“Agnes,” she called softly, breaking the silence.
The maid appeared promptly, attentive and calm. “Yes, miss?”
“Will you walk with me? Just a short way. The air will do us good.”
“Yes, Miss Tremaine,” Agnes replied dutifully, and together they left the house, the sound of their carriage boots muffled against the pavement as they headed to the nearby park.
The park nearby offered relief—its lawns still damp with dew, its flowerbeds bright and fragrant. The air was cool and honest, sweeping away the cloying stillness of the house.
“I can think more clearly here,” Elowen murmured, “away from the rooms, away from him... away from the fear that Father’s work might be at risk.”
Agnes nodded. “A wise thought, Miss. The mind breathes better outdoors.”
Elowen smiled faintly, though her thoughts soon turned elsewhere. To Lucas—the warmth of his hand, the look in his eyes, the quiet reverence of their kiss. How could that tenderness coexist with the cold calculation she had just faced?
The park’s calm steadied her.One thing at a time,she told herself. First, she must speak with William and Lucas, learn how deep the danger ran, and ensure that whatever Victor sought in her father’s study remained safe.
Only then could she allow herself to think of matters of the heart—of warmth, of trust, of the man whose honesty drew her like light in shadow.
For now, she walked on, each measured step a small act of resolve against the gathering storm.
***
Lucas stood at the tall windows of his study, watching a damp London fog crawl along the narrow streets. The rising sun was dimmed behind heavy clouds; the fire from the night before had burned low, leaving only a faint scent of smoke. Frederick had been up before dawn with reports on Ambrose’s death; Lucas waited now for William, who had promised the latest notes from the docks and from his father’s papers. Henrysat quietly in a corner, turning over the letters Frederick had brought some hours earlier.
A precise knock sounded at the door.
“Enter,” Lucas called without turning.
William stepped into the study, bringing with him a small bundle of papers tied neatly with ribbon. His expression was taut, careful.
“Your Grace,” he began, setting the bundle on the desk. “I have gone through the ledgers again. There are irregularities that—well, they confirm some of our suspicions. Payments routed through shell companies, shipments recorded under names that appear elsewhere on the manifests. Yet still we lack the proof to bind Orvilleton and his associates outright.”
Lucas leaned forward, fingertips pressing against the polished surface of the desk. “Show me.”
William spread the papers in order. “Here—see? The first set of shipments. Payment passes through at least three accounts before reaching a private ledger I recovered from your father’s study. Everything appears legitimate on the face of it, but the sequence is… telling.”
Frederick appeared at the doorway, looking as agitated as ever. “You should be aware, Your Grace. Lord Redley’s rooms have been examined more closely. There are gaps in his accounts—receipts torn or burned, documents removed. Someone meant to obscure what he knew, or what he may have been preparing to disclose.”
Lucas’s lips pressed thin. “Then it is confirmed. He did not die by accident, and he did not act alone in leaving these trails incomplete.” His gaze fell on Frederick. “You have confirmed this?”
Frederick nodded. “Yes. The constables at the scene are competent, but I have reasons to suspect coercion rather than neglect. Ambrose’s fall may well have been assisted.”
William shifted slightly. “Your Grace, may I suggest something?”
Lucas looked at him. “Certainly.”
“Before we act further, we should ensure my family’s safety. Elowen in particular is far too near the centre of this.”
Lucas’s jaw tightened. He had thought of this often. “I have considered that. Lord and Lady Trenton must be made aware, and precautions observed.”
Frederick waved his hands in quick dissent. “We cannot alarm them unnecessarily. No, no. Panic invites error. I advise subtle measures—guards posted under the guise of ordinary business, discreet supervision of visitors, and, of course, continued surveillance of Lord Orvilleton’s movements.”
Lucas exhaled, running a hand through his hair. “Agreed. And I will personally ensure that the Tremaines’ routines suffer as little disruption as possible. Lady Trenton must not be made aware of the full danger, and Elowen—she must remain ignorant of the shadow that hovers over her.”
William’s eyes were wary. “Your Grace, with respect, that is easier said than done. The city is already rife with gossip, and Elowen is quite sharp. She already senses that something is amiss, though she does not know the extent of it. And then there is Lord Cherrington.”
Lucas’s gaze darkened. “Lord Cherrington, yes. His attentions must be watched carefully. He is too clever, and I cannot underestimate what he may have discovered. He is clever and follows patterns most gentlemen overlook.”
