Chapter 21
Tristan entered the room later that evening, the stress of the day pressing down on him.
He had been in a carriage for so long, his body was beginning to feel numb.
The door closed behind him, and he looked up.
Eliza sat near the bed, her posture upright.
The flickering fire around the room reflected rather softly on her eyes.
“You were gone for an awfully long time,” she said.
“I was,” he answered, removing his gloves and setting them on the table. “The meeting stretched more than I expected.”
“I see.”
“Yes,” Tristan responded, sitting by the other side of the bed and taking off his coat. “If we were back in Evermere, now would be the time Aunt Evelyn would ask what monster rumpled my coat on my way back.”
That earned a soft laugh from Eliza. One that seemed to be music for his ears. He rose to hang his coat over the back of a chair.
“And?” she asked, leaning forward.
Tristan stared at her, his face blank. “And what?”
“What came of the meeting with the lords? Did they agree with you?”
He shook his head. “Not all. A few of them said they would think about it. Most of them were adamant. They will not budge unless Mr. Harwood himself calls the whole thing off. Now, should the project move on, he will need my grandfather’s approval to proceed.”
Her lips pressed together. “So it depends on my brother entirely?”
“And my grandfather,” Tristan said. “And believe me, trying to talk some sense into either of them can prove to be a Herculean task.”
Eliza exhaled, her eyes steady on him as he returned to the bed. “I understand that very well.”
A tense moment of silence passed between them, and the only sound to accompany it was that of the logs burning in the fireplace.
Eliza broke it before he could think of what to say. “So, what made you change your mind?”
He turned to her. “What do you mean?”
“I knew you had some doubts here and there at the beginning,” Eliza continued. “But I knew they were not enough to keep you rigid on this new decision of yours. What exactly did you see on your walk with Mr. Kale this morning?”
He folded his arms and leaned against the chair. “Things I should have seen much earlier before letting this entire project run this far in the first place.”
She leaned closer, though they were both still on opposite sides of the bed. “Things like what? All you said was that we could not move forward unless we were certain the people would not suffer.”
He paused again before responding. “I saw the lives of the people this project would affect. Farmers, tenants, men with families, women who keep their homes, children who run through the fields. All of them would lose something. Their land. Their work. Perhaps even their homes. I realized they would bear the weight of it. The lords may profit, but the villagers would suffer.”
Her brows lifted. “And you cannot accept that.”
“No.” His voice was steady. “I cannot. I served in the war, Eliza. I know what it is to see men lose everything. I will not bring that on my people now, not under my watch.”
Eliza turned from him then and rose to her feet. She crossed to the other side of the bed and sat at the side, her hands folded tightly in her lap.
His eyes landed on her, the confusion on his face palpable. She lowered her eyes, silent for a long moment.
Tristan continued to study her. “Is everything all right?”
“Yes,” she said quickly.
He frowned. “Are you certain? You look troubled.”
“I am fine.”
“You do not look fine.” He moved closer. “You look as if there is something you want to say but will not.”
She shook her head. “There is nothing. It is only this whole matter. It worries me.”
He moved nearer until there was almost no space between them. The bed dipped with his weight, and for a moment, he only looked at her profile, especially the way the firelight caught faintly on her cheek.
Something about the sight of her this close to him tugged at something in his heart. Something he couldn’t stop fast enough.
Oh, I am going to regret this.
Without fully thinking it through, he reached out and took her hand. Her eyes flicked down at once. The touch surprised her. It surprised him, too, but he did not release her.
“Eliza,” he said, his voice low, “if there is something you wish to say, you may. You can trust me.”
She drew in a slow breath.
“Arranged or not,” he continued, “you are still my wife.”
Her lips parted, and she turned her face toward him. Their eyes met, and neither of them looked away. It was almost like they couldn’t.
“You say that,” she whispered, “but do you really mean it?”
“Yes,” he responded, his thumb brushing gently against her knuckles. “I mean it.”
Her chest rose with another breath. “And if I did speak, would you listen? Truly listen?”
“I would.”
Her gaze lingered on him, steady now, searching. “You are not what I expected,” she said quietly.
“And what did you expect?”
“A man who would never look at me like this,” she admitted.
He almost smiled. “And yet I do.”
They stayed like that with their hands still joined.
“Eliza,” he said again, his voice softer this time.
“Yes?”
“I want…” He stopped himself, but the words hung in the air.
Her lips curved faintly. “You want what?”
He leaned toward her. She did not move back. Her eyes lowered briefly, then rose to his again.
The space between them narrowed even more, and her breath brushed against his. His heart beat hard
in his chest, and for once, he did not think of duty or land or projects. He thought only of her.
She tilted her head, almost like she was waiting.
He moved closer.
A knock at the door rang out cold in the air, slicing the tension between them. They both startled. She pulled her hand free at once, her breath sharp.
The moment fractured.
Tristan stood quickly, almost too quickly, steadying himself with a deep breath. He looked at her once more, her cheeks tinged with bright red and her eyes downcast.
“Of course,” he muttered. He crossed the room, his steps firm but heavy, and pulled open the door.
Mr. Kale stood there, his hands folded in front of him and his expression apologetic.
“Mr. Kale?” Tristan said, his words a question rather than an acknowledgement.
“My lord,” the older man greeted him with a small bow. “Forgive the intrusion at this hour. A letter just came for you.”
Tristan straightened. “A letter?”
“Yes, my lord.” Mr. Kale responded, extending a folded envelope sealed in red wax across to him. “Thought about giving it to you tomorrow, but I do not know when you will be leaving the inn.”
Tristan accepted it with a nod. “Thank you for bringing it.”
Kale shifted his weight, looking past Tristan as though unsure if he should speak further. Then he cleared his throat. “There is also a letter for Lady Vale.”
Tristan turned his head slightly. “Really?”
“Yes, my lord.” Kale produced a second envelope and handed it over. “Both were delivered by a private courier who would not say more..”
Tristan felt his gaze grow sharp. “I see. He inclined his head. “Thank you for bringing it up here.”
“Do you need anything else? Perhaps some extra blankets or warm water for the night?” Mr. Kale asked, his measured tone anxious.
“No. Thank you. That will be all.”
“As you wish, my lord.” Mr. Kale exhaled, bowed again, and stepped away down the hallway.
Tristan closed the door and carried both letters inside. Eliza was still perched on the bed, her posture tight and her eyes fixed on him with unspoken curiosity.
He crossed the room and held out the smaller envelope. “This is yours.”
Her fingers brushed his as she took it. “From whom?”
“We shall soon see,” Tristan replied, breaking the seal on his own.
He opened the letter and read.
The words struck like hammer blows.
What?
He felt his jaw grow tight. This could not be true. This had to be impossible. He read again, slower this time, each sentence pressing the weight of truth heavier upon him.
No.
Eliza tilted her head, noticing his change of color. “What is it? Did something happen back home?”
He lowered the page, his hand tightening on the edge. “It is from the duke.”
Her voice softened. “What does he say?”
Tristan’s eyes burned on the lines once more before he answered. “Apparently, in the few days we have spent out here, the manor has received a visitor. A man called Lord Blackmere has been purchasing several small plots near Evermere’s border.”
He could see the confusion on Eliza’s face grow just a little. “Lord Blackmere?”
Tristan shifted in his seat. “He is one of the lords I met with for the Berkeley Project. He was with us yesterday at the harvest festival.”
“Why would he buy lands near the border?”
Tristan shrugged. “Apparently, he bought them under an alias, and Grandfather only found this out after doing research of his own.”
Eliza drew in a breath. “Oh. I see.”
“Grandfather has always been a stickler for numbers, you see. He reviews records intermittently. After our marriage, he began reviewing the records, as he often does, and that is when he found out about this.”
Eliza’s eyes widened. “All of this happened in just two days?”
“Yes. And I am beginning to think all of this is deliberate,” Marcus responded, walking around the room, unable to stand still in one spot anymore.
“I agree. The timing is quite convenient. Also, lands by the border? That is incredibly strategic.”
“I know,” Tristan responded. “And I think this somehow involves the Berkeley Project.”
“It has to,” Eliza replied, her voice gentle.
Tristan nodded, his jaw set. He folded the letter slowly, too slowly, his chest rising with each controlled breath.
“I cannot believe it took me this long to realize just how much of a disaster this project was set out to be in the first place. This was never about prosperity or creating wealth. It is a land grab, plain and simple. A hostile reshaping of the countryside disguised as opportunity.”
“Tristan—” Eliza called, but he was too upset to stop talking.
“And you want to know what I personally think? Mr. Harwood is well aware of all of this. In fact, I think this was what he set out to do in the first place. It is not just a side effect of what opportunity may cost, no. This is the Berkeley Project. A plain old-fashioned con.”
Her brow furrowed. “Tristan—”
“And Mr. Harwood? He is the face of it,” Tristan said bitterly. “The charming front they use to lure men like me. Bringing all the lords in to soften our doubts and dress greed as progress.”
He moved to the fireplace, the letter trembling in his hand. Without a word, he fed it to the flames. The wax seal curled and melted.
“I cannot believe I let myself—” His voice broke, the anger growing in him as he watched the edges of the letter darken and eventually burn away.
“I cannot begin to imagine how you feel,” Eliza said, her voice a soft contrast to the simmering rage pounding in his chest.
He resumed pacing the length of the room, every step sharp against the wooden floor.
“I will not let this stand. I was trying to do this in a civilized manner before, but it is clear some drastic measures have to be taken. The people of Evermere will lose everything. Do not get me started on the orchards, the cottages, and the grazing fields that fed them for generations. And all the while, men like Lord Blackmere and Mr. Harwood would sit at tables, raising their glasses over the ruin.”
Eliza rose and crossed toward him. “You must calm yourself.”
“Calm?” Tristan’s voice was harsh. Then he stopped, caught himself, and lowered his tone. “No. You are right. Anger will not fix it. But I cannot stand idle.”
She reached out as if to touch his arm, then let her hand hover instead. “What will you do?”
“I must find a way to delay everything. No agreements. No signatures. Nothing formalized until I trace every detail. I will speak with the smaller landowners myself and gather their support. This cannot be swept under the rug.”
Eliza nodded slowly. “Then you must. But promise me something, Tristan.”
He turned to her. “What?”
“Do not let anger guide you. It solves nothing. Resolve will do more than rage ever can.”
Her words settled deep in his chest. He studied her, then gave a curt nod. “Yes. Certainly, that, too.”
Her lips curved faintly, though the worry in her eyes did not reduce one bit.
He stepped closer, softening his stance. “And you?”
She narrowed her eyes. “Me?”
“Your letter,” Tristan responded, gesturing toward the open paper between her fingers. “What exactly did it say?”
Eliza blinked, then offered a small smile. “Oh, this was just from Clara. She was wondering why we are not home yet. Nothing more.”
“Nothing more?” he asked, watching her carefully.
“Nothing more.”
Tristan held her gaze for another long moment, then raised his head. “Very well. She would not have to worry for long anyway. We leave for the manor at first light.”
Eliza exhaled and nodded.
For a time, neither spoke. The logs and letter burned in the fireplace, but the silence between them did not feel empty. In fact, it was the complete opposite of that.
Tristan summoned all the courage he could muster and moved closer, his steps slow and deliberate. He placed a hand gently on her back, almost like he was trying to keep her steady.
She looked at him, her face softening, the tension in her shoulders leaving.
“Everything is going to be just fine, you know that, do you not?” he asked quietly. “I only have a problem with your brother and not you.”
She leaned into his touch, her eyes not leaving his for a second. “I just want to be certain you will not do anything rash.”
He did not pull away. “I promise.”