Chapter 2
“India will not wait for us, Christopher.”
Edward Beresford spoke the words before the Duke of Sutherland had even finished reading the final proposal.
His Grace lifted his gaze from the desk, the lamplight sharpening the lines of his face as he studied his closest friend.
Edward sat opposite him, relaxed in a way Christopher had never mastered.
He tapped a finger against the margin of the page, calm and sure, the way he often was when he thought Christopher needed a nudge.
“If we want the advantage, we should see the ports ourselves,” Edward continued. “Calcutta is expanding faster than any of our contacts predicted. The new warehouses along the river are already in use.”
Christopher set the proposal aside. “I read the reports. Half of them contradict each other.”
“Which is why we should go,” Edward said. “I want to see the shipyards with my own eyes. If the craftsmen there can produce hulls at the rate they claim, we could double our capacity within a year.”
Christopher began to feel excited. “And the tea auctions. The prices have shifted twice this quarter.”
Edward’s smile widened. “Exactly. We could negotiate directly instead of relying on men who only think of their own commissions.”
Christopher leaned back slightly, the tension in his shoulders easing for the first time that evening. Edward’s enthusiasm had always had that effect on him. It kept his thoughts from scattering, though he rarely admitted as much.
“You have been waiting for an excuse to drag me halfway across the world,” Christopher said.
Edward laughed under his breath. “I have been waiting for you to stop hiding behind ledgers and come see the world you keep investing in.”
Christopher allowed the faintest hint of a smile. “Then perhaps it is time.”
He brought his attention to the map again, his gray-blue eyes steady on the lines that marked the coast. He liked the idea of leaving. India was distant and full of work to be done. More importantly, it was not Sutherland. “We will go,” he said. “There is nothing here that requires my presence.”
Edward smiled and passed him the next stack of documents.
Christopher took them without hesitation, his attention focused on the numbers.
They offered a structure he understood, and he held to it with quiet determination.
It was better than letting his thoughts drift to the parts of his life that were beyond his control.
A faint draft stirred the papers on the desk as the door opened. Louise stepped inside with a tray balanced in her hands, her raven hair pinned back neatly despite the long day.
The quiet confidence in her posture filled the room before she spoke. She walked over to the table, set the tray down, and then turned and looked between the two men with the authority she had earned from years of caring for them.
“You have not eaten since morning,” she said, her hands on her hips.
Edward rose at once to kiss her cheek. Christopher remained seated, although his expression softened at the sight of her. He held back a smile as he saw her eyes moving from the untouched tea to the scattered papers.
Edward smiled as he stepped back. “You see, Louise, your brother has not changed at all.”
Louise gave him a pointed look. “Neither have you. I married a man who forgets meals just as easily as he did when he and Christopher first met.”
Edward laughed. “I maintain that I am improved.”
“Barely,” Louise replied.
She turned her attention to Christopher, who straightened a stack of documents that did not need straightening. “And you still bury yourself in work and pretend you do not hear anyone calling your name.”
Christopher lifted his gaze to her. “You have always exaggerated.”
Louise shook her head, though her smile softened. “I have always told the truth. You were impossible then, and you are impossible now.”
Edward leaned back in his chair. “He listens to you more than he listens to any of us.”
“That is because I am his sister,” Louise said, as if it were the most obvious fact in the world. She reached for the tray she had brought in. “And because I know precisely how to make him behave.”
Christopher let out a soft chuckle. “You take far too much pride in that.”
“I take pride in keeping you well,” Louise said. She placed a plate in front of him and nudged it closer. “Now eat.”
Edward grinned. “You see? She has not changed at all.”
Louise gave him a look that was half fondness, half warning. “And neither have either of you.”
At that moment, the study door, left only partly ajar, swung open the rest of the way as a young child darted through it at full speed.
Little footsteps pattered across the floor, and Sophie ran straight to Louise, pressing herself against her mother’s skirts with the confidence of a child who knew exactly where she belonged.
Louise placed a reassuring hand on her daughter’s back. Sophie peeked around her mother’s side, her wide brown eyes scanning the study with cautious curiosity, as if she were deciding whether she was allowed to be there.
At seven years of age, she was often found in the schoolroom, and she enjoyed her time with her parents.
Her soft curls framed her face in a way that echoed his mother’s features when Christopher had been a boy, and the child’s eyes were the exact same shade that his mother’s had been.
The resemblance struck him before he could prepare for it. His chest tightened, and his breath shortened as the familiar rise of grief pushed through him without warning.
Edward crossed the room with an easy smile and lifted his daughter into his arms. Sophie wrapped her arms around his neck at once, her small voice carrying a few bright words he could not quite make out.
Christopher pushed back his chair and stood, the movement quiet but abrupt enough to draw Louise’s eyes.
“I need a moment,” he said, his voice low.
He stepped into the hallway, the cooler air meeting him as he closed the study door behind him.
The long corridor stretched ahead in stillness, lit only by a few wall sconces that cast a muted glow across the floor.
He walked toward the tall window at the far end, keeping his steps slow and controlled to settle his breathing.
When he reached the window, he set his hand against the glass.
The surface was cold beneath his palm. He drew in slow, deliberate breaths and kept his gaze fixed on the dark lawn outside, letting the quiet settle around him.
Behind him, muffled through the door, he heard Sophie’s delighted chatter and Edward’s low reply.
The sound carried a warmth he could not bring himself to face. He did not turn. He could not look at her again.
He heard Louise approaching him, her footsteps containing the same calm rhythm he had known since childhood. She stopped beside him, folded her hands in front of her, and for a moment she said nothing.
She simply watched him with the patience that had carried them both through the worst years of their father’s rule.
“You cannot keep doing this,” she said, her voice full of concern rather than condemnation. “You avoid Sophie. You avoid Sutherland. You avoid anything that reminds you of what you lost.”
Christopher kept his eyes on the window. “I am managing.”
“You are surviving,” she said. “There is a difference.”
He closed his eyes briefly. Louise rarely pressed him, but when she did, her patience carried a quiet firmness he could never ignore.
She stepped closer and touched his arm. “Edward and I will leave for India soon. I need to know this house will be cared for, and I need to know you will not disappear into business and forget the rest of your life.”
He turned toward her. The lamplight from the study doorway illuminated her features, and the resemblance to their mother unsettled him.
Louise took a deep breath and continued. “And there is also your engagement.”
Christopher looked away quickly, but said nothing.
“My dear brother, the agreement ends this year. If you do not marry Charlotte Blackwood, everything will fall through.”
Christopher’s jaw tightened before he could stop it. It was the same unwelcome tension that always came when marriage was mentioned.
He closed his eyes for a moment and saw again the strain that had settled into their mother’s features during those years, the way her smile had thinned under their father’s temper and wandering loyalties.
The memory surfaced with the same strength it always carried, and no matter how hard he tried, he could not escape it.
“I am not suited for it,” he said.
Louise took his hands in hers. “You have decided that, but it is not true. You are capable of far more than you allow yourself to believe.”
He looked up at her, and she held his gaze, her voice calm. “I am not asking you to love her. I am asking you to honor what our mother wanted, and I am asking you to do this for me.”
He looked down at her hands, remembering how rarely she asked anything of him.
She had stood beside him through the worst of their father’s temper and kept him safe when he had been too young to protect himself. When their mother was gone, and the house felt empty, she had made certain he still had a place to belong.
He could not refuse her.
He took a deep breath and lifted his eyes to meet hers. “Very well. I will honor the contract.”
Relief washed across her face as she stepped in and wrapped her arms around him. He returned the embrace with quiet care, unused to letting anyone near. Her closeness helped him settle a bit, although he still felt dark and heavy.
When she released him, Christopher nodded once and turned toward the stairs. He would leave for London that night. The sooner he set the engagement in motion, the sooner he could return to what he knew he could manage.
He reached the first step without looking back, his attention fixed on the promise he had given and the knowledge that he would keep it.