Chapter 12
The following morning, Olivia slipped quietly from her bedchamber, her slippers making scarcely a sound upon the carpet as she made her way down the corridor. She hoped to pay a visit to Lady Everwyck before breakfast to ensure she was well.
As she neared the door to Lady Everwyck’s chambers, she slowed. The door stood slightly ajar, the soft creak revealing a glimpse of the room within. Curiosity getting the better of her, Olivia leaned in and peered through the gap.
Lady Everwyck lay propped up against a bank of pillows, her face pale and drawn with fatigue.
Seated at her bedside was Lord Everwyck, his fingers gently entwined with hers.
Their heads were bowed together as they spoke in hushed tones, his voice almost inaudible over the ticking of the longcase clock in the corner.
But what struck Olivia most—what nearly stole the breath from her lungs—was the sight of tears tracking down the earl’s stern face.
Tears. From Lord Everwyck.
She was stunned. She had never once imagined him capable of such emotion. He had always seemed so rigid, so impervious to sentiment. Yet here he was, utterly undone at his wife’s bedside, pressing his lips to her forehead with a reverence that made Olivia’s throat tighten.
He rose suddenly, brushing at his face with a trembling hand and turning towards the door.
Panic gripped her. She had no wish to be caught spying on such an intimate moment. With scarcely a thought, she turned on her heel and opened the nearest door, slipping inside.
Only once the door had clicked shut behind her did she realize her error.
Evander stood before the looking glass, his hands adjusting the folds of his cravat. He caught sight of her in the mirror, and a slow smile spread across his face.
“Livy?” he asked, one brow arching in bemusement.
She raised a finger to her lips. “Shhh.”
She moved to the door and cautiously cracked it open, peering down the corridor. Was Lord Everwyck still inside, or had he already passed by? The thought of facing him now made her stomach twist.
Evander came to stand behind her, his breath tickling her ear. “What mischief are you about?”
She turned her head slightly, their faces now mere inches apart. The nearness made her pulse quicken, memory rushing in—the last time they’d stood this close, they had kissed.
Her gaze dropped, quite against her will, to his mouth.
Could she?
Would she?
The scent of him—spiced orange, cedar, something warm and masculine—wrapped around her like a memory. She shouldn’t be here. Not like this. Not alone with him in his bedchamber.
And yet… they were married.
A flurry of emotions tangled in her chest, but before she could act—or even decide what she wished—Evander took a small step back.
“I must ask,” he said with a teasing glint in his eyes, “are you here to seduce me?”
Her eyes widened. “Heavens, no!”
“That is a shame,” he said lightly. “You would find I am very seducible.”
Her cheeks burned. “You shouldn’t say such things.”
“Why not? We are husband and wife. Surely it’s permissible to engage in the noble art of conjugal flirtation. Or, as I prefer to call it—the dance of naked bodies.”
“No one says that,” she muttered.
“It will catch on,” he said confidently. “Give it time.”
She gave him a withering look. “You are enjoying this far too much.”
“I am, my Kicksy-Wicksy,” he admitted with a grin. He stepped closer. “After all, you are the one who crept into my bedchamber uninvited. What was I to think?”
“That I was hiding,” she replied.
“From me?” he asked, mock-offended.
“No,” she said with a sigh. “From your father.”
Evander blinked. “My father?”
She nodded, tucking a stray curl behind her ear. “I saw him in your mother’s room. He was holding her hand… and crying.”
Evander’s brows shot up. “Crying? Are you sure?”
“Yes, I saw the tears and I panicked. I didn’t want to be caught eavesdropping, so I fled into the nearest door. Unfortunately, that door was yours.”
He crossed his arms slowly, digesting her words. “I confess, I’m not sure which is more shocking—my father’s emotional display, or your daring escape into my chambers.”
“He looked… human,” Olivia said softly.
“Well, that’s a relief,” Evander replied. “I had long suspected he was made of stone.”
She gave a quiet laugh.
“Did he see you?” he asked.
“No. I was very stealthy. Like a ninja.”
“A ninja who stomps everywhere she goes?” he teased.
“I do not stomp.”
“You do. But it’s endearing.”
She narrowed her eyes. “Aren’t you supposed to be charming?”
“That depends. Will this conversation end in a kiss?”
“It will not.”
He sighed. “Then, no kisses, no charm.”
“You are impossible,” she said, reaching for the door.
“You married me,” he reminded her smugly.
Peeking into the corridor, she gave a small nod. “It’s safe. Come along.”
Evander followed her out and pulled the door shut behind them. “You know, as your husband, I am legally entitled to be alone with you in my bedchamber. In fact, it’s rather encouraged.”
“I’d rather not give the servants something to gossip about,” she said briskly.
“They’d be delighted. It would add spice to their otherwise mundane lives.”
She shook her head as she increased her stride. “I think I’ve had enough of you for one morning.”
“You love me.”
“Not today,” she tossed over her shoulder.
He caught up with her easily, and they made their way to the dining room together.
Upon entering, Olivia’s gaze fell on Lord Everwyck, already seated at the head of the table with the newssheets spread before him. He glanced up, and as always, his expression darkened ever so slightly.
“Olivia. Evander,” he greeted tersely, beginning to rise.
Olivia lifted a hand to halt him. “Please, my lord. Don’t trouble yourself.”
She took a seat as far from Lord Everwyck as the dining table would allow, relieved when Evander followed suit and settled beside her. His presence at her side always offered a strange, welcome comfort.
A footman stepped forward and laid a plate of food before her.
She reached for her linen napkin and smoothed it across her lap, inhaling the comforting aromas of toasted bread, soft eggs, and smoked ham.
Her stomach gave a gentle protest of hunger, but before she could lift her fork, Lord Everwyck’s voice cut sharply through the clink of cutlery.
“Well,” he drawled, not bothering to look up from the newssheets, “it would seem your antics have not landed on the Society page this morning. A small mercy.”
Evander let out a quiet sigh and began, “Father—”
But Olivia spoke first, keeping her tone light, controlled. “It’s quite all right. Your father was merely stating a fact. And I, too, am rather relieved not to find my name smeared across the Society columns.”
At that, Lord Everwyck lowered the newssheets just enough to fix her with a pointed gaze. “You may not be mentioned, but it appears Mr. Fairchild has taken issue with the impending union between the Duke of Brackenford and Lady Jane. His article is… less than flattering.”
Olivia’s hand stilled on her fork. Her heart gave a swift, hopeful beat. Miss Winslow did it. She had convinced Mr. Fairchild to wield his pen in Lady Jane’s defense. If the duke read it—if the right tongues began to whisper—perhaps the engagement could still be undone.
“That is wonderful news,” she said, unable to keep the quiet excitement from her voice.
Lord Everwyck’s lips curled into a thin, humorless line. “Wonderful? Hardly. The Duke of Brackenford is not likely to be deterred by the opinion of an inconsequential writer in The Morning Post.”
“He may not,” Olivia agreed, straightening, “but Lady Jane cannot—must not—marry him.”
The earl blinked slowly, as if the very idea bored him. “And why, pray tell, is that?”
“Because,” Olivia said firmly, “he only wants her to provide him an heir. He’s old enough to be her grandfather.”
“That is often the way of noble matches,” he replied with maddening calm. “She should consider herself fortunate. To be a duchess is no small thing.”
She turned towards Evander, seeking support. “And what do you think?”
Evander tilted his head, the corner of his mouth tugging in amusement. “I’d be an unwise man to contradict my wife. But,” he added, growing serious, “the duke’s history with his previous wives is… troubling. The shadows cast by his reputation are long, and not without cause.”
His father sniffed in disdain. “You two sound like children with fairytale notions. Lady Jane will have power, prestige, and a fortune beyond her imagination. Do you not see what she stands to gain?”
“But at what cost?” Olivia asked.
Lord Everwyck pushed back from the table with an abrupt scrape of his chair. “I’m finished with this tiresome conversation. I’ll be in my study.” He turned to Evander. “I’ll expect you after breakfast. We’ve much work to attend.”
“Yes… work,” Evander echoed with no particular enthusiasm.
Without another word, the earl swept from the room, leaving a strained silence in his wake.
Olivia reached for her cup of chocolate and took a steadying sip, letting the warmth ease her tight throat. “Well,” she murmured, “it would appear your father has fully recovered from his emotional state this morning.”
Evander gave a dry chuckle. “If you hadn’t seen him crying, I would never have believed it possible.”
“I do hope Mr. Fairchild’s article sets the gossips talking. If public opinion turns, the duke might just withdraw his offer.”
“It’s a gamble,” Evander said. “Mr. Fairchild is sharp, but the duke is stubborn.”
“I’m willing to take that gamble for Lady Jane’s sake,” Olivia said. “She deserves a chance at happiness—not a gilded cage with an old man.”
Evander leaned subtly closer, his shoulder brushing against hers. “Not everyone is lucky enough to marry a devastatingly handsome man. You are, undoubtedly, the most fortunate woman in England.”
She arched a brow. “You are intolerably cocky this morning.”