“Good morning,” Evander muttered, lifting his glass in a mock salute.
Alcott slid into the chair opposite him, stretching out his legs with insufferable ease. “Judging by your expression, I’d wager this is about your lovely wife.”
“It is.”
“Well, out with it, then,” Alcott said, folding his arms behind his head and giving Evander his full, expectant attention. “What did she do to cause you to look so utterly despondent?”
Evander hesitated, then sighed, knowing there was no point in pretending otherwise. “She told me last night that she thinks she has feelings for me.”
Alcott straightened slightly. “Well, that sounds like progress.”
“Shethinksshe does, Alcott. She’s not sure yet.” He leaned back, the chair creaking beneath him. “That uncertainty is eating me alive.”
“You’re too dramatic for a man in love,” Alcott quipped. “You should take that as a small victory and begin wooing her, assuming you want that.”
Evander gave him a flat look. “Of course I want that. I married her, didn’t I?”
Alcott’s smirk widened. “Plenty of people marry for convenience. You take one end of the house, and she takes the other. A polite nod in the morning, maybe a shared supper once a week. There’s a peacefulness in that arrangement.”
“That sounds wretched.”
“Perhaps,” Alcott conceded with a shrug. “But a wife brings a host of complications.”
Evander looked down into his glass, watching the amber liquid ripple. “I love my wife,” he stated.
Alcott let out a theatrical groan. “And there lies the problem.” He leaned forward, lowering his voice mock-conspiratorially. “Have you tried the usual methods? Flowers? Sweets? Grand declarations you don’t really mean?”
“I don’t make promises I don’t intend to keep.”
“I suppose sincerity has its place,” Alcott said with a grin. “I wish you luck with that.”
Evander huffed a laugh despite himself. “So, what brings you to White’s at this ungodly hour?”
Alcott’s humor faded. “My sister. She’s being… difficult.”
Evander arched a brow. “What’s wrong with Charlotte?”
“She’s distraught over the engagement between the Duke of Brackenford and Lady Jane. She wants me to intercede.”
“Intercede how?”
Alcott gave a sigh of genuine exasperation. “Charlotte thinks I should marry Lady Jane. That somehow, it would solve everything.”
Evander stared at him in disbelief. “Are you even acquainted with her?”
“Yes. Our parents dragged us to all the same events growing up. I’m nearly seven years older, but I’ve known her for ages.”
“And? Do you object to her?”
Alcott lifted a hand. “Lady Jane is perfectly proper. Polished. Pleasant, even. But she’s unreadable. I never know what she’s truly thinking.”
“Olivia’s also troubled by the engagement. But marriage to a duke is a coveted match.”
“True,” Alcott said. “But this particular duke is a vindictive blackguard. I have no desire to provoke him, let alone bind myself to someone I barely know.”
Evander tilted his head. “If anyone could survive crossing the Duke of Brackenford and live to tell about it, it’s you.”
“I’m not afraid of him,” Alcott muttered. “But I have no wish to be shackled, either.”
