“I am being serious, Olivia.” His voice roughened with self-reproach. “I know nothing about estate management. I can draft a lecture, debate policy, and command a classroom easily, but to take on my father’s legacy? To manage the land, the tenants, the staff, the accounts…” He exhaled a ragged breath. “I am wholly unprepared to be my father’s heir.”
She met his gaze steadily. “You will learn.”
“It is not that simple.”
Taking a step forward, she asked, “Do you not remember how worried you were when you left for Eton? And again, when you went to Oxford. You were so nervous, so convinced you would not measure up to the other students.” Her voice softened. “And look at you now. You became a Fellow at five and twenty, an accomplishment most scholars twice your age would envy.”
For a moment, silence stretched between them. Then Olivia reached up and lightly touched his arm. “You have faceddaunting things before, Evander. You will face this, too. And you will not face it alone.”
He studied her face for a long moment, his expression guarded. Then, he asked, “Will you marry me?”
Evander was an idiot.
The realization struck him with a force that left him momentarily speechless. Why had he just blurted out a marriage proposal to Olivia? He had planned the perfect, well-crafted speech. So why had his words come tumbling from his mouth like an avalanche he could not stop?
He watched helplessly as Olivia reared back, her brows knitting in bewilderment. Her parted lips formed no words, only silent astonishment.
Closing his eyes briefly, he exhaled in frustration. “I boggled that quite nicely, didn’t I?” he muttered.
Her voice, low and uncertain, broke the silence between them. “Did you truly just mean to offer for me?”
Opening his eyes again, he forced himself to meet her gaze. He could see the questions there—so many of them—and perhaps a flicker of hope, though he dared not trust it.
“I did,” he said. “But before you say no—please—allow me to explain why I think we should marry.”
She crossed her arms slowly over her chest, adopting a guarded stance. “Very well,” she replied.
Drawing in a deep breath to steady himself, he began. “As you know, my mother is gravely ill. Her one wish is to see me married before she passes. And I—I cannot bear to disappoint her.” His throat tightened, but he pressed on. “I thought thatyou… that we… would suit nicely.” He ran a hand through his hair, tousling it further. “And… if you marry me, thetonwill be less inclined to punish you for past events. My name will protect you.”
Her brow arched. “Are you quite finished?”
“I am,” he said, though the words stuck in his throat. He held his breath as he awaited her reply.
For a long moment, Olivia said nothing. Then she opened her mouth, closed it again, visibly struggling to form her thoughts. At last, she said, “You do not truly want to marry me.”
“I do.”
“No, you don’t,” she countered. “You need a wife whose reputation is beyond reproach. Someone thetonwill embrace as your viscountess.”
He stepped towards her, his voice firm. “I do not care what thetonsays. I want to marry you.”
She placed a hand lightly against his chest, her touch sending a ripple through him. But the smile she gave him did not reach her eyes. “I know what you are trying to do.”
“And what is that?”
“You are trying to save me,” she whispered. “But you must think of your own reputation now. Of your family’s standing.”
He caught her hand in his. “I am thinking of that. This was not solely my idea. My mother suggested it. She wants me to marry you.”
“What of your father?”
He winced. “He may object for now. But he would come around… eventually. Especially once your dowry bolsters our coffers.”
Olivia’s gaze grew pained. “And what of the whispers? The stares that follow me everywhere I go? They are relentless.”
“That matters little to me.”
She slipped her hand free and stepped back. “You are the best of friends, Evander. But I cannot let you throw your life away for me.”
