“Working in academia is perfectly respectable for the younger son of an earl.”
“Perhaps,” his father conceded with a shrug. “But I had hoped you might choose a more dignified path. Become a barrister. At least then you'd be engaging in something useful. This history nonsense…” He shook his head. “It was always a diversion.”
Evander turned away, eyes closed, trying to gather his composure before his temper got the better of him. They had danced this dance before, and each time it had ended with harsh words and wounded pride.
“I never wanted to be a barrister,” he said.
“Pity,” his father muttered under his breath. “I’ve already spoken to the Master?—”
Hoping he misheard his father, he asked, “Pardon?”
“I spoke to Master Griffith earlier this morning,” his father said, slow and deliberate, as if he had done him a favor. “I explained the circumstances, and he was quite understanding. He agreed that you would need to resign from your post immediately.”
“You had no right to do that.” Evander’s voice rose, the edges fraying.
His father’s eyes narrowed. “I had every right. You are my son. And with Bryon gone, you are the heir. This childish rebellion of yours has gone on long enough.”
Evander took a step back, as though struck. The sheer arrogance, the presumption—it was unbearable. “You went behind my back. Interfered with my career, and my life, as though it were yours to control.”
“I know this is sudden,” his father said, his voice softening in a way that felt entirely false, “but you have a duty now. To your family. To your name. And whether you like it or not, that includes letting go of these… indulgences.”
“I don’t want it,” Evander ground out. “Any of it. The title. The estate. The obligations. I built a life here, on my own terms.”
“And now it’s time to abandon that fantasy,” his father snapped. “You’re a grown man, Evander. Stop playing at being a schoolmaster and come home. Your mother needs you. The tenants need you. I need you.”
But Evander had already turned towards the door. His hand gripped the knob with white-knuckled restraint. He opened it slowly and stood aside. “It’s time for you to leave, Father.”
His father’s brows lifted. “Evander?—”
“I saidleave.” His voice rang with finality, brooking no argument. “I need time to think. And I can’t do that with you standing in my office, dismantling everything I’ve built.”
For a moment, neither man moved. Then, with a sharp inhale and a bitter shake of the head, his father stepped past him and out into the corridor.
Evander shut the door firmly behind him.
And only then, with no one left to see, did he allow himself to lean against the wall, his eyes closing against the storm of emotion rising in his chest.
His whole life had just been upended.
And he had never felt so alone.
Lady Olivia Kendall strolled along one of the meandering paths of Hyde Park, the afternoon sun filtering through the leafy canopy above. Her Pomeranian puppy, Finnegan, zigzagged before her with unrelenting enthusiasm, tugging insistently at his leash.
“Finnegan,” she chided with a laugh, tightening her grip, “must you weave about so? You are determined to see me sprawled in the dirt, aren’t you?”
The puppy glanced up at her with wide, mischievous eyes and, if she didn’t know better, she would have sworn he was grinning. Troublesome little beast. Why had she allowed herself to be persuaded into adopting him? He was unruly, obstinate, and wholly impractical.
And yet, she adored him.
Suddenly, Finnegan plopped down beneath the wide-spreading shade of an old oak, his sides heaving as he began to pant furiously.
“Come along, Finnegan,” she coaxed, giving the leash a gentle tug.
He did not budge.
Olivia placed her hands on her hips and stared down at him with exaggerated disapproval. “You are a worthless dog.”
In response, Finnegan promptly rolled onto his back and lay there with dramatic stillness, tongue lolling to the side.
