She nodded. “I did. Olivia visited me this morning. She was troubled. Is everything all right?”
No,he thought. But he said, “It will be.”
His mother gave him a look that reminded him he hadn’t been able to lie to her since he was six years old. “I know something is going on. Your father didn’t slip and hit his head, did he?”
He winced slightly. “That’s what he told you?”
She crossed her arms with impressive vigor. “I’m not some simpering miss, Child. I can handle the truth.”
“Mother…”
“Thetruth, please.”
Evander exhaled, knowing it was inevitable. “We’ve received threats. Someone wants us to sell the indigo plantation.”
“You’ve been threatened, too?”
“I have. But you mustn’t worry about it.” He squeezed her hand gently. “You need to focus on your recovery.”
“Oh, pish-posh,” she said, waving off the concern. “I do nothing but lie here all day waiting for death. Let me be of some use.”
“You are not going to die,” Evander said firmly, his voice low with emotion. “You’re going to live forever just to keep Father in line.”
She smiled faintly. “If you will me to live, I’ll obey. I’ll try,” she said. “Now, what do you intend to do about these threats?”
“They’re being investigated by someone I trust.” He paused. “I won’t let anything happen to any of us.”
“That’s a relief,” she murmured, eyes softening.
His gaze wandered towards the bright window. “You’ve opened the drapes.”
“Olivia insisted,” his mother said, glancing towards the light. “She said I needed more sunlight. And I do believe she’s right—it lifts the gloom in here.”
Evander stood, his heart beginning to thump faster in his chest. “I need to speak to Olivia.”
“You’d best hurry,” she informed him. “She mentioned visiting her brother this morning.”
His blood ran cold. “She left? Now?”
“She didn’t say when, but—Evander?”
But he was already out the door.
His boots thudded against the floor as he raced down the corridor to Olivia’s bedchamber, his chest tightening with every step. He knocked hard, too hard, and the door opened a moment later.
A maid stood before him, blinking in surprise. “My lord?”
He craned his neck, his heart hammering. “Is my wife here?”
“No, my lord. She left for her brother’s townhouse a few minutes ago. You may still catch her?—”
He didn’t wait for the rest.
He spun on his heel and sprinted down the stairs two at a time. He burst through the front door just in time to see the crested coach blending into the flow of traffic at the far end of the street.
“Botheration,” he muttered, his voice tight with panic.
Behind him, Gillingham’s calm voice drifted into the morning air. “Is something wrong, my lord?”
