Chapter 2 #2
Evander Rivers returned to Rainfield Manor in London with the quiet exhaustion of a man who preferred silence over society. The front doors opened before he reached them, as though the house itself anticipated his arrival, and Mr. Neely stood waiting in the foyer with practiced discretion.
The butler bowed slightly as Evander stepped inside, taking his cloak and hat with efficient care.
“Good evening, Your Grace,” Mr. Neely said softly.
“Good evening, Neely,” Evander replied, loosening his gloves as he crossed the marble floor.
The foyer was wide and imposing, lined with dark oak paneling and lit by tall candle sconces that cast long, steady shadows.
A grand staircase curved upward like a carved spine, its banister polished to a dull shine, while portraits of Rivers' ancestors watched from gilded frames along the walls. Everything in the house spoke of discipline and legacy, yet none of it eased the weight in Evander’s chest.
“Is my son already abed?” Evander asked without slowing his steps.
Mr. Neely followed at a respectful distance, hands folded neatly before him.
“Yes, Your Grace,” he replied. “Young Master Benjamin retired not long after dinner.”
Evander gave a short nod, his expression tightening only slightly. “Good,” he said. “I will go and check on him.”
He moved through the manor, his steps echoing softly along corridors lined with thick carpets and oil paintings.
The drawing rooms were dim now, their fires reduced to glowing embers, and the library sat in ordered stillness, books aligned with almost obsessive precision.
Chandeliers above him were unlit, yet the moonlight filtering through tall windows gave the space a pale, ghostlike illumination.
Evander walked through it all without pause, though his mind was not on the house. Instead, it lingered.
Her. Lady Grace.
The sharp-tongued hostess at Evergreen House with her composed smile and eyes that did not quite match the politeness she wore like armor. He remembered her green eyes and blond hair. The way her full figure had moved beneath the fabric of her gown.
He had found her captivating before she had even approached him, a rare thing in itself, but during their dance, she had revealed something far more compelling.
There had been fire beneath her restraint, a controlled defiance that intrigued him more than he cared to admit.
He told himself she was simply another polished member of the ton, yet he knew better now.
A faint sound reached him then, breaking through his thoughts.
A small, fractured noise, half cry, half breathless gasp.
Evander stopped instantly.
He knew that sound.
Without hesitation, he moved swiftly down the corridor toward the nursery wing, his pace quickening with each step.
He entered Benjamin’s room. “Benjamin,” he said sharply and crossed the room in a few strides.
The boy was thrashing slightly in his small bed, tangled in sheets damp with distress, his face flushed with fear.
“No, no, Mama,” Benjamin sobbed as Evander reached him.
Evander sat immediately on the edge of the bed, gathering him into his arms with firm but gentle strength.
“It is all right, little one,” he said quietly. “It was just a dream. Father is here.”
Benjamin clung to him instinctively for a moment, trembling as Evander held him close. Evander’s hand moved steadily over his back, soothing him in slow, repetitive motions.
“You are safe,” he murmured. “No one will harm you. I have you.”
The child’s breathing began to steady, though his small hands gripped Evander’s coat as though anchoring himself to reality.
Evander glanced down and saw the wet patch on the bedding, understanding at once that his son had wet the bed. Again. He did not react outwardly, only adjusted his hold and softened his tone further.
“We will have you comfortable again in a moment.” He reached for the bell cord without letting the boy go.
As Benjamin’s breathing steadied further, awareness returned to his eyes. He blinked up at Evander, confusion replacing fear, and then he abruptly stiffened.
Slowly, he pulled back from his father’s arms, his small face tightening. “No,” he said, his voice trembling but firm for a child so young. “I want Mama. Not you.”
The words landed with quiet finality.
Evander’s arms remained slightly raised for a moment before he lowered them, the space where his son had been suddenly colder than the night air. He said nothing at first, his expression controlled, though something beneath it tightened sharply.
“I am sorry that she is no longer here,” he said at last, evenly, “but I am.”
Benjamin shook his head, tears threatening again. “I want Mama,” he repeated. Evander rose slowly from the bed, turning slightly away as he steadied himself.
In the silence that followed, Evander’s thoughts hardened into something decisive and unyielding.
If his son would not accept the world as it was, then the world would be changed.
A mother would be provided, chosen, secured, by whatever means necessary.
He looked once more at Benjamin, now calmer, and made a silent vow.
I will find you a mother, even if I have to purchase one.