Evander’s brow arched. “That is easy for you to say since a knife wasn’t pointed at you,” he said. “What is aNeel Kothi?”
The earl let out an exasperated sigh. “ANeel Kothiis a term for a factory that processes the indigo dye. You would know that if you’d spent any time learning about our affairs overseas.”
Evander stared at him. “What exactly have you gotten us involved in?”
“A profitable venture,” the earl replied tersely. “One that will bring us a fortune if properly governed. Stop asking foolish questions and start acting like the heir you now are.”
The moment hung thick with unspoken accusations. Then the earl dipped his head and resumed his calculations, as though the conversation were already finished.
Evander rose slowly. “You will treat Olivia with respect, Father. She is your daughter-in-law now.”
“Respect is to be earned, not given freely,” the earl muttered, not bothering to look up.
Evander stepped forward, placing both palms on the desk and leaning in. His voice was stern. “I will tolerate many things from you. Insults. Condescension. Even your schemes. But I will not allow you to treat my wife with anything less than courtesy.”
The earl finally looked up, his eyes blazing. “You dare make demands in my house?”
Evander’s lips curved into a cold smile. “Yes, I would, especially when it pertains to Olivia.”
A long silence passed before the earl’s expression turned calculating. “You’d do well to remember your place. You are my heir.”
“And you’d do well to remember,” Evander said, standing tall, “that the spare has become the heir—and I have nothing left to lose.”
Without waiting for a reply, he turned on his heel and strode from the study, leaving his father fuming behind him.
As he ascended the stairs, he spotted Olivia at the landing. She stood with one hand on the banister, worry etched in every delicate feature.
“There you are,” she said, relief washing over her face.
“Here I am,” he replied, reaching her side.
Olivia leaned in close, her voice touched with playfulness. “I think it would be wise if you wore a bell around your neck so I could always find you.”
He chuckled. “Or you could ask Gillingham. He always knows my whereabouts.”
She tilted her head as though considering it. “That could work as well.”
“How was your nap?”
“It was… restful,” she said, though her eyes studied him carefully.
He smirked. “That is the general purpose of a nap.”
Her brow furrowed. “Something troubles you. You’re tense.”
“Observant, as always.” He sighed, knowing it would be best to tell her the truth and be done with it. “I just spoke with my father.”
“I take it the conversation did not go well.”
He shook his head. “No. But then, they never do. He’s furious that we married.”
“I’m sorry.”
He met her gaze. “Don’t be. I forced your hand in marrying me.”
Her fingers brushed his sleeve in a comforting gesture. “And in the midst of everything else, you’re still mourning your brother.”
The truth of her words struck deep. He looked away, throat tight. “Bryon was always the favored one. The golden son. Ispent most of my life in his shadow, resenting him, if I’m honest. My father barely acknowledged me. When he did, it was only to criticize.”
