“Forgive me, but he has a terrible way of showing it.”
Lady Everwyck grew quiet, her gaze distant. “Paul’s father was a cruel man. He beat his sons for any infraction. Vindictive, brutal. Paul ended that cycle. He refused to lay a hand on his boys. But the anger still lingers sometimes. It slips through.”
“I daresay Evander is not like his father,” Olivia said. “He’s slow to anger, thoughtful. That’s one of the reasons he is one of my dearest friends.”
Eyeing her curiously, the countess asked, “Does your heart still belong to another?”
The question landed like a stone in Olivia’s chest. “No. No, no…” She shook her head, too quickly, her words too vehement. “I fell for the wrong man. He married someone else. At the time, it felt… unbearable, but it was for the best. It had to be.”
Lady Everwyck studied her a moment longer, and Olivia had the sudden sensation of being seen more clearly than she liked.
“I do believe that you are meant for someone whose heart won’t let go of you so easily.”
Olivia didn’t answer right away. Her gaze shifted to the window, where the wind had pushed one of the heavy velvet drapes aside. The breeze stirred the stale air of the room, and with it came an aching tightness in her chest. She didn’t know how to untangle the mess of feelings she held for Evander. What if she reached for something more, and ruined everything? Their friendship had been a constant in her life—steady, unshakeable. What if she broke it?
Lady Everwyck’s voice drew her gently back. “Trust your heart.”
Olivia let out a soft breath and turned to face her. “My heart was wrong before,” she said. “And I don’t trust it anymore.”
“Then trust me, my dear.” Lady Everwyck’s expression was full of that calm certainty Olivia had always admired. “When you fall deeply—truly, irrevocably—in love with someone, that kind of love doesn’t vanish. It stays with you.”
Before Olivia could reply, a knock at the door interrupted them. It creaked open a second later, and Evander stepped inside.
His smile was easy, familiar. “Good afternoon.”
Lady Everwyck’s face brightened immediately. “Hello, Evander. We were just talking about you.”
“Oh?” he asked, arching an eyebrow.
The countess gave a mischievous nod. “Do you remember when Olivia tried to fly by gluing chicken feathers to her arms?”
Evander chuckled. The sound stirred something warm in Olivia’s chest. “How could I forget? We spent weeks collecting feathers. I think it was the only time Cook ever allowed us to waste her glue.”
“I maintain it was a rather ingenious plan,” Olivia said, lifting her chin with mock dignity.
Evander gave her a teasing look. “Only you would think that. The best part was that your mother had guests on the terrace at the exact moment you came running through the gardens, flapping your arms like a deranged goose.”
Olivia laughed, covering her mouth. “She was absolutely mortified.”
“And yet,” Evander added, grinning, “she helped peel off the feathers herself before hauling you off to the bath.”
Olivia groaned. “That was the most painful bath I’ve ever endured. I promised her I’d never do anything so foolish again.”
He smirked. “Until the next time you got into trouble.”
She shrugged. “I couldn’t help it. I was a curious child. Besides, you were always right beside me, just as eager to misbehave.”
“That I was.”
Their eyes met for a moment too long. Olivia’s smile faded slightly as a peculiar feeling pressed against her heart—fondness, certainly. But also something deeper. Something that scared her.
Lady Everwyck yawned, covering her mouth with a fragile hand. “Pardon me,” she said. “But I believe it’s time for me to rest again.”
Olivia stood at once. “Of course. We’ll let you sleep.”
“I would like that,” the countess murmured, already sinking back into her pillows.
As Olivia followed Evander out into the corridor, the door clicking shut behind them, she asked, “Did you find Warwicke?”
