Page 22 of Corrupting his Duchess
Henry exhaled slowly. “It’s not that I disagree with the numbers. But I’m not convinced the route is sustainable long-term. The market’s tightening. Demand may be peaking sooner than you think.”
Isaac frowned. “My findings say northern coal’s solid for another decade.”
“If nothing shifts. But a single policy change or new transport law and we’re overextended. Tied to docks we don’t need.”
“That’s a risk we all take. If we get in before the quarter turns, we double our margin. Maybe more.”
“No, you’re willing to take it. I’m not sure I am. I just don’t know if I want to walk through it. Yet” Henry said.
Isaac stared at him like he’d spoken Greek. “You’re joking.”
Henry exhaled through his nose. He wasn’t joking. He felt splintered, like one part of him was already seeing the possibilities in chasing wealth and autonomy, while another part remained here, rooted to the earth, to the garden path, to the tinkling—and tragically rare—sound of Anna’s laughter.
Isaac studied him. “Is this about Darrell?”
Henry didn’t answer.
“Because yes, the man’s a bastard, but he’s effective. He delivers. And his name gets us into rooms we’d never enter alone.”
“That’s part of the problem.”
Isaac shook with desperation. “You’re being cautious to the point of sabotage.”
“No,” Henry said, voice quiet but firm. “I’m being strategic.”
Isaac’s face flushed. “Well, I can’t afford to wait. You know that.”
“I know,” Henry said, and meant it. Isaac’s desperation wasn’t hidden, not from him. That was part of the reason Henry hadn’t walked away completely.
“Look,” Isaac said, the calculative look in his eyes was replaced with fear. “This is the door, Your Grace. The kind that doesn’t open again. Maybe for you it will, but not me. I need you for this. Please. ”
Henry didn’t answer. His eyes had strayed once more, just for a second to where Anna now bent to inspect a bloom, her gloved fingers brushing the stem. The sun caught her face in profile. She was not close enough to speak to, but close enough that he could see the sun moving through the lighter strands of her hair. She wasn't looking at him at all but he felt a tug towards her.
Isaac tried to follow his gaze, then frowned. “Is something else going on?”
Henry blinked, dragging his attention back. “Nothing that concerns the business.”
That was a lie, or something like one. But Isaac didn’t press.
Instead, he said, “You’re the clearest head I know. Just… don’t let ghosts talk you out of something real.”
Henry gave a short nod, but said nothing.
He was thinking of risk, of cost, of the weight of choices. Of what mattered, and what would last. And in the middle of it all, Anna.
She still stood in profile, her head tilted slightly, listening to someone speak. Her posture was too still. Her smile, that soft, unguarded one she gave to Sophia, was gone. And the man beside her, his hand resting too familiarly on the edge of the bench…
Matthew.
Henry’s stomach twisted, sharp and sudden.
The cousin he hadn’t seen in nearly a year, now lounging beside Anna like he belonged there.
He couldn’t hear what was being said, but he didn’t need to. He could see it in the set of Anna’s shoulders. The tightness in her hands. Her eyes flicked away mid-sentence, and though she wore the expression of someone attempting civility, Henry saw the strain underneath.
She looked like she wanted to leave. Like she didn’t know how.
And Matthew, damn him, had that same snake-oil smile he wore when he’d talked their uncle into selling land too cheap five years ago. Henry had learned to read that dead smile. It was a charm layered over conquest.
