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 interestingconversation 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, itis,itwill 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.
16
Evander watched Olivia across the breakfast table, his appetite forgotten. Something about her was… different. A shift in the air, subtle but undeniable. Her posture was rigid, her fingers toying with the edge of her napkin, and when she lifted her gaze, the warmth he usually found in her eyes was noticeably absent.
He leaned forward, concern tightening in his chest. “Olivia… is something troubling you?”
Her smile came, but it was all wrong—strained, tight, the kind one wore when pretending all was well. “There is, actually,” she murmured.
“What is it?” he asked softly, his voice careful, coaxing.
Her lips parted, and she started, “I… uh…” but whatever she meant to say vanished as Gillingham stepped into the room.
The butler gave a respectful bow. “I apologize for the intrusion, but Lord Harwood has arrived and requested a moment of your time.”
Evander’s jaw tensed. Of all the wretched timing. He did not care to speak with Harwood—not now, not when Olivia had clearly been on the brink of revealing something important.
With a brisk wave of his hand, he dismissed the suggestion. “Inform Lord Harwood this is not a good time.”
“Yes, my lord.” Gillingham bowed once more and turned to leave.
But Olivia’s voice stopped him. “Wait.” She turned to Evander. “You should go speak to him.”
Evander frowned. “I would rather have breakfast with you.”
She reached across the table and placed her hand atop his. The warmth of her touch contradicted the guarded look in her eyes. “I know, but I will be here when you get back. You should see what he wants.”
He studied her, unsure what he was seeking—an opening, perhaps. An invitation to stay. “Very well,” he relented, though every instinct told him not to let the moment pass. “But I want to hear what you were about to say before we were interrupted.”
Color rose to her cheeks, pink and sudden.
