Chapter 9
Olivia stood before the looking glass in her bedchamber, her gaze fixed on her own reflection as though trying to reconcile the woman she saw with the one she had always known.
The gown she wore—a delicate shade of blue that complemented her fair complexion—fit her perfectly, but it was not the gown that made her appear different.
It was the simple gold band now on her finger.
It was the knowledge that she would be descending the stairs as a viscountess.
She didn’t feel any different. And yet… everything had changed.
The memory of the kiss she had shared with Evander earlier drifted into her thoughts—unexpected, tender, and more stirring than she cared to admit.
It had awakened something deep within her, something new and uncertain.
But this was not the time to dwell on it, not when the responsibilities of her new role loomed large and unfamiliar.
“Will there be anything else, my lady?” Annie’s voice broke gently into her reverie.
Olivia gave a small shake of her head and smoothed down the folds of her gown. “No, Annie. That will be all. Thank you.”
Before Annie could retreat, a knock sounded at the door. She turned to answer it, revealing Evander standing just beyond the threshold.
He did not step inside, but his gaze traveled over Olivia with unhurried appreciation. “You look beautiful,” he said, a smile spreading across his face.
Olivia couldn’t help but return it. “And you look rather handsome yourself.”
He struck a playful pose. “I’m delighted you noticed. I fear that my presence can be rather distracting. I feel it is only fair to issue a warning.”
Olivia approached him, a teasing lilt in her voice. “Your cockiness truly knows no bounds.”
“Careful, Wife,” he teased, “one more smile from me, and you shall be entirely undone.”
She stopped just before him, lifting her brows in feigned concern. “One more smile, and I shall require smelling salts—not from swooning, but from the exertion of keeping from laughing.”
Clutching his chest in mock agony, he replied, “You wound me.”
“Nonsense,” she said, arching a brow. “Your ego is so well-padded, it likely didn’t feel a thing.”
He chuckled, the sound low and warm. “You have an unerring talent for humbling a man.”
“And that,” she said with a soft laugh, “is the duty of every devoted wife.”
He extended his arm with a flourish. “In that case, shall I have the honor of escorting you to dinner?”
She slipped her hand into the crook of his elbow. “I would be delighted.”
As they strolled arm-in-arm down the corridor, he asked, “How are you adjusting to married life?”
She gave a small shrug. “Considering I’ve only been married since this morning, I daresay I’m managing quite well.”
“Have you had a chance to speak with our housekeeper, Mrs. Whitehall?”
“Not yet,” she admitted. “I intend to do so tomorrow.”
Evander glanced at her with quiet approval. “You are mistress of the house now, with my mother confined to her rooms.”
“I know,” Olivia said softly. “But I don’t wish to overstep or make her feel displaced.”
“I rather think she’ll be relieved,” he replied. “She needs rest, and I trust she’ll find comfort in knowing the household is in capable hands.”
Olivia nodded, touched by his confidence in her. “I shall do my best.”
As they reached the stairwell, Evander added, “I may have taken the liberty of writing to your mother to inquire after your favorite dishes.”
“You did?”
He puffed out his chest with exaggerated pride. “Indeed. It is the duty of every thoughtful husband to impress his new bride at dinner. I’m hoping such efforts might earn me another kiss.”
Heat crept up her neck, but she kept her voice even. “You will have to try harder than that.”
“Then what if I invited your family to join us this evening?”
Olivia stopped at the base of the stairs and turned to face him, eyes wide with hope. “Did you truly?”
“I did,” he said simply.
A bright smile broke across her face. “Thank you. I didn’t get the chance to properly say goodbye earlier.”
“I suspected as much,” he replied.
“You are very thoughtful.”
Before he could respond, a familiar voice called from the drawing room. “Olivia!”
She turned to see Dosia standing in the doorway, her expression bright.
“Dosia!” Olivia greeted with delight as they crossed the room and embraced.
Richard followed, lounging with his usual self-assurance. “It’s only been a few hours since we last saw her,” he drawled.
Dosia shot him a look over her shoulder. “Yes, but now she’s moved out, and I miss her dreadfully.”
Richard stepped to Dosia’s side. “I am more than willing to keep you company, my dear,” he said, waggling his eyebrows.
Olivia rolled her eyes with a smile. “I do not miss that.”
Richard grinned. “How are you faring in your new role?”
“I’m adjusting,” Olivia admitted.
Their mother stepped forward, her posture proud but warm. “You’ll do splendidly, Olivia. I’ve no doubt.”
“Thank you, Mother.” Olivia stepped forward to embrace her. “How are you bearing up, surrounded by these two lovers?”
Her mother’s lips twitched with amusement. “It’s not all bad.” Then she turned to Evander. “Thank you for inviting us this evening. It was a thoughtful gesture.”
“We had no wedding breakfast,” Evander said, “so I thought this might serve as a small celebration.”
“Will your father be joining us?” Olivia asked.
Evander shook his head. “He’s dining at his club.”
Olivia gave a slow nod. “Well, I won’t pretend I’ll miss his presence, but I suppose I ought to find some way to win him over.”
“I wish you all the luck in the world,” Evander said dryly.
Just then, the butler stepped forward and announced, “Dinner is served.”
Evander offered his arm once more. “Shall we, Lady Westmere?”
They made their way into the grand dining room in silence. Candlelight flickered from the gleaming silver sconces along the paneled walls, casting a warm glow across the long, polished mahogany table.
Evander paused at Olivia’s chair, the one set at the far end of the table, and pulled it out with a courtly gesture. She murmured her thanks and lowered herself gracefully into the seat. Once she was settled, he crossed to the opposite end and took his place.
Dosia broke the silence as a footman poured wine into her glass. “So, when do the newlyweds plan to embark on a wedding tour?”
Olivia reached for her own glass but hesitated as she lifted it. “I suppose that won’t be until after…” Her voice faltered, her eyes shifting to Evander.
“Until my mother dies,” he replied.
A hush fell over the room. Dosia’s expression crumpled. “Oh, I’m terribly sorry. I hadn’t meant to reopen a wound.”
Olivia offered a quick smile, trying to soothe her sister-in-law’s guilt. “It’s quite all right. We understand you meant no harm. We simply wish to spend as much time as we can with Lady Everwyck while we still have the opportunity.”
The footmen moved with silent efficiency, placing bowls of soup before each guest.
After a few moments of comfortable silence, Richard dabbed his mouth with his napkin and turned to Evander. “Have you resigned from your fellowship yet?”
Evander gave a small nod. “I did.”
Though his voice was composed, Olivia could hear the strain beneath it, and her heart ached for him. She knew how much it had cost him—the years of study, the prestige, the sense of purpose. All surrendered in the name of duty.
“It’s for the best,” he continued, though the tightness in his tone betrayed him. “I am heir now, and it’s time I turn my attention to the family’s holdings and responsibilities.”
“Sounds like you could do with hitting something,” Richard said lightly. “You’re welcome to join me at my boxing club.”
“I just might take you up on that.” Evander set down his spoon, then added almost absently, “What do you know of indigo plantations?”
Richard paused, his brow furrowing. He reached for his wine glass, took a sip, and then replied, “Quite a bit, actually. They’re immensely profitable—but brutal. Those who own them can grow rich in just a few seasons, but the land is often ruined after a few years of cultivation.”
Evander frowned. “That’s why Bryon went to India with Lord Harwood. My father sent him to oversee our plantations.”
Richard grew thoughtful. “Lord Harwood has boasted often enough about his ventures in India. He owned several such plantations and claimed to be making a fortune.” He lowered his voice.
“But there’s a growing number of groups here in London—reformers, mostly—who are lobbying Parliament to regulate or even prohibit the sale of such estates to foreigners. ”
“Why?” Evander asked.
Richard’s expression turned grave. “Because of the peasants who live there. Many of them are coerced into working for the British planters. They’re forced to grow indigo on land they once used to feed their families.
The crop is incredibly hard on the soil and it strips the land of nutrients, leaving it barren. ”
Olivia, who had been listening quietly, set her spoon down with a soft clink. “That’s horrible. But what happens if they refuse?”
Richard sighed. “Then they’re punished. Beaten. Starved. In some cases… worse. There are accounts of entire villages being decimated for resisting the Nabobs.”
“Nabobs?” she asked.
“It’s a term used for British men who go to India and return with vast fortunes, often made through dubious means. It’s not a flattering title.”
Olivia turned to Evander, her brow drawn with concern. “How can your father support such cruelty?”
Evander’s face was unreadable for a moment, then he exhaled slowly. “Because he cares only for what fills the family’s coffers. Not the lives that are ruined in the process.”
Richard added, “Indigo is in high demand here. It is used in dyeing silks, linens, woolens, and military uniforms. But it’s a dangerous business, especially for those with a conscience.”
“What are you going to do?” Olivia asked, her gaze fixed on her husband’s face.