Marcus lifted his cup once more. “If Lord Vale does not mind, I would prefer to hold on to the tea.”
Tristan’s eyes settled firmly on him. “I do mind. Visitors do not drink in my study.”
The words fell like a stone in the air. Marcus hesitated, then let out a shallow breath and passed the cup to the maid. “As you wish.”
Tristan rose from his chair, straightening to his full height. “Follow me.”
Marcus nodded and rose to his feet as well. Tristan watched him adjust his coat, the same smile on his face.
“Thank you, my lord,” Marcus continued. Tristan only gave him a brief nod and turned around. They both made their way down the hallway and up the stairs toward his study. Marcus cleared his throat as they walked, a bid, Tristan imagined, to clear the silence.
Tristan, on the other hand, continued to think about his first impression of Eliza’s brother. There was something abouthim. Something he couldn’t put his finger on. Something that continued to pull at his mind over and over and wouldn’t budge one bit.
The study was quiet save for the faint ticking of the clock on the mantle. Tristan motioned to the chair across from his desk.
“Sit, Mr. Harwood. Let us not waste more time. Why are you here?”
Marcus settled himself, his coat brushing against the armrest as he reached into a leather bag at his feet. From it, he pulled a folder, thick and bound with ribbon, and placed it gently on the desk between them.
“I have been working on an investment opportunity, Lord Vale. Nearly three years of work with a few colleagues. I would hate for a man like you…a man responsible for my sister, no less, to miss out on it.”
Tristan narrowed his eyes, though he remained still. “An investment, you say?”
“Yes.” Marcus slid the folder closer. “All the details are inside.”
Tristan untied the ribbon and opened the cover, feeling the faint smell of ink and wax fill his nostrils. On the first page, a wave ofbold lettering caught his eye. He read it and then looked back at Marcus, his face and tone edged with skepticism.
“The Berkeley Project?”
Marcus’s face brightened. “Indeed. We researched it deeply, five of us. We saw ways the town’s conditions could be improved. Basically, avenues where opportunity might grow.”
“You must forgive me, Mr. Harwood, but I am struggling to understand you.”
Marcus exhaled. “I do not blame you, my lord. It is quite the most robust topic.”
“Then make it less robust, will you?”
“Very well, my lord. It is quite simple. The Berkeley Project is a way to redefine community.”
Words and more words.
“The plan, of course, is to revolutionize land developments, the use of trade routes, and industry in general.”
“I see,” Tristan responded, his voice faint as he began to flip through the pages. Each page was filled with notes and messageshe would have to take some time with. Marcus continued anyway, forcing Tristan to choose where to shift his focus to.
“Remember, I said five of us came up with this project? One of our group, his name was Sir Isaac Berkeley. He laid the foundation of it all. You might know him.”
“The name does not sound familiar,” Tristan responded, his voice sharper than he’d intended. “He was a brilliant man,” Tristan continued anyway. “He died of measles last month.”
Tristan looked up briefly. “So you named this after him.”
“Yes. To honor him, and to carry forward his vision.”
Tristan tapped the paper once with his finger. “And how does it work, exactly?”
Marcus leaned forward, his eyes bright. “It is simple. The land and trade routes are developed with help from contributors like yourself. Once developed, we petition the Crown for letters granting us authority to commercialize.
Then, profits flow back to our investors. Imagine it this way: You pay a portion…perhaps only a quarter of what your eventual profits might be. The rest multiplies in return.”
