but Evander could feel the tension radiating from her posture. Her back was stiff and her steps measured. He glanced sideways at her, heart clenching.
Was he asking too much? Was he being selfish?
Abruptly, he slowed to a stop, drawing her to a halt with him. Turning to face her, he whispered, “You don’t have to marry me, Olivia. Not if your heart isn’t in it.”
Her eyes met his with surprise, a flicker of uncertainty passing through them. “I told you I would.”
“You did,” he said. “But I want you to be happy. That is all I’ve ever wanted.”
She bit her bottom lip. “Marrying you is the sensible thing to do.”
His brow lifted slightly. “Since when have you been sensible?”
That drew a soft laugh from her, easing some of the strain from her features. “Fair point. I suppose it’s nerves. You’re the best man I know.”
From behind them, Wilton gave a theatrical cough. “Then you clearly haven’t met very many men.”
Olivia didn’t even look back. “My mother insisted that Richard attend,” she said lightly, ignoring her brother’s teasing tone.
Before Evander could reply, the vicar asked, “Is there a problem?”
Olivia turned back to him, eyes shining. “No. No problem at all.” She looked at Evander and smiled, the kind of smile that steadied him. “I think today is a fine day to be married, don’t you?”
He leaned forward and pressed a kiss to her cheek, his voice thick with emotion. “I do.”
They walked the final distance to the front of the chapel together.
“Will the witnesses step forward?” Reverend Appleton called.
Wilton and Alcott moved forward, taking their places beside Evander. Wilton looked proud, while Alcott offered a resigned, good-natured shrug, though his expression was far softer than usual.
Evander barely registered the vicar’s words. His mind and heart were consumed by the vision beside him—Olivia.
She was really going to be his wife.
They would face Society together. They would weather the awkwardness, the whispers, the doubts, and build something new. Something theirs.
“Evander?” Olivia’s voice broke through his thoughts.
He blinked. “Yes?”
“The vicar asked you a question.”
“Oh.” He looked towards Reverend Appleton, flustered. “I beg your pardon. Would you repeat it?”
The vicar did not seem particularly amused.
“Evander Addington, Viscount Westmere, wilt thou have this Woman to thy wedded Wife, to live together after God’s ordinance in the holy estate of Matrimony?
Wilt thou love her, comfort her, honor, and keep her in sickness and in health; and, forsaking all other, keep thee only unto her, so long as ye both shall live? ”
“I will,” Evander said quickly, his voice certain and full of conviction.
The vicar turned to Olivia. “Lady Olivia Kendall, wilt thou have this Man to thy wedded Husband, to live together after God’s ordinance in the holy estate of Matrimony?
Wilt thou obey him, and serve him, love, honor, and keep him in sickness and in health; and, forsaking all other, keep thee only unto him, so long as ye both shall live? ”
“I will,” she responded.
A wide smile broke across Evander’s face, and it stayed there as the vicar pronounced the final words of the ceremony. It wasn’t until the last line had been spoken that he leaned forward slightly and asked, “May I kiss the bride now?”
Reverend Appleton gave a tolerant nod. “It is not officially part of the ceremony, but… yes, you may.”
Without delay, Evander cupped Olivia’s cheek and pressed his lips to hers. It was not a passionate kiss, but one full of promise—warm and reverent, like a seal upon a vow spoken from the heart.
As he pulled back from the kiss, he whispered, “Thank you… for marrying me.”
“Well, I had nothing else to do today,” she replied with a mischievous look in her eyes.
He chuckled, the sound echoing faintly in the quiet chapel. There was something so Olivia in her irreverent reply, and he loved her all the more for it. In that moment, joy surged through him, deeper than anything he had ever known.
He had no idea what the coming days would bring—the whispers from Society, the strain of adjusting to married life, or the weight of trying to win her heart fully—but none of it seemed daunting. Not with her by his side.