Richard grinned. “How are you faring in your new role?”
“I’m adjusting,” Olivia admitted.
Their mother stepped forward, her posture proud but warm. “You’ll do splendidly, Olivia. I’ve no doubt.”
“Thank you, Mother.” Olivia stepped forward to embrace her. “How are you bearing up, surrounded by these two lovers?”
Her mother’s lips twitched with amusement. “It’s not all bad.” Then she turned to Evander. “Thank you for inviting us this evening. It was a thoughtful gesture.”
“We had no wedding breakfast,” Evander said, “so I thought this might serve as a small celebration.”
“Will your father be joining us?” Olivia asked.
Evander shook his head. “He’s dining at his club.”
Olivia gave a slow nod. “Well, I won’t pretend I’ll miss his presence, but I suppose I ought to find some way to win him over.”
“I wish you all the luck in the world,” Evander said dryly.
Just then, the butler stepped forward and announced, “Dinner is served.”
Evander offered his arm once more. “Shall we, Lady Westmere?”
They made their way into the grand dining room in silence. Candlelight flickered from the gleaming silver sconces along the paneled walls, casting a warm glow across the long, polished mahogany table.
Evander paused at Olivia’s chair, the one set at the far end of the table, and pulled it out with a courtly gesture. She murmured her thanks and lowered herself gracefully into the seat. Once she was settled, he crossed to the opposite end and took his place.
Dosia broke the silence as a footman poured wine into her glass. “So, when do the newlyweds plan to embark on a wedding tour?”
Olivia reached for her own glass but hesitated as she lifted it. “I suppose that won’t be until after…” Her voice faltered, her eyes shifting to Evander.
“Until my mother dies,” he replied.
A hush fell over the room. Dosia’s expression crumpled. “Oh, I’m terribly sorry. I hadn’t meant to reopen a wound.”
Olivia offered a quick smile, trying to soothe her sister-in-law’s guilt. “It’s quite all right. We understand you meant no harm. We simply wish to spend as much time as we can with Lady Everwyck while we still have the opportunity.”
The footmen moved with silent efficiency, placing bowls of soup before each guest.
After a few moments of comfortable silence, Richard dabbed his mouth with his napkin and turned to Evander. “Have you resigned from your fellowship yet?”
Evander gave a small nod. “I did.”
Though his voice was composed, Olivia could hear the strain beneath it, and her heart ached for him. She knew how much it had cost him—the years of study, the prestige, the sense of purpose. All surrendered in the name of duty.
“It’s for the best,” he continued, though the tightness in his tone betrayed him. “I am heir now, and it’s time I turn my attention to the family’s holdings and responsibilities.”
“Sounds like you could do with hitting something,” Richard said lightly. “You’re welcome to join me at my boxing club.”
“I just might take you up on that.” Evander set down his spoon, then added almost absently, “What do you know of indigo plantations?”
Richard paused, his brow furrowing. He reached for his wine glass, took a sip, and then replied, “Quite a bit, actually. They’re immensely profitable—but brutal. Those who own them can grow rich in just a few seasons, but the land is often ruined after a few years of cultivation.”
Evander frowned. “That’s why Bryon went to India with Lord Harwood. My father sent him to oversee our plantations.”
Richard grew thoughtful. “Lord Harwood has boasted often enough about his ventures in India. He owned several such plantations and claimed to be making a fortune.” He lowered his voice. “But there’s a growing number of groups here in London—reformers, mostly—who are lobbying Parliament to regulate or even prohibit the sale of such estates to foreigners.”
“Why?” Evander asked.
