Richard seized the opportunity with evident relief. “As it happens, we were just considering taking a break from the accounts.”
“We were?” Dosia asked in surprise.
“Yes,” he replied, his lips twitching, “we have that… important meeting to attend. Urgently.”
Dosia’s laugh was light and indulgent. “How could I have forgotten?”
Olivia stood, shaking her head. “You two are incorrigible. You’ve only just returned from your honeymoon, and you act as though you’re still on it.”
A new voice chimed from the doorway.
“Leave them be, Olivia,” her mother said with a smile. “They’ve only been married a few weeks.”
“Thank you, Mother,” Richard said graciously, helping Dosia to her feet. “We’ll see you both at dinner.”
Olivia glanced out the window. “I swear, if this keeps up, I shall enter a convent for the foreseeable future.”
“There’s no need for theatrics, dear,” her mother responded. “We simply need to find you a new hobby—or perhaps a new scandal—to keep you occupied.”
“No more scandals,” Richard declared. “I daresay this family has weathered enough of them to last a generation.”
Olivia walked towards the door. “Very well. I suppose I shall have to find some new way to occupy my time until I officially cross the threshold into spinsterhood.”
“You are not a spinster,” her mother remarked.
“Not yet,” Olivia allowed, pausing with her hand on the doorframe. “But I am five and twenty and quite unattached. And now, with the added humiliation of having been deceived into marrying a woman…” She gave a mirthless laugh. “Well, let us simply say that I have provided Society with ample fodder.”
“Olivia…” her mother began, the familiar note of gentle reprimand in her voice.
But Olivia didn’t wish to hear it—not the sympathy, reassurances, or delicate encouragement to hold her chin high and endure the snubs with grace. There was no polite way to reframe what had happened. She had been tricked—utterly, spectacularly—and the scandal was well deserved.
Before her mother could continue, Olivia lifted her chin. “I think I shall lie down before dinner. The fresh air has quite exhausted me.”
Without waiting for a reply, she stepped out of the study, grateful for the reprieve. She was pleased for Richard and Dosia—truly, she was. But the way they looked at each other and spoke with quiet affection and shared laughter… it stirred something raw within her. A longing she didn’t quite know how to name anymore. She had thought she had found that kind of love with Lord Harwood. But he had chosen someone else, and the wound still throbbed faintly beneath her composed exterior.
Her brief, disastrous marriage to Lucinda had only further cemented the belief that she was not meant for love. At least not the kind that lasted.
Perhaps she should get a cat or two and embrace her spinsterhood.
2
Evander stood before the familiar façade of his ancestral townhouse, his gaze lingering upon the grand, three-storied structure of whitewashed stone gleaming beneath the gas lamps. A delicate iron railing encircled the property, its ornate design echoing generations of refinement and wealth. One day, this house—and everything it represented—would be his. That knowledge sat heavy upon his shoulders.
But there was no time to indulge in sentimentality. His duty awaited, however reluctant he might be to embrace it. No amount of longing for a different life would change what had already come to pass.
Drawing a steadying breath, he approached the front steps. Before he could knock, the door swung open. And there stood Gillingham, the family’s tall, black-haired butler, clad in his immaculate livery. His mouth curved in what might have been intended as a smile but came off instead as a grimace of sympathy.
“Good evening, my lord,” Gillingham intoned with a shallow bow.
My lord.
The words landed like a blow.
Evander froze upon the threshold, the truth settling over him with brutal finality. He was Lord Westmere now—not by triumph or merit, but because his elder brother was dead. The ache of that truth pressed hard against his ribs.
He had been raised to be the spare. The shadow. The son meant to step forward only if tragedy struck.
And now—here he was.
