Chapter 8 #2
“No,” Annie agreed. “But it means you’re human. And perhaps you ought to offer yourself a shred of grace for that.”
Olivia closed her eyes, as if willing the world—and her thoughts—to go still.
But even behind the darkness of her eyelids, her mind offered no peace.
The ache in her chest did not abate. Forgiveness was a balm she could freely offer to others, yet when it came to herself, she found it withheld.
Why was that? Why did she so easily excuse the missteps of those she loved, yet punish herself relentlessly for every mistake?
She had survived heartbreak, public ridicule, and shame. And still, she could not let go of the familiar guilt. It wasn’t just the scandal. It was the sense that she had disappointed those who mattered most. Her brother. Her friends. Evander.
Most of all… herself.
Annie rose from the bed. “Rest now, my lady,” she said, her voice full of concern. “The unpacking can wait. Everything else can wait. We’ll talk again later.”
Olivia opened her eyes. “Thank you.”
Annie gave a nod and slipped out, closing the door gently behind her.
Left alone, Olivia moved her head to lie on the pillow. Perhaps rest would help. And perhaps, when she woke, she could take the first step towards forgiving the one person she had always been hardest on: herself.
Evander’s footsteps echoed down the long corridor, each stride tight with tension.
He was about to have the most trying conversation of his life—and certainly the most volatile.
His father was angry with him for marrying Olivia, but he didn’t care.
It was done. Now he needed to ensure that his father treated her with even the barest shred of decency.
Reaching the study, he paused only a moment before entering. The room smelled of ink, leather bindings, and tobacco. The earl sat hunched over a spread of ledgers at his imposing desk, quill scratching across parchment with determined strokes. He didn’t look up.
“You are a fool, Son,” came the biting greeting.
Evander crossed the threshold with a calm born of years of forced composure. “And why is that, Father?”
“Because you weren’t thinking with your head when you married that girl. Olivia is not a suitable match.”
“I disagree,” Evander replied, moving to the high-backed chair across from his father and settling in. “She’s the daughter of a marquess and brings a substantial dowry. Twenty thousand pounds, if you recall.”
The earl finally raised his head, his expression thunderous. “And a reputation that’s been dragged through the mud in every drawing room from Mayfair to Bath. Her presence will taint our name, and our family will become the subject of every dinner party whisper.”
Evander leaned forward. “The scandal will pass. The gossips will find someone new to feed on by next week.”
“You should have posted the banns. Followed proper convention. Given time, I might’ve talked some sense into you.”
Evander scoffed. “That was precisely why we did not. I’ve no interest in delaying my future for your attempts at manipulation.”
The earl’s eyes narrowed. “Why do you insist on being so stubborn? You have a duty to this family—”
“I am well aware of my duty,” Evander cut in, his tone sharpening. “And I’ve fulfilled it. I married.”
The earl’s voice rose. “To the wrong woman! I made promises to Lady Jemima’s family—”
“Promises you made. Not I,” Evander said firmly. “I owe Lady Jemima nothing.”
For a moment, his father didn’t say anything, his mouth tightening with unspoken fury. Then he gave a derisive snort. “Well, what’s done is done. You’ll live with the consequences.”
“I expect nothing less.”
The earl leaned back and waved his hand towards the ledgers. “Have you had a chance to review the figures for the indigo plantations?”
Evander stiffened. “As a matter of fact, yes. I was approached outside our townhouse yesterday. A man threatened me at knifepoint. He told me to stay out of India. Said I should sell our Neel Kothi.”
His father blinked in irritation, as if swatting away an inconvenient fly. “I wouldn’t put much stock in idle threats.”
Evander’s brow arched. “That is easy for you to say since a knife wasn’t pointed at you,” he said. “What is a Neel Kothi?”
The earl let out an exasperated sigh. “A Neel Kothi is a term for a factory that processes the indigo dye. You would know that if you’d spent any time learning about our affairs overseas.”
Evander stared at him. “What exactly have you gotten us involved in?”
“A profitable venture,” the earl replied tersely. “One that will bring us a fortune if properly governed. Stop asking foolish questions and start acting like the heir you now are.”
The moment hung thick with unspoken accusations. Then the earl dipped his head and resumed his calculations, as though the conversation were already finished.
Evander rose slowly. “You will treat Olivia with respect, Father. She is your daughter-in-law now.”
“Respect is to be earned, not given freely,” the earl muttered, not bothering to look up.
Evander stepped forward, placing both palms on the desk and leaning in. His voice was stern. “I will tolerate many things from you. Insults. Condescension. Even your schemes. But I will not allow you to treat my wife with anything less than courtesy.”
The earl finally looked up, his eyes blazing. “You dare make demands in my house?”
Evander’s lips curved into a cold smile. “Yes, I would, especially when it pertains to Olivia.”
A long silence passed before the earl’s expression turned calculating. “You’d do well to remember your place. You are my heir.”
“And you’d do well to remember,” Evander said, standing tall, “that the spare has become the heir—and I have nothing left to lose.”
Without waiting for a reply, he turned on his heel and strode from the study, leaving his father fuming behind him.
As he ascended the stairs, he spotted Olivia at the landing. She stood with one hand on the banister, worry etched in every delicate feature.
“There you are,” she said, relief washing over her face.
“Here I am,” he replied, reaching her side.
Olivia leaned in close, her voice touched with playfulness. “I think it would be wise if you wore a bell around your neck so I could always find you.”
He chuckled. “Or you could ask Gillingham. He always knows my whereabouts.”
She tilted her head as though considering it. “That could work as well.”
“How was your nap?”
“It was… restful,” she said, though her eyes studied him carefully.
He smirked. “That is the general purpose of a nap.”
Her brow furrowed. “Something troubles you. You’re tense.”
“Observant, as always.” He sighed, knowing it would be best to tell her the truth and be done with it. “I just spoke with my father.”
“I take it the conversation did not go well.”
He shook his head. “No. But then, they never do. He’s furious that we married.”
“I’m sorry.”
He met her gaze. “Don’t be. I forced your hand in marrying me.”
Her fingers brushed his sleeve in a comforting gesture. “And in the midst of everything else, you’re still mourning your brother.”
The truth of her words struck deep. He looked away, throat tight. “Bryon was always the favored one. The golden son. I spent most of my life in his shadow, resenting him, if I’m honest. My father barely acknowledged me. When he did, it was only to criticize.”
He took a breath and continued. “I thought that was just how fathers were… until I met yours. Lord Wilton treated me kindly, like I mattered, even though I was only the second son of an earl. It made me realize the kind of man I wanted to become.”
She stepped closer. “My father thought highly of you.”
Tears pricked his eyes, and he blinked them away. “You were lucky to have him.”
“I was,” she said, her voice tender. “He was the best of men.”
“I grieved his passing more than I ever expected to,” Evander admitted.
They stood close now, her hand still resting on his arm. It grounded him. Anchored him.
“I shouldn’t complain,” he murmured.
“You’re not,” Olivia responded. “And even if you were, you may always complain to me.”
He smiled faintly. “You’ve always been there for me—even when my family was not.”
“You’re an easy person to be kind to,” she said with a small smile. “Do you remember what we used to call your brother?”
A genuine laugh escaped him. “Viscount Weirdmere.”
“He absolutely loathed it.”
“He did. Which made it all the more enjoyable.”
Her smile faded slightly. “Have you made arrangements for the funeral?”
“It’s to be held tomorrow,” Evander said. “But I don’t expect you to attend. It isn’t customary.”
“I’d like to be there. For you.”
His lips twitched. “My father will despise that. He believes women are too emotional for funerals.”
“I don’t have to come—”
“No, you misunderstood me,” he said quickly, cutting her off. “I want you to come.”
She nodded. “Then I will.”
His heart warmed. “Have I told you how happy I am that I married you?”
“Well,” she replied lightly, “give it time. You might come to regret it.”
Something in her tone gave him pause. There was strain beneath the jest.
Leaning closer, he asked, “Why would I ever regret marrying you?”
She dropped her gaze, but not before he caught the flicker of pain in her eyes. “You saved me, Evander. But what did you get in return?”
“I got you,” he said firmly. “You forget that it was my idea to marry. For my mother’s sake, yes, but also for my own.”
She tried to protest, but he pressed on.
“This marriage benefited us both. And I will never regret it. Because I married my best friend.”
Her eyes shimmered with emotion. “I hope you’re certain of that. Because you’re stuck with me.”
He grinned and offered his arm. “Good. Shall we go give my mother the happy news? I imagine she will be overjoyed.”
Taking his arm, they walked the short distance to his mother’s chamber. He lifted his hand to knock, then stopped.
“What’s wrong?” Olivia asked.