Evander sat at the desk in his study as the flickering candle cast shadows across the ledgers spread before him. The ink on the page had long since dried, yet he stared at it as if willing the numbers to change. But there was no denying it—his father had been right. The indigo plantation promised a fortune, its projected earnings nothing short of staggering.
And yet, wealth had never felt so cursed.
His shoulders tightened as he leaned back in the chair, the creak of old leather loud in the silence. He had been threatenedand shot at. He knew with a chilling certainty that if another warning came, it might be his last.
A knock broke through the tension, followed by the quiet footfalls of the butler entering. “Lord Warwicke has requested a moment of your?—”
The sentence died in the air as Warwicke stepped past the butler, his face grim.
“We need to talk,” Warwicke said, voice clipped and dark with urgency.
Evander dismissed the butler with a curt nod. “Very well,” he said, gesturing towards the chairs opposite the desk. “Would you care to sit?”
But Warwicke remained standing. “I’ve made some inquiries into your brother’s death… and I’ve discovered something I don’t believe you’ll like.”
Evander’s spine stiffened. “Go on.”
Jaw clenched, Warwicke said, “I think he was murdered.”
The words hung between them like a dropped blade. Evander felt the ground shift beneath him. “Murdered? What are you basing that on? Illness broke out on his ship and many of the passengers perished. It is not uncommon for that to happen on a long voyage.”
“That’s just it,” Warwicke said. “Earlier today, I saw that very ship moored on the River Thames, so I went to make some inquiries. None of the crew seemed to remember Bryon or Lord Harwood even making the journey.”
Evander blinked, incredulous. “That’s impossible.”
“I thought the same,” Warwicke replied. “Until I spoke to the crew. And there’s more—I attended a meeting with certain reformers opposing British rule in India. They spoke of your brother, and let’s just say, it wasn’t in reverence.”
Evander rose from his chair slowly and walked over to the tall windows. “If what you’re saying is true… how do we prove it?”
“Give me more time,” Warwicke replied. “But until then, you need to be careful. These men—these reformers—they don’t operate with mercy. They are methodical. And ruthless.”
Evander turned from the window, his expression hardening. “What about Lord Harwood? Do you believe he was murdered, too?”
Warwicke gave a single, sharp nod. “It’s highly likely. If the reformers wanted to eliminate anyone involved with colonial trade, disposing of bodies at sea while en route would have been easy—and efficient.”
“I want to help,” Evander said firmly. “Let me attend one of those meetings.”
“No,” Warwicke said, his tone brooking no argument. “You’re already a marked man. If they spot you, they may not wait for another opportunity.”
Evander’s hands curled into fists. “I won’t stand by and do nothing.”
“You must,” Warwicke said. “At least for now. Let me do what I’m trained to do. I’ve already reached out to my contacts at Bow Street. We need solid evidence before we act. Right now, we’re blind in the dark.”
“I sent extra guards to watch over Olivia when she went to the circulating library earlier. I don’t want to worry her, at least unnecessarily, but I fear that whoever might be threatening me might turn their sights on her.”
“That was wise.”
With a low exhale, Evander returned to the desk, absently gathering the plantation papers. “This indigo venture could make my family immensely wealthy.”
Warwicke gave him a pointed look. “That’s why men are dying over it.”
“Yes. And I know my father won’t relinquish his hold without a fight.”
“Some fights,” Warwicke said, “are worth having.”
Evander’s gaze narrowed. “You’re right. But I fear the cost may be higher than he realizes.”
A soft voice from the doorway made them both turn. “I’m sorry to interrupt,” Olivia said, her tone polite. “But the dinner bell has rung.”
