“Nothing.” Warwicke’s answer was firm. “Stay at your townhouse. Keep yourself and your father protected. I’ll start making inquiries. Discreetly.”
Evander sank deeper into the chair. “He has Parliament tomorrow.”
“Then try to persuade him to stay home.”
Evander gave a dry laugh. “You haven’t met my father. Once he’s made up his mind, he is not one to back down.”
Warwicke stood, tugging down the ends of his finely cut waistcoat. “Then I best change before I go out. I’ll stand out far too much where I’m headed.”
Evander looked up at his friend. “If I haven’t said it already—thank you.”
Warwicke gave him a curt nod and disappeared into the crowd.
Left alone with Alcott, Evander reached up to pinch the bridge of his nose. The pressure there did nothing to ease the pounding in his head.
Alcott studied him over the rim of his glass. “How are you faring?”
Evander gave a huff. “You mean besides the fact that someone is trying to kill me and my father? I’ve had better days.”
Alcott signaled to a passing server. “Let me buy you a drink.”
“A drink won’t fix this.”
“No,” Alcott agreed, “but it’s a start.”
Evander gave a half-smile, though there was no humor in it. “Life wasn’t supposed to be this complicated. I had it all figured out, and then Bryon died. Everything shifted.”
Alcott tilted his head. “Some men would be grateful to inherit a title.”
“Not like this.” Evander’s voice turned quiet. “I’d give it all back if it meant my brother could walk through that door. I miss my life in academia. Quiet. Predictable. Safe.”
Alcott swirled the amber liquid in his glass. “And what of your wife? Any regrets there?”
Evander didn’t hesitate. “None. Olivia is… the one good thing in all of this.”
Alcott chuckled. “A wife shackles a man.”
“Not Olivia,” Evander said. “Loving her isn’t a decision I made. It is instinctive. I couldn’t stop if I tried.”
Alcott smirked. “You’re smitten. It’s far too late for you, old boy.”
Before Evander could offer a rebuttal, a tall shadow stretched across the table.
“Evander.”
He looked up and immediately recognized the voice. Joseph. The newly minted Earl of Harwood.
“Harwood,” he acknowledged, rising halfway.
Joseph gave an awkward grimace. “I’m afraid I am still getting used to being called that.”
“I know the feeling,” Evander said, gesturing towards the empty air beside him. “I keep expecting my brother to walk in behind me.”
Joseph inclined his head towards Alcott. “Lord Alcott.”
“My condolences,” Alcott said. “Would you care to join us?”
Harwood hesitated only a moment before pulling out a chair. “I don’t wish to intrude.”
