Chapter 15 #2
He offered a brief nod before turning towards the door. His boots echoed faintly on the polished floor as he walked away, but he wasn’t in any particular hurry. The club’s familiar hush gave him a moment to think.
He was grateful—grateful for the distraction, for the conversation, for the sense that he wasn’t entirely alone in his own struggles.
His mood had lifted, if only slightly, the weight of uncertainty about Olivia not quite as heavy as it had been when he’d arrived.
But as he reached the pavement, his thoughts turned back to Alcott.
Something was wrong. That flicker of pain in his friend’s eyes hadn’t left Evander’s mind. He knew the feeling all too well. That quiet unraveling, that sense of not belonging in the life you were supposed to live. Duty could shape a man—but it could just as easily hollow him out.
Dressed in a yellow gown with puffed sleeves, Olivia stepped across the threshold of the dining room, her slippers making the faintest sound against the floorboards.
The scent of toast and chocolate wafted towards her, but her gaze immediately settled on Lord Everwyck seated at the head of the long table with a newssheet in his hand.
Drat.
She hesitated a fraction too long. She couldn’t retreat now or else the earl would know that she was still somewhat uncomfortable around him. He just made every conversation so intolerable.
Squaring her shoulders, she crossed the room and took the seat to his right. A footman silently placed a delicate porcelain cup of chocolate before her, its surface swirling with steam.
She reached for it just as the earl spoke, his voice sharp and without greeting. “I see my son indulges your every whim.”
The corners of her mouth curved into a polite smile. “He was thoughtful enough to ensure I had a cup of chocolate each morning.”
He gave a derisive snort. “A waste of money, I assure you.”
Olivia lifted the cup to her lips, savoring a slow sip before answering. “It is delicious. And I appreciate Evander all the more for it.”
The newssheet rustled as Lord Everwyck lowered it to study her more closely. His gaze was penetrating, as if he were attempting to unearth some hidden truth. Then he said, flatly, “You care for him.”
It wasn’t a question.
“I do,” she replied.
“But do you love him?”
The question hit her square in the chest. She faltered, her throat tightening. Of all people to demand such an answer, it had to be Evander’s father. Not even Evander had asked her so plainly.
Lord Everwyck seemed to take her silence as an answer. “I see,” he murmured.
Her fingers tightened around the delicate porcelain handle. “I—I don’t quite know what I feel for Evander. But I care for him deeply.”
To her surprise, that seemed to mollify him.
“I told him not to marry you,” he shared. “I didn’t think you were suitable to be his viscountess.”
Olivia didn’t flinch. She had known as much. Evander had told her, and she’d long suspected it anyway.
“And yet,” the earl added, with something approaching reluctance, “he chose you anyway. I do hope you don’t intend to break his heart.”
She met his gaze with steady resolve. “Your son has been—and always will be—my dearest friend. I would never hurt him.”
His reply was pointed and clear. “I don’t think my son is seeking friendship with you.”
A flicker of heat rushed to her cheeks, but she kept her voice composed. “And that… is all I can give. For now.”
The last two words lingered in the air between them, not quite a promise, not quite a plea. She meant them. At least, she wanted to mean them.
His mouth tightened. “I would hate for you to prove me right, Olivia.”
The tension in the room was palpable as they stared at one another. Why this sudden interest in her relationship with Evander? Why now, when he’d never cared before?
But before she could reply, the sound of skittering paws broke through the tension. Finnegan barreled into the room, causing Lord Everwyck to jerk upright.
“What in the blazes is that?”
Olivia reached down and scooped the little creature into her arms. “It is my dog,” she replied, stroking Finnegan as he panted happily in her lap.
The earl’s eyes narrowed. “That is not a dog. That is a rat.”
She bit back a smile. “No, it is a Pomeranian puppy. His name is Finnegan.” She lifted him slightly. “Isn’t he adorable?”
Lord Everwyck looked appalled. “Get that horrid little beast away from me before I shoot it.”
“You shall do no such thing,” Olivia said, not bothering to disguise her amusement.
“Does Evander know about that rodent?”
Olivia plucked a small piece of ham from her plate and fed it to Finnegan, who accepted it with glee. “He does, and he said Finnegan was welcome here.”
“He would be mistaken,” Lord Everwyck said. “And do not feed that thing from the table. What are you—a ruffian?”
Before she unleashed the retort forming in her throat, Gillingham entered with his usual composed air. “My lady, a Lady Jane is here to call upon you.”
Olivia rose at once and extended Finnegan to the butler, who accepted him with only the faintest lift of a brow. “Thank you, Gillingham. Inform Lady Jane I shall join her shortly.”
As he departed, she took one last sip of her chocolate, setting the cup back on its saucer with care.
Lord Everwyck was not done with their conversation. “I do not want that dog in our home.”
“It is my home now as well.” She dropped into a graceful curtsy—more mockery than reverence—and continued. “My lord, as always, it has been a pleasure.”
And with her spine straight and chin high, Olivia swept from the room before her infuriating father-in-law could say another word.
She reached the drawing room and found Lady Jane pacing anxiously over the floral carpet.
“Jane,” she greeted.
Her friend spun towards her. “I want to run away,” she said at once. “Somewhere far away where my father and brother will never find me.”
“All right,” Olivia replied, stepping fully into the room. “What can I do to help?”
Jane’s shoulders sagged. “I can’t run. I want to, but there’s nowhere I could go where they wouldn’t drag me back.”
“You have reached the age of your majority,” Olivia reminded her. “You can make your own decisions.”
“Not if I want food and a roof over my head,” Jane muttered, sinking onto the settee. “This is hopeless.”
Olivia joined her, settling beside her with gentle resolve. “Don’t give up yet. We will find a way.”
“How?” Jane asked, her voice cracking. “Mr. Fairchild wrote a scathing article about the engagement, and the duke found it amusing. Amusing!”
Reaching for the teapot, Olivia asked, “Would you like some tea?”
Jane recoiled. “Good heavens, no! I need something stronger.”
With a sympathetic smile, Olivia turned to the maid in the corner. “Please tell Cook we’d like two cups of chocolate at once.”
The maid curtsied and disappeared.
Jane placed a hand on her stomach. “My brother won’t let me drink chocolate. He says I have to watch my figure to be a proper duchess.”
“Your brother is an idiot.”
“That he is,” Jane agreed with a rueful smile. “He’d be furious if he knew I was here.”
Olivia turned towards her. “Where does he think you are?”
“At church,” Jane replied with a mischievous giggle. “I told him I needed to consult the vicar about our ceremony.”
“You lied?”
“It was the only way I could leave without raising suspicion. I don’t expect you to understand.”
Olivia grinned. “On the contrary, I wholeheartedly support it.”
Jane visibly relaxed, but her worry returned swiftly. “What am I going to do?”
“You can’t marry the duke,” Olivia said simply. “You’d be miserable.”
“I would,” Jane whispered.
Olivia reached for her friend’s hand, squeezing gently. “We’ll find a way.”
Just then, the door opened and Evander entered, sunlight catching the golden tones in his dark hair. He smiled at both of them. “Good morning.”
Jane sat up quickly, smoothing her skirts. “Forgive me, my lord, I—”
He cut her off with warmth. “There is no need to apologize. You are more than welcome here.”
Olivia released Jane’s hand and shared, “We were plotting how to rescue Jane from her impending nuptials.”
Jane threw up her hands. “It’s no use. The duke is too powerful, and I’m trapped.”
“We would fight for you,” Evander said. “And you’re welcome to stay here as long as you like.”
Jane blinked at him, astonished. “You would risk the duke’s wrath for me?”
“I would,” he said, his gaze drifting briefly to Olivia, “because you are Olivia’s friend. And I would do anything for her.”
Olivia’s breath caught. In that moment, her heart did something traitorous—it swelled.
She wasn’t sure if it was love yet. But it was close.
“That is kind of you to offer, but I couldn’t do that to you or your family,” Jane said, rising with a faint, practiced grace that didn’t quite mask the strain in her voice. Her hands fluttered briefly at her sides before clasping together, fingers tightening as if bracing herself. “I should go.”
“No—don’t go, not yet,” Olivia said, rising with her. “We could—”
But before she could finish, the door burst open and Lord Barkley stepped into the drawing room, his jaw rigid and his eyes alight with fury. The heat of his disapproval seemed to fill the air, suffocating and immediate.
A moment later, Gillingham followed with impeccable calm and announced in a resonant voice, “Lord Barkley.”
Olivia’s gaze flicked to Jane, who had gone utterly still. Her complexion, already pale, drained of the little color it had. Her lips parted in a silent breath of dread.
“What are you doing here?” Jane asked, voice low, tremulous.
The viscount’s mouth curled, sharp with contempt. “I could ask you the same thing.”
The tension in the room thickened instantly. Olivia instinctively stepped closer to Jane as Evander spoke.
“Barkley,” he said, his voice curt.
The viscount glanced at him briefly, with barely the decency of acknowledgment. “Westmere,” he muttered, then jerked his chin towards the doorway. “Come along, Jane. You shouldn’t be here.”
Jane looked as though she were walking to the guillotine. Her chin dipped slightly as she approached her brother, each step slower than the last. “I needed a moment to speak to a friend,” she said, tone pleading and soft.
“You should pick better friends,” Barkley said, under his breath but loud enough to wound.
Olivia felt her stomach drop, but Evander reacted faster. He visibly tensed. “I would be careful with the words you say around my wife,” he warned.
A muscle ticked in Barkley’s cheek. “My apologies,” he replied, the words brittle and hollow. He extended his arm towards Jane.
Jane hesitated only a breath before accepting it. Her shoulders were taut, her eyes glassy. Olivia longed to run after her, to yank her back to safety. But the moment had already passed. With a final, wordless glance towards Olivia, Jane let her brother lead her from the room.
The drawing room door closed behind them with a soft click that sounded far too final.
Olivia moved towards the window. She parted the curtain slightly and watched as Jane descended the front steps and climbed into the waiting coach. The carriage door shut and it rumbled off.
“Poor Jane,” she murmured, not even realizing she had spoken aloud until she felt Evander move beside her, close enough that their shoulders brushed.
“I agree with that sentiment,” he said. “But unless Jane is willing to stand up for herself… there’s little anyone can do.”
Olivia knew he was right. That didn’t make it hurt any less. “She wants to, I think. She’s just frightened.”
Evander glanced at her then, his expression gentle. “As anyone would be.”
For a moment, they both stared out the window in silence, the quiet between them heavy with unspoken worry. Then, with a soft touch, he placed a hand on her sleeve.
“Are you hungry?”
She turned to face him, welcoming the change in subject, however slight. “I could eat.”
“I’m sorry I missed breakfast,” he said, his thumb brushing lightly over the fabric at her arm before he let go. “I stopped at the club because I thought it might help clear my head.”
Olivia tilted her head, studying him. “Did it work?”
A small, tired smile curved his lips. “No. But it was worth a try.” He extended his arm, and she slipped her hand into the crook of his elbow. “May I escort you to the dining room, Wife?”
“Thank you, kind sir,” she replied with a smile of her own. As they strolled from the drawing room, Olivia glanced at him sidelong. “I had the most interesting conversation with your father this morning.”
“Oh?” he said warily. “Dare I ask what about?”
“He was rather concerned about the state of our marriage. And whether or not I would make you happy.”
Evander’s brow creased with surprise. “That doesn’t sound at all like my father.”
“No,” she agreed. “I was confused, too.”
They entered the dining room, and Olivia saw at once that the table was nearly cleared. Lord Everwyck had already gone. She breathed a sigh of relief. It was peaceful now—just the two of them. The air felt warmer, less sharp. Safer.
And that was when the truth crashed down upon her—swift and unrelenting.
It had always been Evander.
Not in some dramatic, sweeping way she could have predicted, but in quiet moments—a shared glance across a crowded room, the comfort of his voice when her world was unsteady, the way he saw her not as an obligation, but as Olivia. Fully. Clearly. With maddening patience and unshakeable care.
It was, it is, it will be—only Evander.
The realization settled into her bones with a strange kind of peace. Not the exhilarating jolt of new affection, but the deep, steady certainty of belonging. It was terrifying, yes—but more than that, it was true.
Evander had become the center of her world. She could lie to others, to herself, even to him. But not to this moment.
This, she could no longer deny.