After a few more minutes of gentle contemplation, he reached behind him and finally drew out the folded newspaper. He spread it open across his knee, glad to put his eyes to something other than her sorrow. He read in silence for a time, the words on the page giving him some measure of steadiness if nothing else.
His eyes caught on a headline, and his eyes narrowed.
“A man by the name of David Fletcher was arrested,” he said aloud, his tone even. “It seems he swindled some old noblemen of their money. He persuaded them to invest in businesses that did not exist.”
Eliza’s eyes shifted toward him. “Do you read the news often?”
“I do,” he replied, glancing at her. “It reminds me of what is beyond my own life and gives me an appreciation for what I have.”
She looked down at her hands. “I have read the news before. Too often, it fills me with sadness. So I avoid it. One cannot mourn every wicked act of men and still keep their strength.”
He gave a slight nod. “Perhaps. But I find the reminder useful.” He lowered his eyes back to the page.
The carriage rolled on, and he read in silence again until one name leaped from the paper. He paused, his brow furrowed.
“It says here that Fletcher was once in company with a disbarred solicitor. A Marcus Harwood,” he said slowly.
When he lifted his eyes, he caught the flicker of change in hers. Her lips pressed tightly together before she spoke. “Yes,” she said at last. “That is my brother.”
“Are you certain?”
“That sounds well enough like him,” she responded. “I am not surprised he is named among such men. Of course, Marcus would choose his friends in that way.”
Tristan’s jaw tightened, though he said nothing more. He folded the newspaper and set it aside.
The silence that followed was heavier than before. He turned his face toward the window, watching fields pass, though he saw none of them.
The name of Harwood lingered in his mind, attached now to shameful company. He swallowed the thought, unwilling to press her further. She had spoken with such bitterness that no more words were needed.
After some time, he turned to her, his eyes gleaming with all the possible excitement he could offer. “In an hour or two, we should be in Evermere.”
“I see,” she said, her tone low and her gaze still fixed on her lap.
For a moment, he felt her eyes on him. He turned slightly and their gazes crossed. It lasted only a second before they both looked away again, each as if caught doing something forbidden. His shoulders tensed, and he knew she felt the discomfort as much as he did.
Yet he could not stop himself from watching her again. The more he told himself to look away, the more his eyes returned to her. To the delicate slope of her face, to the stillness of her figure, to the strange sorrow that seemed to rest over her like a veil.
He leaned back into the carriage seat, closing his eyes for a moment as though rest might calm him. But when he opened them, she was still there, magnificent as before.
They rode on in silence, two souls bound together by duty, each pretending not to see the other, while unable to look away.
The carriage rolled through the gates of Evermere Manor long after nightfall. Lanterns glowed faintly along the drive, casting long shadows over the gravel. When the wheels at last halted, Tristan stepped out first before offering his hand to Eliza. Her fingers were cool and light, as though she gave them out of necessity.
“Welcome home, my lord, my lady,” the butler intoned as the doors swung open. The staff lined the hall in neat rows, their eyes cautious.
“Dinner,” Tristan ordered, his voice low but firm.
They were led into the dining hall where a fire burned in the fireplace. The warmth was soothing as servants placed platesbefore them and stepped back. Tristan took his seat at the long table, across from Eliza, who placed her napkin in her lap before lifting her fork.
“Your companion at the wedding,” he said, “Clara. She is a friend of long standing?”
Eliza cut her meat into small pieces. “Yes. Since childhood. She has always been steadfast.”
“Then you value her.”
“Yes.”
The short answers tightened the air further, but he tried again. “And your brother? He seemed … eager to see this union completed.”
