Peeking into the corridor, she gave a small nod. “It’s safe. Come along.”
Evander followed her out and pulled the door shut behind them. “You know, as your husband, I am legally entitled to be alone with you in my bedchamber. In fact, it’s rather encouraged.”
“I’d rather not give the servants something to gossip about,” she said briskly.
“They’d be delighted. It would add spice to their otherwise mundane lives.”
She shook her head as she increased her stride. “I think I’ve had enough of you for one morning.”
“You love me.”
“Not today,” she tossed over her shoulder.
He caught up with her easily, and they made their way to the dining room together.
Upon entering, Olivia’s gaze fell on Lord Everwyck, already seated at the head of the table with the newssheets spread beforehim. He glanced up, and as always, his expression darkened ever so slightly.
“Olivia. Evander,” he greeted tersely, beginning to rise.
Olivia lifted a hand to halt him. “Please, my lord. Don’t trouble yourself.”
She took a seat as far from Lord Everwyck as the dining table would allow, relieved when Evander followed suit and settled beside her. His presence at her side always offered a strange, welcome comfort.
A footman stepped forward and laid a plate of food before her. She reached for her linen napkin and smoothed it across her lap, inhaling the comforting aromas of toasted bread, soft eggs, and smoked ham. Her stomach gave a gentle protest of hunger, but before she could lift her fork, Lord Everwyck’s voice cut sharply through the clink of cutlery.
“Well,” he drawled, not bothering to look up from the newssheets, “it would seem your antics have not landed on the Society page this morning. A small mercy.”
Evander let out a quiet sigh and began, “Father?—”
But Olivia spoke first, keeping her tone light, controlled. “It’s quite all right. Your father was merely stating a fact. And I, too, am rather relieved not to find my name smeared across the Society columns.”
At that, Lord Everwyck lowered the newssheets just enough to fix her with a pointed gaze. “You may not be mentioned, but it appears Mr. Fairchild has taken issue with the impending union between the Duke of Brackenford and Lady Jane. His article is… less than flattering.”
Olivia’s hand stilled on her fork. Her heart gave a swift, hopeful beat.Miss Winslow did it.She had convinced Mr. Fairchild to wield his pen in Lady Jane’s defense. If the duke read it—if the right tongues began to whisper—perhaps the engagement could still be undone.
“That is wonderful news,” she said, unable to keep the quiet excitement from her voice.
Lord Everwyck’s lips curled into a thin, humorless line. “Wonderful? Hardly. The Duke of Brackenford is not likely to be deterred by the opinion of an inconsequential writer inThe Morning Post.”
“He may not,” Olivia agreed, straightening, “but Lady Jane cannot—must not—marry him.”
The earl blinked slowly, as if the very idea bored him. “And why, pray tell, is that?”
“Because,” Olivia said firmly, “he only wants her to provide him an heir. He’s old enough to be her grandfather.”
“That is often the way of noble matches,” he replied with maddening calm. “She should consider herself fortunate. To be a duchess is no small thing.”
She turned towards Evander, seeking support. “And what do youthink?”
Evander tilted his head, the corner of his mouth tugging in amusement. “I’d be an unwise man to contradict my wife. But,” he added, growing serious, “the duke’s history with his previous wives is… troubling. The shadows cast by his reputation are long, and not without cause.”
His father sniffed in disdain. “You two sound like children with fairytale notions. Lady Jane will have power, prestige, and a fortune beyond her imagination. Do you not see what she stands to gain?”
“But at what cost?” Olivia asked.
Lord Everwyck pushed back from the table with an abrupt scrape of his chair. “I’m finished with this tiresome conversation. I’ll be in my study.” He turned to Evander. “I’ll expect you after breakfast. We’ve much work to attend.”
“Yes… work,” Evander echoed with no particular enthusiasm.
