Marcus was still replaying Daniel's words from the night before — William Harrow's name whispered like a curse, his loyalty suddenly in question. Marcus had worked beside William for more than a decade. To imagine him capable of deceit seemed madness. Yet the ledgers bore evidence too precise to dismiss.
If Crowne had managed to turn a man as steady as William, then the war was no longer confined to council chambers or docks. It had infiltrated his very circle of trust.
Later that day, he walked beside Emily through the gardens behind Adrian's townhouse. Autumn roses, stubborn against the cold, brushed her skirts as she moved, her arm resting lightly in his.
"You're distracted," Emily said gently, tilting her head.
"Forgive me," Marcus replied, managing a faint smile. "The weight of the warehouse presses harder than ever."
She studied him for a moment, then stopped. Her hand lingered at his sleeve, her gaze searching his face. "There's more than business troubling you. I can see it."
Marcus hesitated, then exhaled a slow breath. "There is more. But not all shadows can be spoken of — not yet. What I can tell you is this: your faith steadies me. And I wish—" He faltered.
Emily's voice softened. "Wish what?"
Marcus turned fully toward her, taking her hands in his. For once, the endless calculations and suspicions fell away. "I wish to know how soon you would be willing to marry — to bind our lives together before the storms grow stronger."
Her eyes widened, not in surprise but in the dawning light of hope she had scarcely allowed herself. "You mean it? Even with all this chaos?"
"Especially with it," Marcus said quietly. "Crowne is pulling every thread he can — Adrian's, mine. I want something he cannot touch. Our vows are ours alone, beyond his reach. Tell me truly, Emily — how soon would you be ready?"
Emily looked down at their clasped hands, her breath trembling. "If you asked it of me… I would be ready tomorrow."
Emotion caught in his throat. He lifted her hand, pressing a kiss across her knuckles. "Then tomorrow it shall be — or as near to it as propriety allows. I wish to waste no time, not when the world conspires against us."
Her cheeks flushed, but her voice was steady. "Then let us waste none."
That evening, Daniel Parker lingered at the warehouse long after the others had gone. The air smelled of salt and damp timber; the silence was broken only by the slow drip of water outside and the creak of settling beams.
He carried a lantern, its light sweeping across the ledgers he had checked and cross-checked — pages that still carried the faint scent of betrayal.
He was nearly ready to leave when a sound caught his ear — the scrape of a drawer pulled open in the adjoining office. Daniel dimmed the lantern and moved quietly, every sense alert.
Through the half-open door, he saw William Harrow. The older clerk's shoulders were hunched, his movements deliberate. By the flicker of his lamp, he removed a slip of parchment from beneath the ledgers and slid it into his coat. Then, with careful precision, he smoothed an entry on the open page, tracing over the ink already there.
Daniel's pulse quickened. The method was unmistakable — figures altered by fractions, strokes retraced, false precision disguised as order.
He dared not confront him. Instead, Daniel waited, breath shallow, until William closed the book, pocketed his pen, and left as quietly as he had come.
When the footsteps faded, Daniel stepped forward, opening the ledger with trembling fingers. The ink was fresh — still tacky under his touch. The numbers had been changed.
It was him. William Harrow.
And yet Daniel hesitated. His suspicion had become certainty — but certainty without proof. A single accusation could tear the warehouse apart.
The next morning, Marcus entered his office to find Daniel waiting, pale from sleeplessness but with a fire in his eyes.
"Sir," Daniel said, closing the door behind him. "I saw him last night. Harrow altered the ledger with his own hand — retraced the ink, smoothed the figures. And he took a slip of parchment from beneath the books."
Marcus's jaw clenched, disbelief warring with anger. "William?"
"Yes, sir. I wanted to confront him, but without proof—" Daniel stopped, then steadied his voice. "Still, there's no doubt in my mind."
Marcus turned away, pressing his palms to the desk. William Harrow — loyal, diligent William — the man who had stayed when others left, who had steadied the warehouse through lean years.
"If this is true," Marcus said quietly, "then Crowne's reach runs deeper than I feared. And if it is not… then suspicion alone may destroy us."
Daniel's hands tightened. "Then we proceed with care. I'll watch him — gather proof no one can deny. If Crowne bought him, we'll expose it."
Marcus turned back, his gaze hard but weary. "You've done well, Daniel. You've seen what I could not. But not a word of this to anyone. William must not know he's being watched. If he's guilty, we'll find the truth. If he's innocent…" His voice softened. "We owe him that chance."
Daniel nodded, though unease lingered in his eyes.
Meanwhile, at the Hartwell townhouse, Charlotte found Emily in the garden. The pale morning sun filtered through gold-tipped leaves, glinting in Emily's hair. She had scarcely slept, her heart full from Marcus's question and trembling with its weight.
Charlotte studied her face, then smiled knowingly. "You're quiet this morning. Something has happened."
Emily's lips curved despite herself. "Marcus asked how soon I would be ready for the wedding. He spoke of vows beyond Crowne's reach. I told him… as soon as tomorrow."
Charlotte's smile deepened, though her gaze was sharp. "Then let it be tomorrow, or near enough. The longer you wait, the more chance for whispers to interfere. A swift marriage will fortify you both. Crowne thrives on delay — deny him that."
Emily's fingers tightened around her shawl. "Would it not seem reckless? So soon—"
"Reckless?" Charlotte interrupted gently but firmly. "No. It will appear resolute. Love that endures opposition commands respect. The city honors strength, Emily — and nothing is stronger than standing with Marcus now, when his enemies seek to shake him. Do not let fear dictate the hour. Let courage do so."
Emily drew a steady breath, her resolve firming under Charlotte's words. "Then soon it will be. I will not waver."
Charlotte reached for her hand, giving it a firm squeeze. "Good. Stand beside him. He will need you — and when Crowne presses hardest, your marriage will be his refuge."
That evening, as fog rolled once more over the city, Marcus sat alone by the fire. Emily's faith lingered in his thoughts, a calm amid the rising tide. But Daniel's revelation gnawed at the edges of his mind.
William Harrow — trusted clerk, perhaps traitor.
Marcus watched the flames flicker and die, the light painting the room in restless gold. Tomorrow might bring proof — or betrayal. But tonight, he knew only this: Crowne's shadow had reached deep into the heart of his own house of trust.
And now, more than ever, he would need both vigilance and calm to survive it.