Chapter 14
Evander walked away from Olivia, resisting the overwhelming urge to look back.
But if he did, he might not be able to walk away at all.
He wanted to tell her—desperately—that he loved her.
That he always had. But she wasn’t ready, and if he pushed now, he might lose her entirely.
Still, every time she met his gaze or touched his hand, his restraint crumbled.
He reached the study and paused briefly at the threshold, composing himself. The scent of brandy and ash hung heavy in the air. His father sat by the hearth, glass in hand, his face turned towards the flickering flames. He didn’t move. Didn’t even glance in Evander’s direction.
“Father,” Evander said, stepping farther into the room.
The earl’s voice was dry and clipped. “Son.”
Evander crossed the room and sank into the worn leather chair opposite him. “How is your head?”
“The doctor said I’ll live,” his father replied, as if even that were a mild inconvenience.
“I had no doubt,” Evander murmured, allowing a sliver of warmth to enter his voice.
Only then did the earl turn to look at him. His eyes were bloodshot but clear. “I’ve made peace with dying. That should make everything easier.”
Evander’s brows furrowed. “In what way?”
His father exhaled slowly. “Because I don’t know what I’ll do when your mother’s gone. She’s been… the better part of me for decades. Without her—” He shook his head. “I’m not certain there’s anything left.”
The vulnerability in his father’s voice startled Evander. It was a rare, unguarded admission.
“If you loved her so deeply,” Evander asked, “why the mistresses?”
The earl gave a careless shrug. “It’s what men in our position do. We entertain distractions. I wasn’t the first peer to take a mistress, and I doubt I’ll be the last.”
“And that makes it justifiable?”
“I never said that,” his father said, taking another sip. “I was weak. Don’t make the same mistake, Son. I know I hurt your mother more than once. And still, she stayed.” He gave a dry laugh. “I don’t deserve her.”
“I intend to be true to Olivia,” Evander asserted.
A chuckle escaped the earl. “I doubt she would let you stray anyway. She’s an obstinate one.”
“She is,” Evander agreed, a faint smile tugging at his mouth. “But I love her.”
“Well,” his father said with a sigh, “I’m glad for you. Truly. You deserve some measure of happiness.”
Evander gave him a look of mock suspicion. “How hard did that rock hit you, exactly?”
The earl barked a laugh, some of the tension breaking. “All I’ve ever wanted was for you to find purpose.”
“I had purpose,” Evander said. “At Oxford. In academia. But you told me—repeatedly—that I was wasting my time.”
The humor fled from his father’s face. “Because you should have been here. With me. With Bryon. That was the path laid out for you.”
“No, that was Bryon’s path,” Evander responded. “I was the second son. I had to make something of myself without relying on inheritance or title. And I did. I was made a Fellow.”
His father looked down at his glass. “You don’t think I understand that? I didn’t want this life either, you know. I only inherited the title after my brother died. If he had lived, I would have been—”
“What?” Evander asked, genuinely curious. “What would you have done?”
A wistful smile curved his father’s lips. “I would’ve become a barrister. My Uncle Alexander was one and I admired him.”
“Because you enjoy arguing?” Evander teased.
“Partially,” his father admitted, “but mostly because I wanted to make my own way, not just inherit power. Alas, I became an earl instead.”
“I’m sorry you never got the chance.”
The earl waved a hand, brushing the sentiment aside. “We all sacrifice for the family. That is our duty.”
“Duty,” Evander echoed bitterly. “I’m so very tired of that word.”
His father leaned forward and set his glass on the side table. “I have failed you, Son.”
“In what way?”
The earl’s expression sobered. “I wasn’t going to tell you.
But after today, I believe you deserve to know.
The estate is… struggling. Gravely.” He paused.
“I invested in a scheme I believed in. I trusted the wrong men and lost nearly everything. What little remained, I poured into that indigo plantation. It is our last hope.”
Evander’s mouth felt dry. “And Olivia’s dowry?”
“It’ll sustain us for now. But it’s not a solution. The indigo plantation is the solution. Long-term.”
Evander sat back, stunned. “How much did you lose?”
His father winced. “Fifty thousand pounds.”
“Fifty thousand?” The number hit like a blow. “That’s a fortune.”
“I’m aware. And I wasn’t the only fool. The late Lord Harwood invested, too—and lost it.”
Evander rose, walking over to the drink cart with slow, deliberate steps. He poured himself a drink, the clink of glass echoing in the tense room. “There must be another way. Something that doesn’t depend on land thousands of miles away. Something that doesn’t risk lives.”
“If you think of one, do let me know,” his father said wearily. “Bryon and I spent many a night at this very fire, asking the same question.”
“What about selling off some of the properties?”
“Most are entailed.”
“Yes, but with my consent—”
His father shot to his feet. “No. I will not be the man who dismantles our legacy. The plantation is our only course.”
Evander stared into the amber liquid in his glass. “And you’d risk your life for it?”
“Yes.”
“My life?”
Silence. His father’s gaze fell to the hearth. “It won’t come to that.”
“It already has.”
“I will not yield to threats,” his father said firmly. “If we cave, we will be weak. And I am not weak.”
“It’s not about weakness,” Evander argued. “It’s about survival.”
“If we lose that plantation,” his father said, voice rising, “we lose everything.”
“Then what are our options?”
His father squared his shoulders. “We fight.”
A new voice echoed from the doorway.
“I disagree.”
Evander turned to see Olivia entering the room, calm and composed. “You do?” he asked.
She stepped fully inside. “I believe that you should sell the plantation—not because of the threats, but because it’s the right thing to do.”
The earl scoffed. “And what would you know about what’s right?”
Unbothered, Olivia came to stand beside Evander. “I know that I don’t want to watch my husband die defending a future built on a foundation of cruelty and injustice. Indigo plantations are known for their abuse of laborers. We are better than that.”
Evander arched a brow. “How long were you eavesdropping?”
She met his gaze squarely. “Long enough to hear the truth.”
“Then you understand why we must keep the plantation,” the earl grumbled.
“Why not consider Evander’s suggestion?” Olivia asked. “We could sell off some lands and—”
“Absolutely not!” the earl roared, cutting her off with a sweep of his hand. “And you have no right to comment on matters that do not concern you.”
Evander saw Olivia’s body go still before her chin lifted a fraction, her spine lengthening in that graceful, imperious way she had when offended.
“And why wouldn’t this concern me?” she asked tightly. “Is this not my future we are discussing as well?”
Evander barely had time to brace before his father fired back.
“Women do not have the mindset for business. It is not in their nature.”
“That,” she said, her voice sharp with disbelief, “is the most barbaric thing I have ever heard.”
Evander knew it was time for him to interject. “I value Olivia’s opinion in all things.”
His father did not look impressed. “But she is merely a woman.”
Evander reached out and placed a steadying hand on Olivia’s sleeve. “She is not merely anything. She is brilliant and more than capable of helping us sort through this mess. I would be a fool not to listen to her.”
Olivia turned to glance at him, and he caught the flicker of warmth in her eyes—the silent acknowledgment, the gratitude. Her lips curved in a private smile meant only for him, and for a moment, it felt like the world tilted back into balance.
“Thank you, Evander,” she said softly.
He returned the smile, but there was no time to dwell on it. He turned his attention back to his father. “Lord Harwood has offered to buy our indigo plantation,” he shared. “Perhaps we should consider his offer.”
His father looked at him as though he’d grown a second head. “You cannot be in earnest,” he snapped. “We stand to lose a fortune if we sell it now.”
Evander met his gaze without flinching. “But we stand to lose more if we keep it, considering I have heard of Bryon’s ill-treatment of the peasants.”
“I would not give much heed to those rumors. They are vastly exaggerated,” his father replied. “Bryon assured me that he was treating the peasants fairly.”
“And you believed him?”
His father shrugged. “I had no reason to suspect otherwise.”
The dinner bell chimed in the distance, alerting them of the time.
The earl glanced at the mantel clock. “I told your mother I would dine with her this evening,” he said stiffly. “We will continue this discussion another time. Perhaps, with time, you’ll come to your senses.”
He strode from the room without a backward glance, and silence fell in his wake.
Evander exhaled and turned to Olivia. She had folded her arms, though the tension in her shoulders had softened.
“Thank you,” she said, “for standing up for me.”
“I always will. Even when you’re wrong.”
She arched a brow. “You think I’m wrong?”
He smirked. “Not this time. But eventually, there will come a moment when you’re entirely mistaken. And I look forward to being there when it happens.”
She laughed then, just as he had intended. How he loved her laugh. It was a sound that he could get lost in.
He offered his arm. “It would seem we’re dining alone this evening.”
“I prefer that,” she said, slipping her hand into the crook of his arm.
“So do I. But,” he added teasingly, “you’ll have to improve your conversational skills. I can’t be the only one carrying the weight of stimulating dialogue.”