Chapter One #2
“I had no idea.” Georgina’s voice was barely a whisper. She and Alex had known each other in Sommer-by-the-Sea as well as in London. He had gone off to war the year before she married Rowland.
“Where did you see him, Georgina?” Eliza leaned in to catch her friend’s attention.
Georgina glanced at her and took a breath. “He was at the cemetery.”
“The cemetery?” Eliza teased. “How perfectly dramatic. If only we had a storm to complete the picture.
“There is some exciting news.” Eliza changed the subject.
“Honoria Bainbridge is making a decision on her wedding gown. She is on the verge of pulling her hair out over the guest list. She received a message from Barrington’s brother, Lord Edward, instructing her, not asking, mind you, that she include Michael Dane, the Viscount Albury.
” Eliza folded her arms. “She had no idea why the Chief Liaison to the East India Company needed an invitation.”
“Has Lord Barrington come about, or did Honoria finally give him an ultimatum? It must be almost fifteen years since they became an item. I should give her kudos for remaining independent.”
“Apparently, half the village wishes to attend, and the other half insists they’ve been scandalously overlooked, even though no invitations have been sent.
And that’s not even mentioning those from London.
I still think it’s wonderful. Those two make a wonderful pair. Everyone should be as fortunate.”
Georgina didn’t say a word.
“Oh, forgive me.” Eliza placed her hand gently on Georgina’s arm. “How unfeeling of me.”
Georgina patted Eliza’s hand. “There is no need for an apology. “My marriage was one of practicality and friendship. Rowland was a wonderful man in many ways. He gave his life to his miners.”
She stood and crossed to the window, gazing out over the rooftops of Sommer-by-the-Sea. A breeze stirred the gold-edged leaves beyond the glass. “Even the air feels different,” she murmured. “Autumn always brings change.”
“It always does,” Eliza replied, joining her side.
*
Outside, the wind shifted again, stirring the autumn leaves and carrying whispers from the coast, soft as memory, and just as impossible to hold.
At Hawkesbury Hall, a fire crackled low in the hearth, holding back the chill as Weld turned toward the sound of approaching footsteps.
“You wasted no time,” He remarked as Barrington entered the study.
“Neither did your steward,” Barrington replied, returning the medallion to Weld’s palm. “When a man sends this, it demands prompt attention. I was coming to see you today. Honoria is threatening I must sample more wedding cakes, and I thought Hawkesbury Hall would be a good place—”
“To hide.” Weld chuckled and gestured for Barrington to have a seat by the fire while he went to the sideboard.
The study at Hawkesbury Manor smelled faintly of coal dust and old paper, as though the very bones of the house remembered the industry that sustained it. Heavy oak shelves lined the walls, their contents thick with ledgers and mining records, the spines cracked from handling.
Dust motes drifted lazily in the shafts of sunlight that pierced the tall windows. A scattering of maps and papers on the desk lay beneath an iron paperweight shaped like a miner’s lantern, a tribute, or perhaps a warning.
The fire in the grate had been coaxed back to life, casting flickering light across the worn carpet and drawing long shadows up the paneled walls. It was not a room of comfort, but of command. And in Weld’s presence, it was as if the house itself had roused from its long slumber.
“Brandy?” Weld offered, though his hand was already on the decanter.
Barrington nodded. Weld poured two glasses and handed one to him. The amber liquid caught the light, but neither man seemed to notice. Weld sat in the chair next to him.
“I’ve returned and found that my father has kept a great deal from me over the last few years.
Accidents aren’t uncommon, but the number my father endured…
” Weld paused, swirling the branding in his glass.
“It’s suspect.” He didn’t look at Barrington right away.
He wasn’t ready to hear his agreement, not yet.
He took a slow sip, then turned to face him.
“After nearly every accident, there was an outlay of money, supposedly for repairs. But.” Weld shook his head. “I’m not so certain they were completed.”
Barrington’s gaze sharpened. “That’s not carelessness. I’ve seen work undone, on purpose.” He leaned forward slightly, his brandy forgotten. “Targeted disruptions. Financial siphons hidden behind false repairs. That’s the Order’s pattern.”
The words struck. Weld paused mid-motion, surprise flickering across his features before he looked away, thinking, recalculating. “I thought they stuck to trade routes and political channels.”
“They did. But we’ve choked off many of those.” Barrington’s voice was grim. “And now, in desperation, they’ll take what they can. Coal…”
“…is a gold mine waiting to be bled dry.” Weld finished.
“Then we move carefully.” Barrington drained the last of his brandy. “Care is a luxury we cannot afford. Last year, Ravenstock. This year, my father. Who will be next?”
Weld’s gaze settled on the map, its lines too neat to reflect the chaos beneath. He set down his glass, the fire catching in its depths, and rose. Side by side, they began.