Genevieve did not miss the slight shift in Gabriel’s demeanor, the way his spine straightened, his hand flexing briefly against the table’s edge. His face hardened even more than before, his expression sharpening into something she had seen the night before when he emotionally pushed her aside: the assessing, decisive earl who was ready to command without his wife at his side.
He pushed back his chair, standing with purpose.
“James, we ride out immediately,” he said.
James nodded, setting aside his napkin.
“I am ready,” he said.
As they turned toward the door, James paused only briefly to reach for Sophia’s hand, his fingers squeezing hers in silent reassurance before he left. Genevieve barely registered it, the motion vague in her peripheral awareness, her own thoughts too tangled to process it fully. Gabriel did not look at her. Instead, he watched his sister and his friend with a tired, wary curiosity. She sighed. Why had she ever allowed herself to believe that she could become close to a man she had been forced into matrimony?
***
The surveilling mission was all but pointless as the strangers Mr. Winters had mentioned were long gone by the time he and James arrived. James took over issuing commands to the remaining servants who had waited for orders from their master, but Gabriel’s mind was back at the manor. He had noticed Genevieve’s expressions turn from concerned and inquisitive to dejected and disappointed. He knew she was suffering from his sudden withdrawal, but Gabriel knew it was for the best. The further away from him she stayed, the safer she would be. Both physically and emotionally.
The ride back to Mountwood was quiet, the weight of what they had uncovered was pressing heavily against Gabriel’s chest. The air had grown cooler as the afternoon waned, settling into the kind of stillness that often-preceded storms. His horse moved with steady precision, hooves striking against the damp earth, yet Gabriel barely noticed the rhythm beneath him. His mind was elsewhere, fixed on the implications of the reports, the tension in his jaw unrelenting.
James rode beside him, matching his pace, his posture stiff with understanding. Neither of them spoke as they approached the main house, the silence between them thick with unspoken conclusions. The moment they dismounted, James gave a subtle nod, a clear indication that they would discuss the matter in privacy before anyone else was made aware of the gravity of the situation.
Once inside the study, Gabriel shrugged off his coat, draping it over the back of a chair before pouring himself a drink. The brandy met the glass with a quiet splash, but he did not touch it immediately. Instead, he leaned against the desk, his fingers digging into the polished surface, his gaze distant.
James stood near the hearth, his expression unreadable as he loosened his gloves, his movements deliberate.
“It is worse than we expected,” he said. “If they are bold enough to send people in a way that gains our attention, they feel they stand a good chance of doing something drastic.
Gabriel let out a slow breath, measured and controlled.
“I agree,” he said. “But how does that help us? We are no closer to any proof or indication as to what they plan to do next.”
James retrieved a document from the inner pocket of his coat, unfolding it before placing it onto the desk between them.
“Charles is not merely circling,” he said. “He is actively working to sabotage your standing in London. He has been spreading rumors about Mountwood’s finances, casting doubt on your ability to manage your holdings.”
Gabriel’s fingers flexed slightly against the desk.
“I expected slander,” he said, growling. “But how can we know how deeply this reaches?”
James exhaled; his tone edged with frustration.
“Clearly, it has gone deep enough,” he said, clearly agitated. “He has clearly been attempting to interfere with your shipping contracts, pressing his influence on key merchants in an effort to disrupt trade agreements. The goal is clear. Undermine confidence in your affairs, weaken your position, and create instability in your dealings.”
Gabriel reached for the brandy at last, bringing the glass to his lips. The warmth did little to cool the simmering anger beneath his composed exterior.
“Financial sabotage, he said, defeat struggling to replace his rage.
James nodded grimly.
“Precisely,” he said.
Gabriel set the glass down, his grip tightening around the edge of the desk. There was nothing surprising in Charles’s methods. This was a man who thrived on manipulation, who understood how to apply pressure in ways that could not always be traced directly back to him. The challenge was not in recognizing the threat—but in countering it without falling into his traps.
Gabriel shifted his stance slightly, preparing to respond when James continued. What followed from his lips was of an even graver cast, tense with consequences beyond his prior revelations.
“There is more,” he said. “Something far more troubling.”
Gabriel lifted his gaze.
“What more could there possibly be?” he asked, both prior emotions giving way to exasperation.
