“You have guests,” she said with effort. “Please, Evander. See them out properly.”
“There is no need for ceremony. We can see ourselves out,” Lady Wilton interjected.
His mother’s chin lifted faintly. “There is no excuse for bad manners, even in grief.”
Lady Wilton gave a respectful nod. “Very well.”
As the maid helped his mother to her feet and quietly led her from the parlor, Evander remained frozen where he knelt. His throat burned. He blinked rapidly, but the tears gathered, nonetheless.
Olivia knelt beside him, gently pressing another handkerchief into his hand.
He looked down at it, then at her, his lips twitching. “How many of these do you keep in your reticule?”
She gave a half-smile, her tone light but her eyes tender. “I’m a lady, Evander. I must be prepared for anything.”
“Thank you,” he murmured.
Olivia leaned in ever so slightly. “You did well.”
He lifted his gaze to hers, searching her eyes as though they alone could confirm what he could not yet believe. “Did I?” The question was whispered, raw with uncertainty.
“Yes,” she replied. “Your mother needs time to absorb the weight of what you’ve told her about Bryon.”
He exhaled slowly, the tightness in his chest loosening a fraction. Then, as if remembering himself, he straightened and extended his hand. “Come, let me see you to the door.”
Her fingers slipped into his, and he helped her stand. “I must say,” she said, “I thought it rather rude that you had not done so already.”
Evander knew precisely what she was doing. She was trying to lighten the mood, and he appreciated her more for it. And therein lay the danger—for friendship such as theirs was something he could not bear to lose.
Later that day, Evander stood outside his mother’s bedchamber, his fist poised to knock but hovering uncertainly in the air. Through the thick door, he could hear the faint sound of weeping—soft, muffled sobs that wrenched at his heart. He closed his eyes for a moment, as if doing so could somehow ease her grief or give him the strength to face it. How desperately he wished he could take her pain upon himself, to spare her this agony. But no such power existed.
Drawing in a breath and summoning his courage, he knocked gently. The sobs quieted, leaving an eerie stillness in their wake. A long moment passed before he heard her voice, fragile but composed. “Enter.”
He opened the door and stepped into the dimly lit chamber. The heavy drapes had been drawn tightly shut, allowing only the thinnest slivers of late afternoon light to seep through. A small fire burned low in the hearth, casting flickering shadows acrossthe walls. The scent of lavender, faint and faded, mingled with the smoke of the fire.
His mother sat upon the settee before the hearth, her figure small and forlorn. She wore a black gown and tear tracks glistened on her pale cheeks, though her eyes were now dry and distant, fixed upon the flames.
“Why is it so dark in here?” Evander asked softly, his voice breaking the hush of the room.
She blinked and glanced about as if noticing her surroundings for the first time. “Is it?” she replied absently, as though the question scarcely mattered.
Evander crossed to the window and drew the drapes apart. Sunlight streamed in and he turned back. “Much better,” he murmured.
Yet his mother remained where she was, unmoved, her gaze returning to the hearth. New tears welled in her eyes and slid silently down her face.
Evander’s heart constricted. He strode to the settee and lowered himself beside her, reaching out to take her trembling hand in his.
“How can I make this better?” he asked earnestly, his voice rough with emotion.
She wiped at her tears with a handkerchief, though it did little good. “You cannot, my dear child,” she whispered. “No one can. Losing a child… it breaks the heart in ways no words can mend. I simply need time to carry this sorrow.”
He swallowed hard. “Has Father come to see you?”
A faint, wistful smile touched her lips. “No. But I would not expect him to. Your father has never been able to bear the sight of my tears. He may wear a stern exterior, but his heart is tenderer than he lets on.”
“Father?” Evander echoed, skeptical.
She managed a faint chuckle. “Yes, your father. I know you two are often at odds, but do not mistake his severity for coldness. He is a good man.”
