Page 117 of The Earl's Reluctant Artist
He led the way down the corridor without waiting. Tristan caught the wave of unease on Eliza’s face. He brushed his fingers against hers.
The duke was waiting when they entered, standing behind his desk, a folder lay open before him. The air felt charged, every tick of the clock sharp in Tristan’s ear.
Marcus stepped forward first, his tone already thick with practiced charm.
“Your Grace,” he began, bowing slightly. “I appreciate that you have allowed me the courtesy of a hearing. I came only to remind you of where true loyalty lies. Evermere’s legacy deserves vision, strength, not sentimental hesitation.”
The duke said nothing.
Marcus continued, confidence swelling. “My associates are prepared to fund the Berkeley Project fully. You need only sign, and your grandson’s resistance will no longer delay progress. I am sure you value prosperity over misplaced pride.”
When silence answered him, he pressed on. “The world is changing. Land must serve men of ambition, not cling to the past. I have merely offered Evermere a place in that future.”
“Have you finished?” the duke asked quietly.
Marcus blinked, momentarily thrown. “I believe I have said enough.”
The duke reached forward, opening the binder. Inside were letters, receipts, and at the top was a page bearing Flick Ashcombe’s signature.
Tristan exhaled as the truth of the situation began to dawn on him.
“What is going on?”
“This,” the duke said, his tone still mild, “this is a written confession. And these other documents are just records of the accounts you forged in my grandson’s name.”
Marcus froze, the color draining from his face. “You cannot—”
“Oh, but I can. You threatened me. You threatened Tristan. You did not possibly think you would get away with that, did you?”
Marcus swallowed. “Your Grace, I—”
Tristan stepped closer. “It is over, Mr. Harwood. Miss Ashcombe confessed everything. You used her, lied to your partners, and deceived this family.”
Marcus’s voice cracked as he tried to recover. “Confessions can be bought! None of this will matter. Society needs only to believe the scandal, not the truth.”
The duke’s tone sharpened. “You mistake my silence for weakness, Mr. Harwood. If you choose to press this any further, I will see you imprisoned, and believe me, this time, you will not talk your way out of it.”
Marcus faltered. The charm slipped away, revealing the desperate edge beneath. “You would destroy your own family’s name?”
Before Tristan could answer, Eliza stepped forward. Her voice, steady and cool, cut through the room. “Enough, Marcus.”
He turned to her, eyes narrowing. “What?”
“His Grace is giving you a choice here. Drop this whole thing and leave. If you had any sense, you would take it.”
Marcus stepped forward toward her. Tristan did the same as well, his protective instincts taking over.
“Oh. I see. You can no longer speak to me with respect now?”
“I will speak to you as you deserve.” Her gaze did not waver. “And God knows you deserve worse than this.”
“Eliza—”
“You will leave Evermere. I do not care where you go, but you will not return. You will not use my name, or this house’s, for gain or gossip. You are my brother by blood, but you are nothing to me now.”
Marcus blinked, momentarily lost for words. “You cannot mean—”
“I do,” she said simply. “And I mean it when I say you are finished here.”
