“I am well aware of my duty,” Evander replied evenly. “It is the very reason I am here. But that does not mean I will sacrifice my future to a woman who has never concealed her contempt for me.”
“It is different now. You are the heir.”
“Is that supposed to make it better?” Evander asked, voice sharpening. “Lady Jemima has always treated me as beneath her notice—as though I were an inconvenience.”
His father sighed, clearly losing patience. “You are making this into more than it is. Lady Jemima’s dowry is twenty thousand pounds. We need that money to repair the estate and secure our holdings.”
“Surely there are other young women with comparable dowries,” Evander countered.Livy,he thought. He knew for a fact that her dowry was generous.
“Do not be difficult. Sign the contract and marry the chit.”
“No.” His voice rang with finality.
His father’s gaze hardened. “This defiance will lead to ruin. You are my heir, and you will do as I command.”
“I will honor my duty—provided it does not require the destruction of my own happiness.”
With a frustrated gesture, his father spread his hands. “Look around you! Everything I do—every decision I make—is to ensure your future.”
“Then permit me to propose an alternative. If I marry another young woman with a twenty thousand pound dowry, surely that would suffice.”
His father scoffed. “The only other such young woman is Lady Olivia. And she is wholly unsuitable as your wife.”
“I disagree,” Evander said, voice low and firm. “She is my friend and we would suit far better than I ever would with Lady Jemima.”
His father’s lip curled. “Lady Olivia may be a marquess’s daughter, but she is scandal-ridden. Duped into marrying a woman disguised as a man. What sort of fool allows such a thing to happen? Hardly a proper match.”
“Do not believe everything the newssheets print. There were other circumstances—ones you cannot begin to understand.”
“Regardless,” his father snapped, “I forbid it. You will marry Lady Jemima. That is final.”
But if his father believed that a single command would sway him, he was sorely mistaken.
Evander rose from his seat, his back rigid. He would not surrender his future—his chance at happiness—for a loveless, contemptuous marriage.
Not for duty.
Not for twenty thousand pounds.
Not for anyone.
Standing over the edge of the desk, Evander planted his hands firmly upon its surface and demanded, “I will decide whom I will marry—I, and I alone.”
His father’s expression darkened, deep grooves etching across his brow. “And what of Lady Jemima?” he demanded. “She is expecting an offer of marriage from you.”
Evander straightened, folding his arms across his chest. “Does she even wish to marry me?”
The earl gave a dismissive wave. “Of course she does! You are heir to an earldom. What more could she want?”
With a weary sigh, Evander stepped back from the desk, adjusting the edges of his waistcoat as though to shake off the suffocating conversation. “I want more from a marriage than social advantage or financial gain.”
His father snorted in derision. “You wantlove?” he said, voice dripping with scorn. “What are you—a chatty young woman bewitched by those absurd romance novels? Next, you’ll be telling me you dream of moonlit walks and sonnets!”
Evander lifted his gaze heavenward, a muscle twitching in his jaw.Why,he thought bitterly,must every conversation with Father descend to this?They could barely remain civil for five minutes before harsh words overtook them. It was this ceaseless tension that had driven him to leave the townhouse years ago.
Brushing past the desk, he turned towards the door. “I should see to Mother.”
“She is resting,” the earl replied tersely. “I had a sleeping draught prepared for her.”
