Alcott leaned back in his chair, considering Wilton with a mischievous gleam in his eyes. “I suppose I could always abduct a wife, just as you did.”
Wilton looked heavenward. “I didn’t abduct Dosia at random. There were extenuating circumstances, as you well know.”
Bedford grinned. “Yes, yes, you were somehow deceived by a woman wearing men’s clothing. A tale for the ages.”
Wilton huffed. “Lucinda was rather convincing, I’ll have you know. I had no reason to suspect otherwise. And besides”—he glanced pointedly at Evander—“I thought we were here to cheer up Addington—er, Westmere, now.”
Evander stiffened at the sound of his new title. “I have not yet grown accustomed to being called Westmere.”
Wilton offered a sympathetic smile. “Well, you had best grow accustomed to it, for it is yours now, whether you like it or not.”
With a resigned sigh, Evander reached for his glass and tossed back the remaining contents. The brandy seared down his throat, leaving behind only a deeper sense of hollowness. He set the empty glass down with a dull thud.
“I should go,” he said. “My father has tasked me with delivering the news of Bryon to my mother.”
“Why you?” Bedford asked.
Evander’s mouth twisted into a humorless smile. “He believes she will bear the news better if it comes from me.”
“Coward,” Alcott muttered beneath his breath.
“Well said,” Evander agreed. “My father is many things, but when it comes to my mother, he is strangely… tender. He fears the shock of this might kill her.”
Wilton’s expression softened into something close to pity. “If there is anything you need—anything at all—you need only ask.”
“Thank you,” Evander said, rising to his feet. His shoulders sagged beneath the weight of duty and loss. “The sad thing is that I do not yet know what to ask for.”
Bedford stood as well. “I’ll walk you out.”
Together they made their way through the club’s opulent halls and out into the cool night air.
As they approached the main doors, Evander spoke. “Tell me—how did you do it? Walk away from academic life so easily?”
Bedford exhaled slowly, as if recalling a distant ache. “It wasn’t easy. I always knew the title would be mine one day, but… not so soon. My uncle and father passed within months of each other. I had no choice.”
Outside, the lamplight flickered against the damp pavement. Evander paused by his waiting coach, the horses stamping impatiently.
“I may have complained about my post at the university,” he said softly, “but I loved it. Every lecture, every debate, every late night spent over dusty volumes. It gave me purpose. It challenged me.”
Bedford clasped Evander’s shoulder firmly. “I know. But in time, you will find a new purpose. Think of the good you might do in the House of Lords, when the opportunity comes.”
Evander turned to him then, frustration breaking through the façade of calm. “You know my father. He can be tyrannical. How am I to survive this without losing myself?”
Bedford’s expression tightened with understanding. “Your father is stubborn, true—but so are you. Do not let him forget who you are, nor let yourself forget it.”
Evander’s voice grew strained. “Easy for you to say. Your father was generous with his affection. Mine… has always found me lacking.” His gaze dropped. “At least I still have my mother… for now.”
With quiet conviction, Bedford dropped his hand. “Life tests us in ways we never expect, but you are stronger than you know.”
“I don’t feel strong,” he said, the words slipping out before he could stop them.
Bedford studied him for a long moment, his expression grave. “Sometimes,” he said, “we have no choice but to be strong. Whether we feel it or not.”
“I had everything planned,” Evander admitted, his voice rough with the weight of shattered dreams. “I built my life, my future, with care—every step deliberate. And now… now I stand on a path I cannot see the end of. That uncertainty terrifies me.”
“Then don’t look too far ahead. My advice is to take one day at a time. Some days, that is all you can do.”
For a moment, Evander said nothing, his thoughts tangled and heavy. Then he tipped his head in a quiet gesture of gratitude. “Thank you, Bedford.”
