Chapter 27
The drawing room grew silent as the servant turned to leave. Eliza felt her chest rise and fall quickly, as if the air around her had thickened and grown heavy. Miss Flick Ashcombe was here, at their door, and soon she would stand before them.
She folded her hands together, pressing them tight to keep them from shaking.
The truth she had expressed to Tristan earlier still thundered in her ears. Now it was no longer memory or suspicion. Now the woman who had shaped her fate and caused all of this to happen in the first place was only a few yards away. She laughed at just how cunning fate was.
She could feel Tristan’s eyes on her as a slightly uncontrollable chuckle escaped her lips. She could even feel him take a step closer, about to ask what happened when the door eventually opened, freezing all his movements and intended concern all at once.
They all looked up at the door at the exact same time and watched Miss Flick enter slowly, as if every step cost her strength. She clutched a small satchel against her chest so hard that her knuckles were white.
Eliza noticed how quickly her eyes darted around the room, first landing on her, then shifting quickly to Tristan, then the duke. Her lips parted, but no words came.
The sight of Lord Howard, who by now had returned to resting by the mantel, seemed to terrify her even further.
“Miss Ashcombe,” Eliza said, her voice clear despite the chill in the air.
Flick remained stiff, and then all of a sudden, she took one step back toward the door.
“Miss Ashcombe,” Tristan called, the confusion in his tone prevalent.
Her voice cracked, thin and broken, “I must apologize… I did not know there was going to be a … No I cannot … Surely you must understand why I can—”
It was the duke’s turn to speak so he leaned forward in his chair, his cane planted firmly against the polished floors. “You will speak, Miss Ashcombe. Whatever brings you here tonight, say it.”
Miss Flick’s eyes filled with tears. She shook her head, backing toward the door again. “Not here. Not before all of you.”
Her distress was raw, and Eliza’s heart clenched. She remembered being cornered by Marcus, her own voice silenced, her choices stripped away. She knew full well exactly how the woman standing before them felt.
Lord Howard’s deep voice broke the moment before anyone else could speak. “If my presence hinders truth, then I will not remain.”
Eliza turned quickly to him. “My lord, you do not have to…”
But Howard had already straightened, his gaze sweeping across the room. “The truth must come out and better it be spoken than swallowed. I will take my leave.”
He bowed slightly to the duke, then to Eliza, and stepped past Miss Flick without another glance. The door shut behind him, leaving the air taut and close.
Now it was only Eliza, Tristan, the duke, and Miss Flick Ashcombe, who still stood by the door, trembling.
Eliza stepped closer to the woman. Her voice came out calm, but she could almost hear her blood rushing in her ears.
“Miss Ashcombe, please. Sit down. No one here will harm you.”
The hesitation appeared on Flick’s face again, and Tristan took over. “You came because you have something to say. You are safe.”
The woman’s eyes flicked to him, wide and searching. “Safe?”
“Yes,” Eliza added, her tone softening a hint. “Safe.”
Miss Flick’s breath hitched. She stood frozen for a long moment, then edged forward and lowered herself into a chair near the door. She clutched her satchel still, like it was some kind of weapon that protected her.
Eliza watched Tristan move to his grandfather as well and take a seat beside him. His gaze was unreadable, but Eliza knew there was only one thing on his mind at that point: How to get rid of Marcus once and for all. She shared exactly the same sentiment.
“So,” the duke resumed, his voice coming across the drawing room with nothing but utter ease. “Why have you come to our manor today, Miss Ashcombe?”
A wave of silence settled into the drawing room and, for a moment, Eliza wondered if she had been the only one who heard the duke in the first place.
At last, Miss Flick spoke, her voice barely more than a whisper. “I should not have come. I thought I could keep silent, but … Marcus …” She trailed off, pressing her hand to her mouth.
Eliza leaned forward. “He cannot reach you here, Miss Ashcombe. You can say it.”
Tears slipped down Miss Flick’s cheeks. “I have recently found out rather forcefully that Marcus is not the man I thought he was.”
“Oh, well. You and me both,” Eliza added, her voice intended to soothe the frail woman, whose eyes continued to dart toward the door like Marcus would walk in any moment soon.
“I believed him once,” Flick continued. “I believed his promises. He told me I would be part of something greater, that I was helping to build futures. But it was all lies. Lies wrapped in charm.”
Eliza scoffed at just how true the statement was.
Lies wrapped in charm.
There was no more apt description for her brother.
Flick’s words broke, and she shook her head. “I have wronged you, Lady Vale. More than you know. I stood as the one who arranged your marriage. I told myself it was my duty. That I was serving families, serving tradition. But in truth … I was serving him.”
Eliza’s stomach twisted. The quiet confirmation, spoken aloud, seemed to ring through the room.
She knew this already but why did it still hurt to hear out loud?
She said nothing this time around. Flick had to finish her confession and she couldn’t let anything get in the way of that, not even herself.
Flick wiped at her eyes. “He spoke sweetly. He said I would be remembered. He said no one else understood his vision. And I … I listened. I agreed. I told myself it was proper. That it was fate. But I see now it was nothing but his game.”
She looked at Eliza with nothing but raw sorrow. “I am sorry. For every tear you shed, for every hour you felt trapped in this marriage. I could never finish apologizing for what I have put you through. But you must understand that I never wished you any harm, even though it came anyway.”
The duke’s voice cut through the silence one more time, steady and grave. “Why now? Why confess this now?”
Miss Flick’s fingers twisted against her satchel. “Because I cannot bear it any longer. He used me and then cast me aside. I have tried to make things right with him but now he has turned to threats. He said if I spoke of his dealings, I would regret it. But I already regret everything ….”
Her voice faltered and she broke into sobs.
Eliza rose and crossed the space between them. She knelt lightly beside Flick’s chair, her hand hovering before resting gently on the woman’s trembling arm.
“You are here now. You are speaking. That is what matters.”
Miss Flick stared at her through tears. “You are kinder than I deserve.”
Eliza shook her head. “No. I only know what it is to feel trapped. You are not alone in that.”
Behind her, she felt Tristan watching, his silence heavy but not cold. She did not turn.
Miss Flick’s words spilled faster now, as though Eliza’s touch had loosened them. “Marcus is after Evermere’s wealth. He wants the power and influence”
Eliza swallowed as Flick continued.
“I helped him once. But no more. I will not help him any longer.”
Eliza’s grip steadied. “Then tell us all you know. Everything. It may be the only way to end this.”
Miss Flick nodded weakly, wiping her face with a lace handkerchief. “I will try. But you must believe me when I say … I am afraid.”
“You are not alone,” Eliza repeated. “We are with you now.”
The duke leaned forward, his cane pressing the floor. “Then let the truth be spoken. All of it.”
The burning logs in the fireplace crackled, the silence deepened, and Miss Flick drew in a long, unsteady breath.
“The Berkeley project,” she began, her voice raw, “it is nothing but a scam. He … Marcus … told me it would reshape Evermere, that it would lift everyone. But it was lies. He only plans to use it to fill his own pockets, and those of a few men who follow him. No one else matters.”
Tristan stepped even closer as the duke’s cane tapped once against the floor. “Mr. Harwood has been saying otherwise to every lord in the county.”
Flick shook her head quickly. “Do not believe him. He swore I would come out of it a rich woman. That was his promise. But he has not spoken a word to me in over a month. When I tried to warn him that this must stop, that it had gone too far, he shut me out. He would not even let me through the door. The next time he sent for me, it was to basically threaten me into silence.”
“The park.” Eliza whispered, her voice almost too quiet to hear. “That was the reason for your meeting with him.”
Flick turned to her, her eyes widening. “You were there?”
Eliza nodded, her eyes softening.
Flick’s voice cracked as she continued to speak. “I thought he was going to destroy me, the way he has destroyed so many others.”
The duke leaned back, watching her with sharp, measuring eyes. Tristan’s jaw had set like stone, but he did not speak.
Flick’s hands moved at last. She lifted the satchel onto the table and unfastened its clasp. A small ledger, bound in worn leather, slid into the glowing firelight.
Eliza leaned closer without thinking and the duke tilted forward. Tristan, on the other hand, stood, his body sharp against the wall.
Flick pushed it toward them with shaking fingers. “This is his ledger. I … I took it. I do not know what that makes me, but it holds everything. Copies of deeds, records of sales that never took place, and I am certain there are some forged documents as well.”
Tristan opened it with stiff hands. His eyes darted down the first page, then another. His face hardened. “These are in my name.”
Eliza felt her breath stop. “In your name?”
He held up the page, his voice low with fury. “Well, not just my name. But in the names of other noblemen in the county. He has forged them. To make it appear like we approved transfers that never occurred in the first place.”
The duke’s features turned grim. “Well, it is quite clear, is it not? Mr. Harwood has crossed a line no man returns from.”
Flick clutched her knees as if shrinking from the heat of their anger. “I can give this to you. But you must swear … swear on your honor … that my name stays hidden. If he learns I betrayed him, he will ruin me.”
The duke’s reply came slow but firm. “You have my word. No one here will expose you. You are under my protection.”
Eliza’s gaze slid to Tristan. He had not spoken. His eyes remained locked on the ledger, his chest rising and falling with quiet force.
Flick pressed her palms together. “The last thing I want is to incur his wrath in any way. You must all understand. If he finds out I was ever involved in any of this…You do not know Marcus. He would hunt me down. I have tried all I could to warn all of you, especially Lady Vale.”
Eliza froze at the mention of her name and a stark realization settled in the bottom of her stomach. “It was you, was it not? You sent the letter to me at the inn.”
Flick nodded. “I could not keep silent. I could not watch him ruin more lives, yours most of all. He has already taken too much.”
Eliza’s throat tightened. “You should have come sooner.”
“I know,” Flick whispered. “But I was afraid. I still am.”
Silence stretched, broken only by the crackle of the fire. Eliza looked down at her hands, then up at the woman before her. The betrayal was bitter, but so was the sorrow in Flick’s eyes.
The duke broke the stillness. “You will not return to him. You will leave this place. Tonight, if possible.”
Flick’s head jerked up. “Leave?”
“You have done your part,” Tristan said. “What remains is ours to handle. Stay, and you will be hunted. Go, and you may yet have a life untouched by his ruin.”
He drew out a purse, heavy with coins, and set it on the table beside the ledger. “Take this. It will see you safely beyond his reach.”
Flick’s lips trembled. Her hand brushed the purse, then pulled back. “I do not deserve such mercy.”
The duke’s voice cut sharp. “This is not about what you deserve, Miss Ashcombe. It is about how you survive.”
Flick bowed her head, tears streaking her cheeks. She rose unsteadily. As she passed Eliza, she touched her arm with trembling fingers. “Forgive me. I never wished harm to you. I only wished to be seen.”
Eliza swallowed the lump in her throat. “Go, Miss Ashcombe. Make this choice the one you do not regret.”
Flick nodded once, clutched the purse, and left the room.
The door clicked shut. The air seemed to release, yet no one moved.
Eliza turned to Tristan. His eyes were still on the ledger, fury and something heavier etched into his face. She stepped closer, her voice soft.
“I am sorry. I am sorry for what my brother has done to you. To all of us.”
At last, Tristan looked at her. His expression was hard, but not cold. The firelight showed the weight of betrayal, yet also the faintest crack of something gentler.
“Eliza,” he said quietly, “this is not your burden. It is his. And now it is mine to answer.”
She felt tears sting her eyes. “Still, I cannot help but feel …”
He shook his head, cutting her off. “Do not take his shame upon yourself.”
Her breath caught. She reached out, hesitating, before resting her hand lightly against his arm. “Then let us face it together. Whatever comes.”
For a moment, he did not move. Then his hand covered hers, warm and steady. His voice dropped, almost a vow. “Together.”
Eliza drew closer, the fire’s glow at their backs. Their embrace was quiet, but full, the kind that needed no words. For the first time in weeks, the fear loosened its hold.
They would stand, not alone, but side by side.
And Marcus’s shadow would no longer be enough to break them.