However, the phrasewill be arrangedcarried a coldness that made his flesh creep. It was not justice delivered in court, not a sentence pronounced under law. It was the hidden powers deciding that a man’s existence was to be extinguished.
It was the sort of thing Edmund had done abroad when England required ugly work done neatly. He had never imagined it would come home to sit in a drawing room and speak his father’s name.
“It only awaits for your return to say goodbyes,” Renforth said, in a somewhat softer tone.
Edmund shook his head once, decisively. “I do not want to see him.”
Renforth’s expression softened almost imperceptibly. “That is understandable.”
Manners spoke quietly. “It is not cowardice to refuse a final audience with a man who does not deserve your affection.”
Renforth turned then to the practical matters with the ease of a man who could step over emotion without bruising it.
“We return to London within the hour,” he said. “We take the ledger and make our report. We ensure the Crown understands precisely what has occurred.”
Manners’ looked at Edmund. “And you, Chum?”
When he answered, Edmund’s voice came out more roughly than he had expected. “I will follow later.”
Renforth studied him. “You have unfinished business?”
Edmund thought of Elise’s face as they stood on the wharf. He remembered Holt’s words—keeping it all in the family—and the way Elise’s shock had flickered like lightning and then been swallowed by necessity.
“Yes,” Edmund said, “I have unfinished business.”
Renforth inclined his head. “I prefer to wait for you. You must return in time for the funeral.”
Edmund was stunned by the order. “The funeral?”
Renforth’s voice remained calm. “It would be remarked upon if you were absent. Your father is being spared the full spectacle of being proclaimed a traitor. You will be seen to mourn him. It will protect you.”
Protect him. Even now, the Crown’s kindness came wrapped in demands.
Edmund forced a nod. “Yes, sir.”
Manners’ gaze held Edmund’s for a brief moment longer. “Do what you must,” he said quietly.
They began to disperse, efficient as ever, and Edmund felt a strange emptiness settle in their wake. He had lived for years in the company of men who understood him without explanation. Their camaraderie was a familiarity as deep as any friendship. Yet even that familiarity could not blunt what waited for him now. He had to speak to Elise—not as Mr. Leigh, the convenient alias, but as himself.
He climbed the stairs slowly. Each step felt heavier than the last. He had faced death without this hesitancy; yet words—truth—were a different kind of weapon. They could not be parried once spoken. They could not be taken back.
At Elise’s door, he paused. He listened, as if he might hear in the silence whether she would forgive him. Then he knocked.
There was a pause, the faintest rustle, as if she had been sitting very still and had to remember how to move.
“Come in,” she replied.
He opened the door to her sitting room. Elise stood near the window. Her cloak was off, her hair slightly disordered from the morning’s haste. She held herself like a woman trying to keep her spine from collapsing.
Her eyes went to him at once. They were bright—too bright—with exhaustion and thought.
“Your men are leaving, I see. Do you leave with them?”
He did not answer that. He could not—not without spilling the entire world at her feet. Instead, he stepped inside and shut the door behind him. Silence stretched between them.
At last Elise spoke, her voice low. “Is it true, what Holt said to me?”
He took a careful breath. “Yes.”
