Evander rose. “I should go.”
“Must you?” his mother asked.
He bent to kiss her cheek. “I will return tomorrow. Do try to get a good night’s sleep.”
She nodded. “Think on what I said, Son.”
“I will,” he promised. With a respectful nod to his father, he slipped from the room, his mind and heart both heavier than when he had entered.
As Evander strode quickly down the corridor, he found that, to his own surprise, he was not at all opposed to the idea of marrying Olivia. Why should he be? He loved her. He always had, though he had spent years convincing himself otherwise. The thought of binding his life to hers did not fill him with dread, but with longing. And yet... how would she respond if he were to offer for her now?
Knowing Olivia, she would resist. She would balk at the notion, convinced he acted from pity or duty, rather than affection. And worse—the question that gnawed at him most remained. What if her heart still belonged to that scoundrel, Lord Harwood? Olivia might wear a mask of indifference in public, but he had seen the shadow behind her smile. He knew she had suffered far more than she ever allowed others to see. Could he truly bear to marry her, knowing she might never return his love?
But then, unbidden, an image of his mother rose in his mind—pale and fragile, her voice trembling with sorrow and resignation. He knew time was slipping away from her, fasterthan any of them wished to admit. If marrying Olivia would bring his mother even a modicum of peace, then he would do it. He would do whatever it took. And if it meant spending the rest of his life gently persuading Olivia to accept his suit—and perhaps, in time, to love him—so be it.
With a renewed sense of determination, he exited through the main door. His steps quickened as he made his way down the pavement. Olivia’s townhouse was not far, and he had no patience for waiting upon the coach to be brought round. The brisk air cleared his thoughts even as it heightened his nerves. As he walked, he rehearsed speech after speech in his mind—words that might persuade her, soothe her doubts, and assure her of his sincerity. None of them seemed quite right.
His breathing was slightly labored by the time he reached her townhouse. He ascended the steps and raised his hand to knock.
The door opened almost at once, and the butler greeted him with practiced civility. “Lord Westmere, do come in,” the man said, opening the door wide.
Evander stepped into the familiar entry hall just as Wilton was descending the staircase, an eyebrow arched in surprise. “Westmere. What brings you by at this hour?”
“I need to speak to Olivia,” Evander replied, his tone clipped with purpose.
Wilton gave him a considering look. “She is dressing for dinner,” he informed him. Then, with a more welcoming air, he added, “Would you care to dine with us this evening?”
“I would not wish to be an imposition.”
“Nonsense,” Wilton responded, turning to the butler. “Inform the cook that Lord Westmere will be joining us for dinner.”
The butler inclined his head. “Yes, my lord.” With that, he departed to carry out the order.
Now alone with Wilton in the entry hall, Evander found his friend’s gaze fixed upon him, sharp and appraising. “Dare I ask what this is all about?”
“I would prefer to speak privately.”
Wilton gestured towards the drawing room. “After you,” he said with a nod of encouragement.
Once they had entered the drawing room, Evander closed the door behind them and turned to face his friend squarely. “I am going to offer for Olivia,” he announced.
If Wilton was startled by this sudden admission, he gave no outward sign. Instead, he merely said, “It is about time.”
“Pardon?”
Wilton’s mouth twitched into a knowing smile as he crossed his arms over his chest. “You two were inseparable as children. I have long suspected there was more between you than either of you cared to admit. I believe you would suit very well.”
Evander dragged a hand through his hair. “As you know, my mother is dying. She wishes to see me wed before she passes—she says it will ease her mind.” His voice grew softer. “And if I marry Olivia, I might help restore her reputation. She deserves that much.”
“Yes, you could,” Wilton agreed. “It would be a most advantageous match for her.”
“Do you think she will agree?”
Wilton gave a small shrug. “Olivia can be... unpredictable. I rarely presume to guess what she will do. But it is not as though there are scores of gentlemen beating down our doors to court her, especially not after what happened. Still, know this: if you truly mean to offer for her, do not speak as though you are doing her a favor. Olivia would never accept such terms.”
Evander’s jaw tightened. “I would never insult her so. I would be a good husband to her. I only hope she can come to believe that.”
Wilton studied him for a moment, then gave a short nod. “Then I wish you luck, my friend. You will need it.”
