Chapter 27

CHAPTER 27

Evan

E van glanced in the direction Emma had gone and found she’d placed herself on a bench near a flock of geese. From her pocket she withdrew bread crumbs and tossed them at the animals who rushed toward her, quaking as they went. He smiled, watching her entertain the animals when Jonathan elbows him and he saw that Abernathy, who’d spread a blanket under a tree, had unrolled a map. Wren was already sitting on the blanket and Jonathan was about to sit down as well.

“Well, what have we here?” he said, earning a glare from Wren.

“The vineyard, were you not listening?” the man asked as Evan sat down.

“I must have missed it,” he said, surveying the document before him. The parchment, worn and slightly creased from repeated handling, depicted the vineyard lands in southern France—a potential investment that Evan was eager to secure. His finger traced the various regions, highlighting key areas that would give them the best return.

“Here,” Abernathy said, his voice steady and low, “is where the climate conditions are optimal. The soil quality is ideal for producing the best grapes. We should aim to purchase these parcels before the others get wind of it.”

Lord Wren, who had his arms folded across his chest, nodded thoughtfully, his sharp gaze scanning the map. “Bordeaux, you say?” he mused, tapping the corner of the region Evan had pointed to. “It’s a risky move, but I can see the potential. You’ve done your research.”

“It was His Grace’s idea,” Abernathy said with a shrug. “Always an eye for a good investment.”

Evan’s lips twitched slightly at the compliment, though he masked it with his usual stoic expression.

Mr. Abernathy, standing a bit farther to the side with his hands clasped behind his back, scrutinized the details on the map. He was the quieter of the two men, but no less discerning. “The investment is sizable,” he commented, his tone calculated. “But if we can secure the property now, it will yield considerable returns within five years.”

Evan’s gaze flicked briefly to Jonathan, who had stepped back from the group, his hands in his pockets, watching with a bemused expression. A faint smile tugged at Jonathan’s lips, though it wasn’t clear whether it was aimed at the business discussion or something else entirely.

“How soon do we move?” Lord Wren asked, his voice sharp with the urgency of the matter. “If we wait too long, others may outbid us.”

Evan’s eyes met Lord Wren’s, a glint of resolve in his gaze. “Within the next week, if possible. I’m already in talks with a few of the backers.”

Evan nodded, his eyes once more drawn to Emma, who had gotten up and was being chased by three geese, unhappy with the rations Emma had handed out. He chuckled under his breath though stopped when Jonathan gave a small chortle of his own.

“Very, that is splendid, isn’t it? I think Lord Lester and Lord Leight might be interested. We could host them for dinner at Haddington Manor. My wife will ensure dinner is satisfactory and will woo them,” he said, feeling confident though he wasn’t even sure if Emma had much experience hosting dinners. It just seemed that she succeeded in so much, he could not imagine she would fail at this.

“Are you sure you don’t have a soft spot for her, Evan?” Jonathan's voice pulled him back to reality. His friend leaned closer, a teasing smile playing on his lips. “Could it be a crush on your wife?”

“It certainly seems so. Given you married so quickly I must wonder if the stories that you ditched Ophelia for true love are true,” Abernathy said with a wink.

Evan stiffened slightly, trying to mask his surprise. “Nonsense,” he said, brushing it off with a wave. “I’m merely… attentive to her, that’s all.”

Wren chuckled, but there was something in the way he watched Evan—something curious, probing. “You’re not fooling anyone, Your Grace,” he said. “The way you keep glancing at her—it's as if you’re looking at a woman you want to bed, not a wife you want for hosting dinners and balls.” Evan tensed, clenching his jaw.

There was an irritation bubbling under the surface, and he forced himself to remain calm. Wren had always been a crude man who knew better than anyone how Evan felt about his marriage, or rather, the lack of a true one. Still, the idea that he might be exhibiting more than mere politeness toward Emma—toward his own wife—unnerved him.

“You’re imagining things,” he said, his voice a little too harsh, even to his own ears.

“You know,” Wren’s voice was deliberately loud, “You ought to be careful with that one. Her family’s reputation precedes her. I thought you were making a mistake marrying her in the first place.”

Evan’s body stiffened. He knew exactly where this was headed, and it stirred a familiar heat of rage within him. He clenched his fists at his sides but said nothing, hoping Wren would drop the subject.

But Wren wasn’t finished. He took a step forward, his voice dripping with contempt. “A woman like that—reckless, impulsive—she’ll only bring chaos. That you shackled yourself to her might be your undoing. I just don’t want to be dragged into it, so I do hope you keep her away from the business.”

The words hung in the air, sharp as a knife. Evan’s blood ran cold. His vision narrowed, and for a moment, all he could hear was the pounding of his own pulse in his ears. How dare he?

His gaze flicked toward Emma, but she was still far off, unaware of the brewing storm behind her. That gave him no comfort. The fury that bubbled in him was his own—he’d suffered enough of these jabs, these whispers, these subtle slights against her.

“She’s my wife,” Evan said, his voice low, each word measured with deliberate restraint. “And you will not speak of her like that.”

Wren’s lips twisted into a sneer. “What’s the matter? You can’t handle the truth? She’s a disaster. A lost cause.”

His pulse hammered in his throat, and the rage that had simmered under the surface finally broke free. Without thinking, he swung, the punch landing squarely on Wren’s jaw.

“You’ll regret this,” Wren called. “All this for that hysterical madwoman?”

The words felt like a slap to his face . Without thinking, he swung first, but before he could land a punch, Wren’s fist slammed into his jaw, sending Evan staggering back.

The impact knocked the breath out of him for a moment, but Evan quickly regained his footing, his anger escalating. He charged forward, fists flying, aiming for Wren’s chest, landing a solid blow. Wren grunted, his hands raised to defend himself, but Evan wasn’t done. He pushed forward, landing another hit to Wren’s side before the two men locked, grappling and throwing each other off balance.

The struggle was chaotic, a mixture of grunts, curses, and the sound of fists connecting with flesh. Wren’s strength was formidable, but Evan was driven by pure fury, his every movement fueled by the thought of Wren’s insult toward Emma.

From the corner of his eye he saw Jonathan and Abernathy exchange quick looks and then rushed in, each grabbing hold of one of the men. Jonathan caught Evan by the shoulders, yanking him backward with surprising strength, while Abernathy grabbed Wren, holding him back from lunging at Evan again.

“Enough!” Jonathan’s voice was sharp, a command that broke through the tension.

Abernathy, his calm demeanor now strained, added, “Both of you! This is madness!”

“How dare you,” Wren called and staggered to his feet but before he could even steady himself, Evan landed another blow, sending the Wren back, clutching his jaw, his expression a mixture of disbelief and anger.

“Evan, stop!” Jonathan’s voice cut through the tension, but Evan’s gaze didn’t leave Wren’s face. Wren muttered something, something beneath his breath, but Evan was done listening.

“I warn you,” Evan spat, his voice low and dangerous. “Never speak of her like that again.”

Wren, nursing his jaw, sneered once more but remained silent. Evan could see the flicker of hesitation in the man’s eyes, the knowledge that he had crossed a line that no one else dared to. And yet, Evan’s anger was not yet sated.

He turned on his heel, feeling the weight of his actions settle over him. His chest tightened with both rage and frustration. He had done it again—let his temper get the better of him. Just like his father always did. His father had been a man to let his hands to the talking, and he’d swore he’d never do that. Just as he’d sworn he’d never marry a woman and treat her as his father had done his mother. Maybe he was more like his old man than he wanted to admit?

From a distance, he saw her hurrying toward him, her expression full of concern. Her eyes found his, wide with alarm. He cursed under his breath.

“Evan!” Emma called, her voice breaking through the haze of anger. “What’s happened?”

By the time she reached him, the commotion had subsided. Evan stood, shoulders squared, hands still trembling at his sides. He met her eyes, but the relief he had hoped for wasn’t there. Instead, there was something else, something darker—a flicker of doubt, perhaps, or wariness.

“Are you hurt?” she asked, her voice trembling as her hands fluttered toward his face, as though checking for signs of injury.

He shook his head, though the ache in his chest didn’t subside. “I’m fine,” he muttered, avoiding her gaze. “We quarreled. That is all.”

She stepped back slightly, eyes flicking from him to the man he had struck.

“Why did you do that?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper. “What did he say to you?”

“Nothing, it is nothing. I silly disagreement about business. That is all,” he said for he could not tell her that he had lost his temper, that he’d lost control. Nobody but those who had been involved in the spat could.

This argument, the fight, it had reminded him once more that he was always on the edge of becoming the person he hated most in life – his father.