Because there was something else that could not be measured in bruised bone or scarred flesh.
“I have no memory of the accident itself,” he said slowly, choosing each word with care. “But there is a feeling that remains whenever I think about that night, a certain uneasiness that refuses to sit comfortably with the idea that what happened to me was the result of mere misfortune.”
He paused briefly, searching for language that would explain the certainty without sounding irrational.
“It is difficult to describe,” he admitted, his tone quiet but steady. “But the more I consider it, the more convinced I become that what happened to me was not an accident at all.”
Cartwright frowned deeply now, his fingers tightening slightly around the curved handle of his cane. “You believe someone struck you intentionally?”
“I believe it is possible.” Alexander leaned forward slightly, resting his forearms against his knees as he fixed the older man with a steady gaze. “And if that is the case, I intend to know why.”
Cartwright studied him for a long moment, the silence stretching between them while the implications of that statement settled fully into place.
“You suspect business rivals,” he said eventually.
Alexander gave a small, humorless breath. “I suspect anyone who might benefit from my death.”
The estate manager nodded slowly, the faintest crease appearing between his brows. “That… is not a short list.”
Alexander’s mouth curved faintly, though there was little real amusement in the expression. “So I am told.”
Cartwright shifted slightly in his seat, resting both hands atop the head of his cane as he considered the matter.
“I will begin reviewing the accounts,” he said at last, his tone measured and practical. “Trade disputes first. Land negotiations. Any partnerships that ended poorly in recentmonths. Those sorts of matters often leave resentments behind them.”
Alexander watched him closely. “Have I made enemies?”
The question came out more plainly than he had intended, though perhaps there was little reason to disguise the truth of it. Cartwright chuckled softly, though the sound carried more understanding than amusement.
“Your Grace,” he said, lifting his brows slightly, “you are a Duke with substantial holdings, a growing network of commercial investments, and a reputation for negotiating with very little patience for incompetence.”
He tilted his head slightly as he added. “You have made many enemies.”
Alexander felt a faint flicker of grim satisfaction settle somewhere deep in his chest. That sounded like the man he imagined himself to be: competent, decisive, and even unapologetic in pursuit of his interests.
It was strangely reassuring to hear that version of himself described aloud, even if the memories behind it remained absent.
“Most of them,” Cartwright continued thoughtfully, “lack the courage to attempt murder.”
Silence stretched briefly between them again, the quiet room filled only with the faint ticking of the clock on the far wall while Alexander considered the uncomfortable truth that somewhere among the people he had offended stood a man bold enough to attempt removing him permanently.
Then Cartwright spoke again. “You remind me of your father when you say such things.”
The words landed with more force than Alexander had expected.
For a brief moment, something shifted inside him, like a sudden tightening somewhere deep in his chest that his mind could not quite explain. It was not painful exactly, and yet it carried the unmistakable weight of something unpleasant, something old that seemed to stir beneath the surface of his thoughts without revealing its shape.
A cold, heavy feeling settled over him. Uncomfortable, and somehow far too familiar for a moment that should have meant very little.
Alexander did not see anything. There was no flash of his father’s face, no remembered words spoken aloud. And yet the mere mention of him stirred something inside him that made his shoulders stiffen almost instinctively. Like the vague awareness of anger that had existed long before he understood its cause.
The feeling passed quickly, leaving behind nothing but the quiet echo of discomfort and the uneasy awareness that whatevermemories remained buried in his mind about his father were unlikely to be pleasant ones.
Alexander’s jaw tightened.
He straightened slowly in his chair, forcing the strange sensation aside with the same controlled discipline he applied to any other unwanted distraction.
“Find out who might wish me dead,” Alexander said calmly.
