Her spine straightened. “And what, precisely, do you believe my place to be?”
Before the earl could reply, Evander intervened. “As Mother is indisposed, Olivia is the lady of this house. She deserves our respect.”
“Respect is earned,” the earl snapped, shoving his chair back. “And I find this conversation intolerably tedious. I shall be in my study until the funeral proceedings.”
As the door slammed behind him, silence fell.
Evander turned towards her. “I’m sorry.”
She waved it off with a shake of her head. “You’ve nothing to apologize for. He is grieving, and today—of all days—must weigh heavily upon him.”
“That may be so, but grief does not excuse cruelty.”
“No,” she agreed. “It doesn’t. But I would prefer to grant him some grace, considering he has lost a son.” She tilted her head, her voice gentling. “How are you faring?”
He released a long, weary sigh, his shoulders rising and falling. “Well enough, I suppose. Bryon and I were never particularly close, and now…” He hesitated, his gaze drifting to the unlit hearth. “Now I am consumed with estate matters and these threats.”
Olivia leaned forward, laying a hand gently on his sleeve. “You must give yourself permission to grieve,” she said. “You cannot carry it all without consequence. Pain has a way of settling into your bones if left unattended.”
He turned his gaze to her. “When did you become so wise?”
She gave a small, impish smile. “I have always been wise. You’ve merely failed to recognize it.”
“Wise?” he echoed with mock incredulity. “Is this the same girl who smeared mud on the back of my trousers and declared to all that would listen that I had soiled myself?”
Laughter burst from her lips, light and unrestrained. “That was a delightful day.”
“I was not nearly as delighted,” he replied dryly. “Especially as you chose mud from the riverbank. It reeked of something foul and unmentionable.”
“You should not have closed your eyes when I told you to,” she teased.
He narrowed his eyes in mock suspicion. “Henceforth, I shall keep them wide open whenever you are near.”
“Oh, you may trust me now,” she said, feigning innocence. “I was far more mischievous at eight than I am at five and twenty.”
“I do trust you, Olivia. I always have.”
“And I trust you.”
Evander’s expression sobered. He leaned back, staring up at the ceiling as though searching for strength there. “I’m worriedabout my mother,” he admitted. “She wished desperately to attend the funeral, but her health will not permit it. She doesn’t even have the strength to rise from her bed.”
“Would you like me to stay with her?” Olivia asked.
He looked at her then, his brows drawn, as if trying to determine whether he had heard her correctly. “You would do that?”
“For you, I would do anything.”
For a moment, he simply stared at her. Then a smile curved his lips—small, but sincere—and the fine creases at the corners of his eyes deepened. “I daresay I chose well when I asked you to be my wife.”
A warmth spread through her chest. The way he looked at her now reminded her far too keenly of the moment they had kissed. The memory still lingered on her lips, tempting and undeniable.
Her gaze flickered to his mouth.
How easy it would be to kiss him again. All she needed to do was lean forward, close the short distance between them, and?—
But before temptation got the better of her, she drew her hand back and straightened in her chair.
“Are you all right, Olivia?” he asked.
