“Yes,” she replied, smoothing her skirt unnecessarily. “I was merely thinking that I could do with a cup of chocolate.”
“I shall speak to the cook at once.”
“There’s no need,” she responded. “Your father informed me that such ‘frivolities’ are not to be indulged in this household.”
Evander huffed, clearly unimpressed. “Let me concern myself with my father’s sensibilities. I am well aware of your deep affection for chocolate, and I would not dare deprive you of it. Deliciousness should never be rationed.”
Her smile returned, soft and pleased. “Thank you.”
“We should eat,” Evander encouraged.
Olivia nodded, her smile a touch too swift. “Yes… yes, we should.”
She reached for her fork with fingers that felt strangely unsteady, focusing intently on the simple act of cutting a slice of ham, as if the mundane motion might silence the storm quietly brewing within her.
Anything to distract herself.
The last thing she needed was to dwell on these ill-timed, wholly unwelcome feelings rising for her new husband. Feelings that had nothing to do with duty or practicality. No, this was something far more dangerous. Longing. Warmth. A growing desire to lean into his nearness and forget the carefully drawn lines between them.
But that way led to heartbreak. She knew it. She had loved once before, and it had left her bruised in places no one could see. Evander had been her friend, her constant—he was supposed to be safe.
So why had his simple words made her chest ache with unfamiliar hope?
Olivia forced herself to chew slowly, deliberately, willing her thoughts to quiet. It was just breakfast. Just an ordinary meal in a household full of strained silences and buried grief. She could manage this—she must.
She kept her gaze on her plate, not trusting herself to look at him just yet. If she did, she feared he might see too much.
Too much of what she was trying so hard to hide.
Evander stood motionless before his brother’s grave, the chill of the morning seeping through his greatcoat, though he barelyfelt it. A single tear rolled down his cheek, quickly lost to the stiff breeze, but he made no move to wipe it away. Grief settled in his chest like a heavy stone—not only for the brother he had lost, but for all that had never been. They had spent most of their lives sparring like adversaries. Still, despite their clashes, Bryon had been his brother, and he longed for what could have been. But it was too late now. The final words had already been spoken. Or left unspoken.
Beside him, his friends stood in respectful silence—Alcott, Bedford, and Westcott. They didn’t speak. They didn’t need to. Their presence was a balm of quiet strength, and he found himself grateful for each of them.
He exhaled slowly, the breath misting in the air. It was time.
He turned from the grave, his boots crunching on the gravel, and cast one last look over his shoulder at the cold stone marker.Farewell, Bryon.
“Shall we?” he asked, his voice low, roughened by emotion.
Alcott laid a firm hand on his shoulder. “You can stay for as long as you want or need. We’ll remain with you.”
Evander gave a small, grateful smile. “That’s kind of you, but I think I should return home. There’s someone I wish to see.”Olivia.He didn’t say her name aloud, but she was the one bright spot in the dim haze surrounding him. Just being near her eased the tightness in his chest.
Alcott gave a single nod and stepped back. “Very well.”
They walked in silence, the wind tugging at their coats as they made their way through the iron gates and down the quiet lane towards their waiting coaches.
At his own coach, Evander paused and turned to face the men who had stood beside him throughout the years.
“Thank you,” he said. “I know none of you were close with Bryon.”
Bedford shrugged one shoulder. “We didn’t come for him. We came for you. You’re not alone in this.”
Evander swallowed hard. “Is it… is it dreadful that I feel something like relief?”
Westcott met his eyes. “It isn’t. There is no wrong way to grieve.”
“Bryon and I were never close,” Evander said. “I spent years avoiding him. His words always cut deep.” He looked away. “And yet I still hoped we might find common ground one day. It was foolish of me.”
