Dosia met Olivia’s gaze. “I trust you slept well?”
Olivia gave a weary smile. “Not particularly. I had a fitful night.” Her shoulders lifted in a slight shrug. “I suppose that is to be expected when one is wrestling with an impossible decision.”
“That is hardly surprising,” Dosia agreed. “You are carrying a great deal on your shoulders. No one could expect a restful night under such circumstances.”
Richard lowered the newssheets he had been perusing. “It seems a simple decision to me.”
Dosia gave her husband a pointed look. “It may be simple inyourmind, but it is notyourdecision to make.” Her voice was firm but kind. “Whatever choice Olivia makes, we will stand by her.”
Olivia’s throat tightened with gratitude, and she offered Dosia a faint smile. “Thank you. That means more to me than I can say.”
“Of course.” Dosia reached for her fork again. “Now, shall we plan something pleasant to occupy the morning? Would you care to visit the circulating library after breakfast? I find myself in desperate need of a new book or two.”
A welcome distraction. Just the thought of escaping into the world of stories brought a small measure of relief. “I would like that,” Olivia replied. “Very much.”
A companionable silence settled over the room as they resumed eating. The clatter of cutlery and the quiet rustle of paper were the only sounds.
Then, after a long moment, Richard let out a loud groan. “It would appear, dear sister, that you have made the newssheets… again.”
Olivia’s heart sank. “What is it this time?”
Richard folded the newssheets and handed it across the table. “Read it for yourself. It’s an article by Mr. Fairchild.”
Dread coiled in her stomach as she took the newssheets and scanned the article. The words blurred slightly as her eyes flewacross the damning lines. Finally, she sighed heavily and set the newssheets down. “How in the blazes did Mr. Fairchild learn of Evander’s offer? It only happened last night.”
“Language, dear,” her mother admonished from her seat. “A genteel woman does not resort to such vulgar expressions.”
Olivia chose to ignore the rebuke, her gaze fixed on the offending article. “Now I have little choice in the matter. If I refuse Evander, my name—and our family’s—will be further dragged through the mud.”
“There are far worse fates than becoming a viscountess,” Richard remarked dryly.
Turning to Dosia, Olivia asked, “How did you know you wanted to marry my vexing brother?”
At once, Dosia’s expression softened. “I loved him,” she said. “The decision was easy. I would not have given up my independence for anyone else.”
“But would you have considered a marriage of convenience if you had not loved him as you ought?”
Dosia considered the question carefully. “No. I would not have,” she replied. “But everyone’s path is different. You must choose what is best for you, not what anyone else expects of you.”
A knot of dread twisted in Olivia’s chest. She leaned back in her chair, her posture sagging beneath the weight of her thoughts. “I fear there will be no future for me if I do not marry Evander.”
“There are worse things than becoming a spinster, you know,” Dosia remarked.
Richard reached across the table and gave his wife’s hand an affectionate squeeze. “Stop trying to dissuade her from marrying Westmere,” he teased.
“I merely want Olivia to follow her heart,” Dosia replied.
The grandfather clock in the corner chimed the passing hour, the deep tones filling the room.
Dosia glanced towards Olivia. “Shall we be off to the circulating library?”
Grateful for the escape, Olivia pushed back her chair. “Yes, please. I believe I am in desperate need of a distraction.” She rose and reached for the box of truffles. “Let me put these in my bedchamber first.”
Richard eyed the box with amusement. “Why not give them to the cook? Then we could all enjoy them.”
Olivia grinned. “And deprive myself of the perfect midnight snack? I think not.”
Richard shook his head in mock resignation. “Very well. Keep your fungus.”
