Chapter 5
Chapter Five
My body melts into the couch, exhaustion overcoming me. My brain is practically mush after sifting through numbers and pages all day.
Oliver sits on the floor, hunched over the coffee table, his head bent low over the torn scrap of sheet music we found tucked between the ledger.
At first glance, it looked meaningless, just another old fragment left behind, but then Oliver spotted the penciled in letters hovering faintly above the notes.
Together they spelled out something that has been nagging at us all evening.
Look where Father never looks.
“Your sister was clever,” I murmur, letting my head roll against the back of the couch. “It’s almost like she wanted someone to find this.”
Oliver’s lips purse in concentration as his finger traces the jagged tear along the bottom of the paper. His shirt hangs open enough to reveal a glimpse of chest, distracting me far more than it should. Being near him feels like standing too close to a fire—too warm and too easy to lean into.
“She was clever,” he agrees quietly. “Both of them were. Eleanor especially…she always had a way of twisting the rules so they bent in her favor. Her observant nature got her into trouble sometimes.” His mouth tilts into something like a smile, but it doesn’t reach his eyes.
“She fought for things that didn’t come easily then.
Education for women, for one. While colleges were technically accepting women into higher education, they weren’t made to feel welcome.
The societal norms were that women were the homemakers, not the breadwinners. It aggravated her to no end.”
I blink at him in surprise. “Your sisters believed that?”
“Believed it, lived it,” he says, his voice edged with quiet pride.
“Eleanor and Clara both wrote to colleges in the North, arguing their case. They weren’t accepted, of course, but that never stopped them from trying.
I admired them for it. They both refused to be shoved into the box my father kept trying to lock them in.
” There’s a pause, his expression dimming as his gaze returns to the sheet of music.
“Sometimes I wonder if she noticed things about me I never did. Like how much I hated the idea of becoming another Bishop, forgotten as soon as I signed the family ledgers. My father thought the name was legacy enough, but I,”—He trails off, his jaw tightening as if the words are difficult—“I wanted to be remembered and to leave something behind that mattered. Not just money, or land. My plan was to create a legacy separate from my family.”
The softness in his voice makes my chest ache. “Oliver,” I whisper, “you don’t have to prove yourself to be remembered. You’re already…” I stop, feeling emotion clog up my throat. You’re already unforgettable, I want to say. To me.
His eyes lift to meet mine, and for a moment the silence hums with something electric, something that tightens between us like a thread stretched too taut.
I clear my throat, glancing toward the sheet music. “Maybe Eleanor knew that about you too. Maybe that’s why she left these clues. She trusted that you’d see what no one else could.”
That draws a spark to his face. He sits back on his heels, tilting his head at me. “You think this isn’t just a riddle, but a trail meant for me to follow?”
I nod. “And maybe the way to solve it is to think like Eleanor. She loved books, right? What if the phrases she left aren’t just quotes, but references?
She could’ve been directing you toward certain books in your father’s study since that is where you were searching first. What did your father think about books? ”
“He thought they were a waste of time. They were distractions from productivity.”
I point at the paper again. “That makes them the perfect place to hide something then.”
Oliver’s brows rise, a slow grin spreading. “Now that,” he says, “is brilliant, Dollface.”
The nickname makes my pulse skitter. I hide my smile by pretending to study the scrap again.
“Now we just need a way into your father’s study.
” Bishop Manor is currently a museum. The Halliwell family swept into Hamilton like a storm, spreading claims of a distant relationship to the original Bishop family.
They bought the old manor and restored it before turning it into a museum for the community.
Once a year, they host a Christmas party where the entire town is invited to attend.
It’s the perfect reason to visit, and the perfect cover to sneak around while people are getting tipsy and dancing around.
“There’s a party at Bishop Manor this weekend. We can look around while everyone is distracted. We’ll have access to the library, your father’s study, and the entire home within reach. There may even be other ledgers.”
His grin turns conspiratorial, his eyes gleaming like he enjoys the idea of pulling off a heist. “I love the way you think. Dangerous, but clever.”
“Compliment accepted,” I tease.
The air shifts again, softer this time. He leans forward, his hand brushing the edge of the couch cushion near my knee, not quite touching but close enough to send sparks darting across my skin.
“You know,” he says quietly, “if I had met you in my time…you would have given me trouble.”
I laugh, but it catches in my throat. “Maybe you needed a little trouble.”
His smile falters, just for a second, and I see something raw flicker in his gaze. Fear. Hope. Longing. He leans in, just a little, close enough that I can feel the warmth of his breath, but then he pulls back, running a hand through his hair as though forcing himself to look away.
“We’ll need a plan for the party,” he says, his voice rougher now.
My chest tightens, but I force a smile, sitting up straighter. “Good, because I have a few ideas.”