The De Wael house was seldom loud. Even when merchants quarrelled, the sound rarely carried beyond the hall — disputes were handled with civility, calm words masking sharper blows. That was why the raised voices below now sounded so strange, so raw.
Katelijne paused on the landing, a candle trembling in her hand. Across the corridor, Edwin looked up from his desk, eyes wide. Their father's shout rose again, rough and echoing against the walls.
'How could I not see it, Margriet? Weeks of inflated prices under my own seal!'
Katelijne set the candle on the rail, her pulse quickening. Edwin crossed silently to join her, both of them leaning over the banister as their mother's voice floated up from below — brittle, controlled.
'And how did you come to know of this?' Margriet asked.
'Our son found it,' Jeroen replied, and the weight of his voice made the candle flame quiver. 'He saw the pattern in the ledgers — small losses spread across months, artful enough to pass unnoticed. I checked every tally myself. He was right.'
Katelijne felt her cheeks flush. Edwin's head turned sharply toward her; their eyes met, and for a heartbeat neither spoke. Then he smiled — a brief, knowing flicker — and she looked away, heat climbing to her ears.
Downstairs, Jeroen continued, unaware. 'It wasn't chance. Whoever arranged it knew how to bleed profit from a ledger without leaving a stain. It was cunningly done.'
'And you think Floris—?' Margriet began.
'I know it,' Jeroen snapped. 'His name stands beside every inflated order. I confronted him this morning — he claimed a clerk's mistake. But the sums are too clean, too deliberate. Theft disguised as carelessness.'
'You misjudge him,' Margriet said sharply. 'He is young, ambitious—'
'Ambition is no excuse for deceit,' Jeroen cut in. 'If he means to join this family, he should do it honestly. I'll not have our accounts tainted by another man's greed.'
A tense silence followed, broken only by the crackle of the hearth. Katelijne gripped the railing. The truth felt heavier now that her father had spoken it aloud.
Below, Jeroen's tone softened. 'Edwin has shown more sense than I credited him. We may rely on him more than I thought.'
Edwin exhaled, his smile faint, almost guilty. Katelijne's heart swelled with pride — for him, and for the quiet lie that kept her hidden. He had taken the praise without question, shielding her discovery as naturally as she had once shielded his absences.
Margriet's sigh carried through the stairwell, weary and dismissive. 'You will make an enemy of him before the wedding is even announced. These are small matters, Jeroen — clerical oversights, not deceit. Young men test their boundaries before they settle. It is… expected.'
'Expected?' Jeroen's voice hardened again. 'You call overcharging partners a test of boundaries? You call deceit ambition?'
'He is under pressure,' she said quickly, the pitch of her voice rising. 'The marriage brings talk. There are expectations on both sides. Men have their vices, Jeroen — they drink, they boast, they make foolish choices before they wed. Once the vows are spoken, he will steady.'
'If he makes it that far,' Jeroen muttered.
Katelijne's stomach twisted. Her mother's words rang hollow, defensive. She heard in them not belief, but fear — fear that the match might yet crumble, that the glittering alliance she had promised her friends might slip from her grasp.
Her father's chair scraped against the tiles. 'It isn't only the ledgers,' he said. 'There are rumours spreading through the city — merchant sons drinking in taverns they'd once pass in disgust, paying for company they shouldn't afford. Floris's name is among them. I heard it myself this afternoon.'
Margriet gave a strained laugh. 'Rumours. Antwerp lives on them. You of all people should know how quickly a tongue turns truth to ash.'
'Perhaps. But smoke seldom rises without fire.'
For a moment, neither spoke. The fire snapped in the silence.
Then Jeroen's voice came again, lower, heavy with fatigue. 'If half of what I've heard is true, I'll not see my daughter bound to him. I'll not sell her to a man who spends his nights among whores while my name graces his accounts.'
Katelijne drew a sharp breath. Edwin touched her sleeve in warning, eyes wide, but her pulse thundered. The image of Floris in that tavern flared behind her eyes — his laughter, the woman's bare shoulders, the way his hand had gripped her waist as though claiming a prize.
Her father's suspicion had become truth she already knew.
They slipped back before the stairs creaked. Katelijne's heart thudded as her father's voice rose again, then dropped to a rumble behind the closed study door. She caught Edwin's sleeve and pulled him down the passage until the voices were only a murmur.
For a long moment neither spoke. The glow from the hall reached only far enough to show the gleam of Edwin's eyes and the tightness in his jaw. He exhaled slowly, rubbing a hand across his face.
'So he knows,' he said at last. 'Floris has been cheating him.'
'And he meant to keep doing so,' Katelijne murmured. 'Father's trade, our name—he would have let it rot, one coin at a time.'
Edwin shook his head, still reeling. 'I only showed him the figures because of what you found. He truly believes I solved it.'
She smiled faintly, cheeks warm. 'Then let him. I'd rather he praise you than scold me for prying where I shouldn't.'
For a heartbeat they shared a conspirator's grin. But the relief ebbed quickly.
'He confronted Floris,' Edwin said. 'If the man is as reckless as the rumours claim, he'll not take it kindly.'
Katelijne hesitated. 'You think he'll strike back?'
'Not openly,' Edwin said. 'But men like him don't forget being shamed. Especially by those they think beneath them.'
His words sank deep. She remembered the tavern—the pale shoulders of the woman on his knee, his laughter echoing against the rafters—and her stomach turned.
'He deserves whatever comes,' she said quietly.
Edwin's expression softened. 'Perhaps. But tread carefully, sister. If Father ever learns you were out that night—'
'I know.' Her voice was small. 'He'd never see beyond the shame of it.'
The wind rattled the shutters; somewhere a door slammed, and both flinched. Edwin touched her shoulder, gentler now. 'Still, you saved him, Katelijne. You saved us. Father would have signed the deal blind.'
She looked down, throat tightening. 'And yet he believes it was you.'
'Let him,' Edwin said again, a faint smile tugging his mouth. 'For once his pride in me costs nothing.'
She laughed softly, the sound fragile. The tension between them eased, though beneath it ran a current of shared fear.
'Go to your room,' Edwin said. 'Before they find us eavesdropping.'
'And you?'
'Ledger work,' he lied, turning toward his room.
Katelijne watched him go, her mind still echoing with her father's words — and Floris's name, fouled now by deceit.
A knock broke the uneasy quiet. It was brisk, confident — a man certain of his welcome.
Margriet looked up from her embroidery, startled, then hastened to the door.
'Master van den Berg!' she exclaimed, her tone brightening as if the household had not been wrapped in tension only moments before.
Floris stepped inside, the winter air clinging to his cloak. He carried himself with his usual assurance, though a touch of haste showed at the corners of his smile. In one arm he held a posy of winter blooms, in the other a parcel wrapped in fine paper.
'Mistress De Wael,' he said smoothly, bowing. 'Forgive the intrusion. I heard Master De Wael was returned home and wished to offer my respects. And these —' he held out the flowers, first to Margriet, then to Katelijne '— for the ladies who brighten the season more than any fire.'
Margriet blushed, waving the servant to fetch a vase. 'Such gallantry, Floris! How thoughtful you are.'
Katelijne took her bouquet stiffly. The blooms — pale camellias and sprigs of rosemary — smelled faintly of the apothecary, too clean, too precise.
Jeroen entered then, face guarded. 'Master van den Berg. I did not expect you so soon.'
Floris's bow was deeper this time, almost humble. 'I owed you my apology, sir. I've looked into the ledger matter — a miserable oversight by one of my clerks. My fault entirely for not catching it sooner. I beg that you won't speak of it to my father. He'd have my hide for such carelessness.'
Jeroen studied him, saying nothing for a long moment. Then he nodded once. 'See that it doesn't happen again.'
'You have my word.' Floris laid the parcel on the table. 'A token — spiced almonds from Bruges, the first shipment of the season. May it sweeten any ill feeling between us.'
Margriet's pleasure returned in full bloom. 'You are too kind, Floris. Truly.'
Katelijne stood silent, fingers tightening on the stems until a thorn pricked her thumb.
Floris turned to her as he drew on his gloves. 'And you, my lady — have you thought further on our future? Your father will wish for an answer soon.'
Her mouth went dry. For a heartbeat she saw again the tavern — his hand on another woman's waist, laughter spilling like wine.
'I will give it,' she said evenly, 'when I am sure of it.'
Floris smiled as if that were promise enough, bowed once more, and was gone.