Chapter 8
Olivia sat across from Evander in the softly rocking coach, her gloved hands tightly clasped in her lap.
Though she tried to keep her expression serene, a quiet storm of nerves churned within her.
There was no reason to feel this unsettled, since Evander was her dearest friend, a man she trusted above all others.
He had rescued her from disgrace and offered her protection under his name.
She ought to feel nothing but gratitude.
And yet, beneath the surface of that gratitude lay an uncomfortable truth: she had ensnared him in a marriage born not of love, but necessity. Would he come to regret it? Would he, in time, come to resent her?
Evander’s voice broke the quiet. “You are unusually quiet,” he observed.
“I am,” she admitted, without lifting her gaze from her lap.
Rather than press her, he shifted from his seat across from her and settled beside her on the padded bench. His nearness offered unexpected comfort.
“You need not fear for the future,” he said. “I am here. And I always will be.”
The words, simple as they were, provided her with immense comfort. She turned her head to meet his gaze, her lips lifting into a faint smile. “And your father? How do you think he’ll respond to the news of our marriage?”
Evander winced. “With thunder, no doubt. But I will not allow him to be cruel to you.”
She arched a brow. “You forget I know your father well. He blusters, yes, but his bark is far worse than his bite. I can handle him.”
“Perhaps,” he said, his jaw tightening. “But now you are my wife, and no one—least of all him—shall speak to you with anything less than respect.”
She drew in a breath, startled anew by the sound of the word. Wife. “I am your wife,” she echoed, more to herself than to him.
“That you are,” he said with a crooked grin. “Don’t tell me you’ve already forgotten?”
She laughed. “No. I remember the ceremony well enough. But it feels… strange. As if I have stepped into someone else’s life.”
“Not just anyone,” he teased. “You are now the wife of the handsomest man in London.”
She nudged him playfully with her shoulder. “You are certainly the cockiest.”
He gave a theatrical sigh. “But can you blame me? Handsomeness of this caliber is a burden few can bear.”
His banter worked its magic, as it always had. The tension in her shoulders eased, and for the first time since leaving the chapel, Olivia felt herself begin to breathe again.
“I will need to acquire some mourning clothes to grieve Bryon’s passing properly,” she remarked.
Evander shook his head. “We are newlyweds. That is cause for celebration, not a time for mourning. I would prefer if you wouldn’t wear black.”
“Are you quite sure?”
“I am.”
The coach slowed, wheels crunching on gravel. Outside the window loomed a grand stone townhouse, its columns proud and stately in the pale afternoon light. Evander opened the door and stepped out, turning to offer his hand.
Once her boots touched the ground, he tucked her hand into the crook of his arm with familiar ease, guiding her towards the front steps.
But with each step closer to the door, Olivia’s breath quickened.
The weight of what lay ahead settled on her chest. This was no longer a visit—it was her home now. Her future.
Evander must have sensed her hesitation because he gave her hand a gentle pat. “Just breathe,” he murmured.
She obeyed, drawing in a deep breath. This was her choice. Her decision. Her marriage.
The door opened and Gillingham bowed politely. “My lord. Lady Olivia.”
Evander led her into the entry hall as he revealed, “Lady Olivia and I are now married. She is to be addressed as Lady Westmere.”
If Gillingham was surprised, he masked it with professional grace. “Yes, my lord.” He turned to Olivia with a respectful nod. “My lady, welcome home.”
Home.
The word clanged strangely in her mind. This was her home. Now, and forever.
But before she could reply, a voice boomed from the corridor beyond. “You married her!?”
Lord Everwyck, red-faced and formidable, stormed into view. Olivia dipped into a graceful curtsy. “Good afternoon, my lord.”
He ignored her entirely, rounding on his son. “What in the blazes were you thinking?”
Evander held his ground. “This should not come as a surprise. You knew I intended to offer for her.”
“Yes, but I thought I had time to dissuade you!” his father roared. “To make you see sense!”
Evander’s expression hardened. “Which is why I secured a special license. I wanted to be married before Mother…” He faltered slightly. “Before she passes.”
The mention of Lady Everwyck softened the elder man’s face for a fleeting moment, but it was gone as swiftly as it appeared.
“It was a mistake,” the earl said tightly.
“I disagree,” Evander replied. “Now, shall we not properly welcome your new daughter-in-law?”
Lord Everwyck’s eyes snapped to Olivia. “I am well acquainted with her.”
“Excellent,” Evander said with a thin smile. “That will spare us formalities. I’ll take my wife to her chambers now.”
But his father wasn’t finished. His eyes narrowed on Olivia. “I trust you won’t ruin our family’s reputation as easily as you did your own.”
The insult struck like a slap, but Olivia refused to let it show. Her spine straightened, her chin lifting.
Evander interjected, “That is enough, Father. You will speak to my wife with respect.”
Lord Everwyck gave a derisive snort. “You’re both fools. You’ll regret this hasty marriage. Mark my words.”
With that, he turned on his heel and stormed out of the entryway, his footsteps echoing down the corridor.
Evander turned to her, his expression laced with apology. “I’m sorry.”
Olivia shook her head. “Don’t be. Frankly, it went far better than I anticipated.”
He gave a dry chuckle. “I suppose it bodes well for me that your expectations are so blessedly low.”
Together, they ascended the sweeping staircase, Olivia’s eyes lingering on the polished balustrade, the gilded sconces, and the thick carpet beneath their feet. At the end of the corridor, Evander paused before a carved wooden door and pushed it open.
She stepped inside and drew a breath. The room was warm and elegant. A four-poster bed draped in ivory silks, a velvet settee before the hearth, and lavender curtains framing tall windows. It was lovely. Far lovelier than anything she’d ever expected.
Evander leaned against the doorframe. “Does it meet with your approval?”
She turned to him, a smile touching her lips. “It is more than I expected.”
He hesitated. “Would you like to rest before seeing my mother? I recall how fond you are of naps.”
“I do love naps. But I can speak with her now, if you prefer.”
“There’s time,” he said. “Take a moment for yourself. You’ve earned it.”
Crossing to the bed, Olivia trailed her fingers over the silk coverlet. “Then I believe I shall close my eyes for a bit.”
“As you wish,” Evander said. “You’re my wife now. You may have anything you like.”
Wife.
There it was again—that word. She would have to grow used to hearing it. Saying it. Living it.
A yawn escaped her lips, and she lifted a gloved hand to stifle it. “I suppose I am a bit more tired than I thought,” she murmured, offering Evander an apologetic smile.
His gaze was warm with understanding. “Then rest, Olivia,” he encouraged. “We’ve had quite the day.” With a soft click, he closed the door behind him, leaving her alone in the stillness of her new bedchamber.
She stood motionless for a moment, staring at the door. The silence pressed in around her, a reminder that this was her new life now. You did the right thing, she told herself. If she repeated it often enough, perhaps she would begin to believe it.
She sank onto the edge of the mattress, the silk coverlet cool beneath her palms. She reached to remove her gloves, but a soft knock halted her movements.
“Enter,” she ordered, sitting up straighter.
The door opened and in stepped Annie, her petite lady’s maid, balancing two hat boxes in her arms. Wisps of blonde hair framed her round, familiar face.
“Good afternoon, my lady,” Annie said cheerfully as she nudged the door closed with her foot.
A genuine smile broke across Olivia’s face. “Annie! I’m glad to see a friendly face.”
“I thought I’d bring these up first,” Annie said, setting the boxes down with care. “Shall I start unpacking the rest of your things?”
“Not yet,” Olivia replied. “I was planning to take a nap first.”
Annie tilted her head. “And how are you faring, truly?”
Olivia offered a slight shrug. “I am… Evander’s wife.”
“I’m aware,” Annie replied. “But that was what you wanted, was it not?”
“It was,” Olivia admitted, smoothing the folds of her gown. “Still is.”
Annie crossed the room and perched beside her on the edge of the bed, her expression probing. “Then what’s troubling you?”
With a weary sigh, Olivia leaned back and let herself fall against the mattress, eyes drifting to the carved canopy overhead. “It’s just… I don’t know the first thing about being a wife.”
Annie gave a soft laugh. “I don’t think anyone does at first. I suspect it’s something you figure out along the way.”
“But ours is a marriage of convenience,” Olivia said. “What if Evander regrets it? What if, one day, he resents me?”
The light humor drained from Annie’s expression. “And what if you two end up deliriously happy?”
Olivia turned her head to look at her maid. “I’m being serious.”
“So am I,” Annie replied. “You’ve endured so much. Surely happiness isn’t out of reach.”
“But none of it would have happened if I’d been wiser. The scandal, the humiliation… it was all my doing.”
“You were tricked—”
“I should have known better,” Olivia interrupted, the words sharper than intended. “I let myself believe I could escape the consequences. I was a fool.”
Annie appeared unbothered by the outburst. “You were heartbroken, my lady. After what Lord Harwood did… anyone would’ve lost their footing.”
“That doesn’t excuse it.”