Chapter 25 #2
Eric reached for his gloves, then stopped. “One more thing.”
“Yes?”
“Who knew I was expected here today?”
“No one in this office expected you.”
Eric’s hand closed slowly around the gloves. Atlas had manufactured the urgency himself. Not merely encouraged the journey.
He thought of Adelaide again, and of her fingers tightening around his.
I only need one moment because I—
Eric went still. He had been so irritated by the interruption that he had not considered it beyond inconvenience.
Atlas had arrived at her door already having ordered the carriage . The story had already been prepared. And the business waiting in London did not exist in the form Atlas described.
Eric looked toward the window. Wolverton suddenly felt very far away. “Harrington.”
“Yes, Your Grace?”
“Have my carriage brought around.”
The solicitor frowned. “You have only just arrived.”
“I know.”
“And the papers?”
“Send the copies after me.” Eric pulled on his gloves. “I am going home.”
Harrington looked up from the papers still spread across his desk. “At once, Your Grace.”
Eric was already moving.
The room had become unbearable. Too small. Too orderly. Too full of ledgers and explanations that had arrived years too late.
Atlas had lied to him.
The sentence should have been simple, but it was not. It dragged half a lifetime behind it.
Atlas at fourteen, bloodied after a schoolyard fight and laughing because Eric had landed the better punch. Atlas at twenty, drinking too much brandy beside him after Olivia’s funeral because silence had become worse than drunkenness.
Atlas standing in Wolverton’s library when every other acquaintance had finally stopped calling, telling Eric he would remain as long as Eric wanted him there.
He stayed.
“Harrington.” The solicitor paused halfway toward the bell pull. Eric turned. “Did Atlas know the exact provisions of the will?”
“Not the amounts.”
“But he knew Adelaide was the principal beneficiary.”
“Yes.”
“And he knew when I changed it.”
“I assume so. He came here only days later.”
Days.
“Harrington, one more question.”
The solicitor waited. “When Mr. Sullyard asked about reversing the will, did he appear concerned for me?”
Harrington hesitated.
That hesitation answered more than Eric wanted.
“He appeared… invested in the matter.”
“Invested.”
“Yes.”
“Not worried.”
“I would not characterize it so simply.”
Eric almost laughed. Solicitors could make a funeral sound temporary. “Try.”
Harrington’s mouth tightened. “He was persistent.”
Something cold worked its way beneath Eric’s ribs.
Persistent.
Atlas, who had never once asked Eric for an accounting of his private affairs in all their years of friendship, had become persistent when Adelaide stood to inherit.
Eric walked toward the window.
Below, the courtyard shifted with ordinary London movement. Clerks hurried between buildings. A cab rattled past.
He wanted me gone. That thought landed harder than everything else. Eric cursed under his breath.
Instead, Atlas had framed the entire thing as a favor. A cousin sparing him difficulty. A loyal friend handling everything until Eric’s signature became indispensable.
Eric’s stomach tightened. What was he clearing me away from?
The answer came too quickly.
Adelaide.
Atlas had known Adelaide only a short while. Whatever his objections to her inheritance, whatever his arrogance, whatever dealings he had hidden in Eric’s name, that did not mean Adelaide was in immediate danger… right?
He gripped the windowsill and his pulse began to hammer.
This is madness.
His closest friend had quietly interfered with estate accounts and attempted to inquire about undoing Adelaide’s inheritance.
Harrington returned from the doorway. “The carriage will be ready shortly.”
“Too slow.”
“Your Grace?”
“I need a horse.”
The solicitor stared at him. “A horse?”
“My horse, now.”
“You came by carriage—”
“I am aware.”
“The road to Wolverton—”
“Will take half the time mounted.”
Harrington looked genuinely alarmed. “You cannot mean to ride the entire distance.”
“I mean to ride until the horse cannot carry me, change mounts, and continue.”
“That is not advisable, Your Grace.”
“Neither was trusting my cousin.”
Harrington had no answer to that.
Eric reached for his coat with steady hands. The anger had passed somewhere beyond heat. He could feel each conclusion settling into place with terrible calm.
Atlas had handled estate matters without authority. He had benefited indirectly from arrangements Eric never approved. And he had asked how to reverse Adelaide’s inheritance.
Eric had believed grief inoculated a man against surprise, but instead it had made him lazy. Trusting in precisely one place. Whatever he had thought his cousin was, was gone.
As he reached the door, Harrington’s voice pulled him back. “Your Grace?”
Eric turned to look at him. “Send every copy to Wolverton under seal.”
“Yes.”
“No one else sees them.”
“Of course.” The solicitor nodded, and Eric stepped into the corridor without another word.
A clerk nearly collided with him and flattened himself against the wall in alarm, but Eric barely noticed. By the time he reached the stairs, the dread had acquired shape.
Time. I need more time.
He descended the stairs two at a time and met the groom who was leading a bay gelding into the courtyard when Eric emerged. “Your Grace, the carriage—”
“I don’t want the carriage.” The groom stared as Eric took the reins. “This horse is fresh?”
“Yes, Your Grace, but—”
“Good.”
He mounted before the man could finish. The bay shifted beneath him, startled by the urgency transmitted through Eric’s hands. Eric turned toward the gates, and drove his heels into the horse’s sides, urging it to surge forward.
Only one thought remained by the time they cleared the gates.
Atlas is no friend of mine.
Then another followed, colder than the first.
And I left her alone with him.