Four days had passed since the incident. My brothers, however, were still afraid of the punishment I had yet to deliver. To be truthful, I had no real reason to punish them after all, had Miss MacLeod's hair been wavy or curly, I would have praised Jasper and killed the woman. I had been angry at Jasper only because her hair was straight; he would have murdered my prospective bride.
I had already sent a floral arrangement prepared for Jane to her home ahead of time, an exquisite marble vase dense with orchids. Naturally, there was a note accompanying it:
A token of respect from the Ravencroft family to Miss Jane Florence Euphemia MacLeod.
Now, I had also sent a few men to take Mr. Martin's measurements and height so a proper cane could be made for him. Over the course of those four days, I hadn't left Miss Margaret alone; I procured her medicines, and I explained my absence that night through the excuse of my injured ear. She was convinced unable to be cruel to me yet there was still a trace of doubt within her. I could see it. On the nights I slept beside her, I dreamed of Jane with desire, her hair impossibly beautiful, too perfect to be real.
After breakfast, we went to the MacLeods' house together with my brothers. When the servant who opened the door called for Miss MacLeod, Mr. MacLeod also made his appearance. They were kind enough not to leave us waiting outside. We entered.
Jane examined me with sharp, irritated eyes. She hadn't demanded an apology from my brothers yet I had brought them nonetheless. Why would she think I valued her opinion?
"Well then, boys," I said, smiling at Miss MacLeod. "Lower your heads."
Grasping Jasper by the nape of his neck, I forced his head even lower. They apologized in synchronized unison.
I could tell from the tension in Miss Jane's jaw that her teeth were clenched.
"Take your hand off him," she said, her eye twitching.
I pushed Jasper's head down further.
"Will I be taught how to treat my brothers by you, Madam?"
Miss Jane was about to make a move against me, but when her father, Mr. MacLeod, warned her with a sharp, "Florence," she stepped back several paces and fixed her gaze on the floor.
"I accept the boys' apology," she said. "Please, don't make them bow before me any longer."
With a broad smile, I released Jasper's neck.
"You heard Miss MacLeod," I said, and they all lifted their heads at once.
"But I don't forgive you, Mr. Ravencroft."
When I turned my eyes to her, she was already looking at me with unmistakable sharpness.
"Florence," He said.
"For which fault of mine?"
I paused. "Ah… I understand."
As the words left my lips, I inclined my head slightly at first; then I drew my shoulders back and straightened my posture. My fingers hesitated for a moment at the lapel of my coat, as though I were gathering myself. Then, with a measured step, I turned toward Mr. MacLeod.
"Recently, I noticed the way Miss MacLeod looked at me. It wasn't difficult to understand that she was in love with me, yet I rejected her immediately, without taking the time to know her."
As I spoke, my right hand rose involuntarily, palm turned upward in the manner of someone attempting to explain himself.
"After that, an altercation occurred between my brothers and me." A look of discomfort mixed with regret crossed my face; my brows drew together slightly. "I came to your home to offer an apology, but when I didn't see her in her usual ornate attire and as the house was dark I mistook her for a servant. That is precisely how the incident transpired."
I turned my entire body toward Miss MacLeod. One hand seemingly trying to suppress a tremor went to my chest. My fingers pressed lightly against my ribs. Then I bent forward fully, performing as deep a bow as possible. My knees bent slightly, my head lowered nearly to the floor.
"I offer my sincerest apologies," I said, my voice low and steady. "Next time, I shall not reject you in such a crude manner. I will be more gentle."
As I slowly straightened, I fixed my gaze on the floor first; then I lifted my head and looked at Jane. I expected sharp anger in return perhaps her lips tightening, her brows knitting, her gaze cutting into me.
But instead…
A soft, warm smile spread across her face. Her eyelids lowered slightly, and her cheeks flushed with the faintest hint of pink.
"I accept your apology, sir. Had I known that you were involved with Miss Margaret Wood, I wouldn't have harbored feelings for you."
At that moment, my face tightened; the muscles beneath my jaw hardened, my gaze freezing in place. For a brief instant, it was as though I had forgotten how to speak. My brothers shifted tensely around me. Jasper raised his eyebrows, while Laurence stepped forward in shock.
"You're seeing that woman? That woman, openly, before everyone?"
Laurence's hand rose into the air, as if he were about to reach for my shoulder only to stop halfway. His face, like those of my other brothers, was marked by deep disappointment.
Miss Jane parted her lips slightly; then, in embarrassment, she covered her mouth and stepped back, her fingertips pressed to her lips.
"Oh dear, didn't your brothers know?"
Mr. Martin suddenly came to my side. His large, firm hand slid beneath my arm, gripping me tightly at the elbow. He pulled me forward at once.
"Never mind, let us speak of business," he said.
Without allowing me to look at anyone, he guided me toward the study. His footsteps had quickened, his stride carrying an almost dragging urgency.
As we walked toward the study, the light fell into the middle of the corridor in a thin strip, slipping through the heavy curtains of the upper floor. When we passed by the room where Miss MacLeod and I had had sex, I labeled the situation tragicomic in my mind. Once the door closed behind us, Mr. Martin and I no longer focused on words but on work on maps and figures. The language of the conversation was money; the language of the ground was iron.
The priority was the practicality and profitability of a line to be drawn across the Ravencroft lands. I wanted railway tracks running through my property. In truth, I could have discussed this with professionals of the trade, but Mr. Martin was an old man and I had already slept with his barren daughter. I supposed this was my way of apologizing to him.
Mr. Martin laid out how the railway line could pass along our boundary, detailing gradients and ground conditions, and from which point a short but costly viaduct could descend onto Blackford Hill. The upper slopes of his land were both obstacle and opportunity: if a siding (a loading spur) and a small private station were built at the right location, it would be ideal for freight shipment my family's timber, ore, or agricultural products could be brought to market with ease.
In the finer points of financing, Mr. Martin alluded to tender connections and an investor pool: bankers capable of liaising with the city senate and the railway company, construction firms, engineering offices. The capital required for the project could be secured at least on paper through bond issuance, private investment commitments, and bridge loans from banks. Mr. Martin's business plan included cost items, an approximate cash flow, and projected revenues for the first five years. Ravencroft's share could be offered either as an upfront payment in exchange for land-use rights or as an equity partnership.
The political dimension of the project also lay on the table: municipal approvals, potential expropriation issues, objections from local tenants and farmers, even possible reactions from the church and neighboring lords. To pacify such resistance, Mr. Martin planned donations to inconvenient places, promises of local employment, and at times the use of influence in the form of "favors rendered." My signature as a baron could accelerate the process through official channels; however, the cost to my image the reaction of the people surrounding the estate and potential damage to family honor might come back to haunt me. This was a weighty matter I would have to consider carefully.
When the discussion shifted from technical logistics to legal particulars, the details multiplied: geological surveys to clarify land boundaries, the summoning of surveyors, finalizing the route of the line; which quarries would supply stone and sand during construction and at what cost; how many laborers would be hired, wage contracts, seasonal delays, and risks in material supply.
As an alternative financial structure, Mr. Martin suggested not an outright sale of the land but mortgaging it, or allowing Ravencroft to take a limited share before investors: upfront cash in exchange for land rights, or a defined percentage of the line's revenues. This structure would meet my short-term cash needs while partially preserving my family's long-term control. Mr. Martin also calculated that, to make the project more attractive to investors, the promise of a small "private stop" or a "separate siding for the baron" could be added, providing both prestige and practical convenience.
I had thought him an inept man. I was mistaken. He was genuinely intelligent, a man who considered every detail. It was clear where Miss MacLeod had inherited her sharp mind from.
In the end, we both leaned over the table; in Mr. Martin's mind, a tender process, tenant compensation schedules, a construction timeline, and financing instruments were taking shape. In my own mind, however, were the peace of the lands, the preservation of family reputation, and what this change would bring to the estate, to my family, to my brothers. Words would be spoken, papers signed, seals pressed but the weight of the decision was the kind that couldn't be measured by numbers alone, the kind that would shape Ravencroft's future.
When the sound of a piano drifted up from below, my ears turned toward the door. It resembled Laurence's way of playing.
Mr. Martin said, "My daughter used to enjoy playing the piano. These days, her interest has shifted to plants."
I rose abruptly to my feet; an unsettling impulse slid down my spine.
"I urgently need to check on my siblings."
I was afraid. If my siblings shared interests with Miss MacLeod, they would take an interest in her. And that would further complicate my impending marriage to Miss Margaret. She loved plants like Elora, played the piano like Laurence and Jasper? How was she deceiving him now? Leaving my foolish siblings alone with an intelligent woman had been foolish of me.
Downstairs, Laurence was playing the piano, Jasper was repairing a broken watch, and Miss MacLeod and Elora were examining plants inside a large ledger. When Elora saw me, she came over with the book in her hands.
"Brother, look. Miss Florence has made an encyclopedia from the plants she collected every note is hers. She said she could give it to me."
Florence? What was the meaning of this familiarity?
For the first time, the expression on my face toward Elora was one of icy severity, spreading from my pupils across my entire visage so cold, so threatening that it seemed to lower the temperature of the room. My knuckles stood out, my jawline tightened, and a vein appeared, taut along my neck. It was a look Elora had never seen before hard, sharp, and lethal enough to shatter the trust a curious child places in her older brother.
"Are you certain Miss MacLeod has no need of the book?"
Elora's steps faltered backward. She pulled the ledger to her chest and clutched it between her arms, not out of love for the book, but from the instinctive fear my gaze inspired.
Then Miss Jane appeared.
"Of course I don't need it," she said.
"I already have every plant in it memorized."
Those words sent an invisible tremor across my face. Not surprise, rather a controlled, suppressed ache where relief and anger intertwined. As if the possibility of a catastrophe had just been averted, yet left behind a searing residue of irritation. I inclined my head slightly toward Jane, but the gesture carried less courtesy than a kind of forced acknowledgment.
Then my shoulders tightened, I gathered myself, and in the manner of a commander my voice sharp, leaving no room for argument, I said:
"Children, gather yourselves. We're leaving."
Laurence's fingers froze on the piano keys. Jasper lifted his head from where he had been bent over the back of the watch. Elora pressed the ledger tighter to her chest. The same expression was written on all their faces: Why is our brother so angry?
Mr. Martin's voice drifted down the stairs.
"Are you leaving, Mr. Ravencroft?"
My feet stopped. I turned my head. The hardness was still upon me, but now my tone was more formal, more calculated.
"Yes. I would like to discuss the business matter in greater detail, with proper documentation. Let us arrange it for later."
The vein in my neck slowly receded; the deadly expression on my face didn't vanish, it was merely driven deeper. I ushered my brothers toward the door; my steps were quick, resolute, the steps of a man who never looks back.
Once we were inside the carriage, it swayed gently in rhythm with the harsh clatter of the wheels on the stone road; with every jolt, the tension inside grew thicker. Laurence sat by the window, one hand resting on his knee while the other tapped the armrest with rhythmic impatience. With admiration, he said,
"Miss MacLeod is a wonderful woman."
Jasper nearly pounced on his brother's words. He straightened excitedly in his seat, thumped his back against the cushion, spread his palm wide over his chest, and drew a dramatic breath. Then he leaned his head back, staring at the carriage ceiling, his eyes shining, as if there were something up there that could receive the awe he needed to cast upward. His fingers stirred faintly against his chest.
"Ah… my God… such a delicate woman," he went on. "Just because she noticed I was upset over a broken watch… she asked whether I could take it apart and fix it."
As he spoke, there was a childlike happiness on Jasper's face, even a faint flush; his lower lip became more pronounced as the light caught it.
"Despite having been rejected by my brother…" He inhaled again, then blinked at me briefly.
"You asked why you rejected her, didn't you?"
After that sentence, the air inside the carriage shifted.
Elora, seated beside me, was gripping the thick botanical ledger on her knees tightly with her left arm.
"Because our brother," she said, each word honed with the meticulous precision of a surgeon,
"is fond of Miss Margaret Wood, isn't he?"
The joints in the hands holding the ledger had gone white; the fact that she never lifted her head as she spoke made the barbed remark cut even sharper. Jasper's excitement died instantly; even Laurence held his breath. The only sound left inside the carriage was the rhythm of the wheels outside.
I said nothing, the tension beneath the silence made even the fabric on my jacketed shoulder seem stiffer. I cast a brief glance at the ledger in Elora's hands beside me. Then, in a single fluid motion, I took it from her knees; Elora's fingers closed on empty air for a moment, unable to comprehend the movement.
As the carriage jolted forward, I seized the door handle with a sharp motion; the metal was cold. When I opened the door, damp, rain-laden air rushed inside. The ledger, thick, heavy, its corners bound with metal clasps, I hurled outside without a second's hesitation. It was flung backward at speed; several pages tore loose and trembled into the air with the wind. Then I slammed the door shut just as hard. The jolt inside mingled with Elora's breath; her head dipped slightly, but her pupils were trembling.
When I sat back down, my expression was completely frozen; the cold in my gaze dropped the temperature inside the carriage by several degrees. The twins seated opposite me had visibly tensed shoulders. Laurence's fingers, which had been tapping his knee unconsciously, stilled. Jasper clasped his hands tightly between his knees.
"My private life," I said, leaving no room for debate, "what I have done and what I will do, belongs to me." After a brief pause, I tilted my head slightly to the side. "You may not wish to comply, but you will show respect. And the fact that I have not yet punished you," my voice was as low as a whisper yet sharp as a blade, "doesn't mean I have forgotten what was done. So shut your mouths. Or I will tear them off."
Elora's slender shoulders began to tremble. Her hands fell into the emptiness of her lap and clasped instinctively; her nails dug into her palms. When her lips parted, no sound came at first, her throat tightened, her breath fractured. Then a single tear welled at the corner of her eye and slid slowly down her cheek to her chin.
When she lifted her head, her gaze quivered with the same fear-and-age-tinged fury she had once turned on Lady Vivienne; her pupils were dilated, her irises gleaming with a pale, burning anger. The tremor in her voice carried both her brokenness and the searing rage inside her.
"Brother…" Her voice snapped like a thin thread. Her breath caught in her chest. "I hate you."
The air inside the carriage collapsed. Jasper lowered his head and stared at his hands; the excitement on his face had long since vanished, replaced by deep discomfort. Laurence's fingers twitched on his knee as he adjusted his posture with faint unease.
Without letting a single emotion surface on my face, I turned to Elora. My shoulders were perfectly straight; even while seated, that cold, aristocratic posture, one that controlled the very atmosphere around it, didn't loosen for even a moment. My black-gloved hands rested calmly on my knees, yet the tightening of my jaw betrayed how my patience was being tested from within.
"So the reward I earned for ensuring your stepmother's death, simply because she beat you so severely is hatred?" They had all known all along that I was the one who killed her, and that this was why I had stayed close to Elora back then, yet none of them had ever spoken of it. For the first time in years, I was the one to bring it up and for such a ridiculous reason. Miss MacLeod had managed to drive a wedge even between my siblings and me.
"A pity. Truly a pity, Elora. I can't believe the value I gave went unreturned."
Elora's lips parted, but no sound emerged; her breath trembled, she was frozen now, too numb to speak. Jasper and Laurence lowered their heads; inside the carriage, only the harsh rhythm of the wheels striking the stone road could be heard.
Miss MacLeod managed to ruin my relationship with my family. I hate you, Jane. I hate everything about you, and yes, I hate you despite your straight, long black hair, your beauty, and your sharp brain. If you could get pregnant, I'd still hate you. Fuck.