“I should have known better,” Olivia interrupted, the words sharper than intended. “I let myself believe I could escape the consequences. I was a fool.”
Annie appeared unbothered by the outburst. “You were heartbroken, my lady. After what Lord Harwood did… anyone would’ve lost their footing.”
“That doesn’t excuse it.”
“No,” Annie agreed. “But it means you’re human. And perhaps you ought to offer yourself a shred of grace for that.”
Olivia closed her eyes, as if willing the world—and her thoughts—to go still. But even behind the darkness of her eyelids, her mind offered no peace. The ache in her chest did not abate. Forgiveness was a balm she could freely offer to others, yet when it came to herself, she found it withheld. Why was that? Why did she so easily excuse the missteps of those she loved, yet punish herself relentlessly for every mistake?
She had survived heartbreak, public ridicule, and shame. And still, she could not let go of the familiar guilt. It wasn’t just the scandal. It was the sense that she had disappointed those who mattered most. Her brother. Her friends. Evander.
Most of all… herself.
Annie rose from the bed. “Rest now, my lady,” she said, her voice full of concern. “The unpacking can wait. Everything else can wait. We’ll talk again later.”
Olivia opened her eyes. “Thank you.”
Annie gave a nod and slipped out, closing the door gently behind her.
Left alone, Olivia moved her head to lie on the pillow. Perhaps rest would help. And perhaps, when she woke, she could take the first step towards forgiving the one person she had always been hardest on: herself.
Evander’s footsteps echoed down the long corridor, each stride tight with tension. He was about to have the most trying conversation of his life—and certainly the most volatile. His father was angry with him for marrying Olivia, but he didn’t care. It was done. Now he needed to ensure that his father treated her with even the barest shred of decency.
Reaching the study, he paused only a moment before entering. The room smelled of ink, leather bindings, and tobacco. The earl sat hunched over a spread of ledgers at his imposing desk, quill scratching across parchment with determined strokes. He didn’t look up.
“You are a fool, Son,” came the biting greeting.
Evander crossed the threshold with a calm born of years of forced composure. “And why is that, Father?”
“Because you weren’t thinking with your head when you married that girl. Olivia is not a suitable match.”
“I disagree,” Evander replied, moving to the high-backed chair across from his father and settling in. “She’s the daughterof a marquess and brings a substantial dowry. Twenty thousand pounds, if you recall.”
The earl finally raised his head, his expression thunderous. “And a reputation that’s been dragged through the mud in every drawing room from Mayfair to Bath. Her presence will taint our name, and our family will become the subject of every dinner party whisper.”
Evander leaned forward. “The scandal will pass. The gossips will find someone new to feed on by next week.”
“You should have posted the banns. Followed proper convention. Given time, I might’ve talked some sense into you.”
Evander scoffed. “That was precisely why we did not. I’ve no interest in delaying my future for your attempts at manipulation.”
The earl’s eyes narrowed. “Why do you insist on being so stubborn? You have a duty to this family?—”
“I am well aware of my duty,” Evander cut in, his tone sharpening. “And I’ve fulfilled it. I married.”
The earl’s voice rose. “To the wrong woman! I made promises to Lady Jemima’s family?—”
“Promises you made. Not I,” Evander said firmly. “I owe Lady Jemima nothing.”
For a moment, his father didn’t say anything, his mouth tightening with unspoken fury. Then he gave a derisive snort. “Well, what’s done is done. You’ll live with the consequences.”
“I expect nothing less.”
The earl leaned back and waved his hand towards the ledgers. “Have you had a chance to review the figures for the indigo plantations?”
Evander stiffened. “As a matter of fact, yes. I was approached outside our townhouse yesterday. A man threatened me at knifepoint. He told me to stay out of India. Said I should sell ourNeel Kothi.”
His father blinked in irritation, as if swatting away an inconvenient fly. “I wouldn’t put much stock in idle threats.”
