Chapter Nine
The carriage ride back to Blackthorne Manor was tense and silent, the rustle of Eveline's gown and the creak of wheels the only sounds as Nathaniel sat beside her, his jaw clenched in grim thought. Across from them, Miss Harper leaned against Julian's shoulder, her eyes wide with lingering fear.
"He was inside," Eveline finally whispered. "Among us. Watching."
Nathaniel covered her hand with his, his voice low. "We will not let him win."
---
The following morning brought frost and unease. Constable Langley returned with word that the masked figure from the masquerade had vanished into the forests beyond Ashbourne. No footprints, no trail. It was as though the intruder had simply dissolved into the night.
Thomas Hale, growing more restless by the day, suggested bringing in additional guards. "It is clear, my lord, that Harrow has more resources than we anticipated."
Nathaniel agreed, but his mind was already turning toward the deeper mystery—the mention of his father's sins, the veiled threats that seemed to strike at something far older than a petty grudge.
In the library, Eveline poured over old letters and documents alongside Miss Harper. "There must be something," Eveline murmured, brushing dust from faded parchment. "Something from Nathaniel's past that holds the key."
It was Miss Harper who uncovered it first: an old journal belonging to Nathaniel's late father, Sir Edward Blackthorne. In its pages were mentions of secret business dealings, a mysterious investment with an unidentified partner—marked only by the initials V.H.
Eveline's breath caught. "Vincent Harrow."
---
Meanwhile, Julian and Thomas deepened their investigation into Harrow's current whereabouts. Through contacts in the military and the docks, they discovered whispers of a small estate purchased under a false name two counties over—an estate matching the descriptions of Harrow's last known hideout.
"We could strike first," Julian suggested quietly to Nathaniel. "End this before he can make his next move."
Nathaniel hesitated. He was no longer the cold, distant man who had once shut the world away. Eveline's love had softened something deep within him. He would not risk innocent lives—not hers, nor those of the loyal souls who stood beside them.
---
As winter crept closer, so too did Eveline and Nathaniel's bond grow. One quiet evening, in the candlelit warmth of the music room, Nathaniel pressed a kiss to Eveline's forehead, his voice hoarse with longing. "I have feared so many things," he confessed. "But not loving you. Never that."
Her eyes shone. "Then do not fear what is true between us. Whatever comes, we face it together."
But as snowflakes began to fall beyond the tall windows, another letter arrived at the manor.
This one bore no threats.
Only a single line:
"The past cannot be buried. Prepare yourself."
The danger was far from over.
And the hour of reckoning was drawing near.