Chapter 5

The golden fingers of dawn crept through the tall windows of Ravenwell Manor, stirring the sleeping estate into its quiet, morning routine. Elwin was already dressed, his attire immaculate and precise.

As he made his way toward the drawing room, however, the sound of raised voices in the corridor gave him pause.

“Do we not have any remaining in the cellars? Surely you can stretch the provisions.”

“With what, sir? I cannot weave sugar out of thin air. We are entirely depleted, and the butcher’s bill is already past due!”

Alfred, their ancient butler, was locked in a grim debate with the head cook. Elwin stepped into the light, his brow furrowed.

“What is the nature of this dispute?”

“Young master, you are early. It is of no concern, merely a minor delay in the kitchen deliveries.” Alfred offered a reassuring smile. Having served in the grandest estates in his youth, Alfred clung to the old ways; he firmly believed a young lord of Elwin’s standing should never concern himself with the vulgar mechanics of the pantry.

But the cook, weary of making miracles from empty cupboards, had no such reservations. “A minor delay, Alfred? Master Elwin, our stores are barren. The budget was already stretched to its absolute limit, and now we must feed two additional mouths of high quality!”

Having known Elwin since he was a child, the servants of Ravenwell lacked the icy, terrifying deference of the capital houses. They spoke plainly, and the cook knew that when the coin purse was empty, Elwin was the only one capable of finding a solution.

Ever since the late count had sunk their fortunes into his foreign mining ventures, the household had survived on a knife’s edge. The funeral expenses had devoured what little reserves remained, leaving them entirely destitute. To host three members of the high nobility under such conditions was a financial catastrophe.

“I shall release additional funds from the estate chest today,” Elwin said, meeting the cook’s desperate gaze. “What is the minimum required?”

“But young master…” Alfred interrupted, his expression shadowed with worry. “The payment for the young lady’s governess is due at week’s end. How shall we meet it?”

“Do not fret, Alfred. I have reached an accord with her tutor. In exchange for my assistance in translating several ancient classical texts, she has agreed to defer her fees until the coming month.”

Alfred’s shoulders visibly relaxed. In a household that eschewed all balls and social displays, their younger sister’s education was their single largest expenditure.

As Alfred turned to accompany the cook toward the secure chest in the annex, he paused. “Are you bound for the conservatory, young master?”

Elwin’s coat was far too fine for the damp, soil-stained work of his botanical experiments.

“No. While our guests remain, I shall suspend my crossbreeding trials.” He smoothed the lapels of his immaculate jacket. “I expect Lord Dwight shall descend shortly. I shall await him in the drawing room.”

“Lord Dwight? At this hour?” Alfred chuckled softly. “The high aristocracy rarely rises before noon, young master. They shall likely break their fast in their chambers and descend only when the sun is at its peak.”

To Elwin, such a lifestyle sounded utterly decadent and dreadfully inefficient. Surely, a man of letters like Dwight would appreciate the quiet clarity of the morning hours. Books were meant to be read by the natural light of the sun, not the flickering, eye-straining glow of expensive oil lamps.

Just then, a young housemaid emerged from the drawing room, spotting Elwin.

“Young master, one of the gentlemen has already descended. I have served him tea.”

“A gentleman? Alone?”

Elwin offered Alfred a triumphant look that said, I told you as much, and hurried toward the drawing room, fully expecting to find Dwight buried in a leather folio. He pushed the heavy oak doors open, his heart swelling with anticipation.

“A very good morning to you, Sir Elwin.”

It was Leon.

The rogue sat lounged in a velvet armchair by the window, the morning sun bathing him in golden light as he casually scanned the daily papers. Elwin’s face fell, his disappointment naked.

“…Why are you awake?” he asked, his voice flat and entirely devoid of hospitality.

It was an incredibly rude inquiry, implying the man was normally a lazy layabout, but Elwin felt no desire to play the gracious host to a man who had branded him a liar. Leon merely chuckled, finding Elwin’s complete lack of a social filter utterly delightful.

“Awake? Why, the sun has been up for ages, young lord.”

To have his own words thrown back in his face was infuriating. Elwin glared, his pretty eyes narrowing in silent accusation. Leon merely observed him, his gaze lingering on Elwin’s face with unusual intensity.

“You wear spectacles today,” Leon noted softly.

“I do.”

Even after Elwin’s curt reply, Leon’s eyes did not waver. Spectacles were rare in their quiet southern province, and the village children often stared at Elwin as if he were a magical curiosity, but surely they were common enough in the fashionable circles of the capital. Why was this man staring as if he had never seen a lens before?

“Is there some defect in my appearance?” Elwin demanded.

Leon’s gaze softened, a trace of nostalgia flickering across his features before he murmured, “No. It is only that… in your youth, you must have…”

He trailed off, shaking his head as if pulling himself back from a distant memory, his usual mocking smirk returning to his lips.

“It seems you were the sort of child who huddled in dark corners with a book, ruining your sight in secret.”

Elwin bristled. How could this stranger read his history so effortlessly? It was true; despite his father’s gentle warnings and Alfred’s scoldings, Elwin had spent his childhood reading beneath his bedclothes by the dim light of a single tallow candle.

“…And did you, Mr. Leon, enjoy tormenting your elders in your youth as much as you do now?”

Leon let out a rich, booming laugh. “Oh, immensely. Though only those whom I found particularly… captivating. Won’t you join me?”

Elwin reluctantly took the seat opposite him. Today, Leon wore his linen shirt collar open, his dark hair falling in artful, chaotic waves. Pinning the lapel of his tailored velvet coat was a breathtaking brooch featuring a massive, lustrous pearl encircled by rubies.

Is that the gem Toby spoke of? No, he insisted it was sapphire. Does this man possess such a vulgar abundance of wealth that he must drape himself in jewels at dawn?

According to his etiquette manuals, such ostentatious displays of jewelry were strictly reserved for formal evening wear; to wear them by daylight was the height of nouveau riche vulgarity. Leon looked like nothing more than a wealthy upstart. To test him, Elwin nodded toward the gazette.

“Is there any news of import from the capital?”

“Indeed. It reports another massive labor strike at the Ashford textile mills. The editor laments the plight of the poor weavers, who toil twelve hours a day only to be compensated with a single loaf of stale bread.”

Elwin tilted his head, his brow furrowing. “That is impossible. The Crown Herald is a mouthpiece of the Tory establishment; they would never publish a piece sympathetic to unionized labor.”

Leon shrugged, a wicked, brilliant smile spreading across his face.

“Do those spectacles possess the power of divination? You are quite correct, Sir Elwin. I added the sympathetic commentary myself. The actual text merely decries the threat of civil unrest and demands the Crown deploy the militia to break the strike.”

The man lies as easily as he breathes, Elwin thought, though a reluctant spark of respect stirred within him. To invent such a convincing political critique on the spot required a sharp, highly educated mind. Intrigued despite himself, Elwin leaned forward to peer at the print.

“Unrest? What a typical, cowardly stance for the Herald. How can they turn a blind eye to the starvation of the working class? Industry cannot sustain itself if the labor force is driven to the grave.” Catching himself speaking so passionately on radical social theories, Elwin quickly shrank back, his cheeks warming. “Of course… I am merely a provincial lord. I know nothing of the true urban struggle.”

“If the state-sponsored press offends your sensibilities, perhaps a different gazette would suit your library,” Leon murmured, his eyes locked on Elwin’s face.

“I read several journals, but even a publication as shallow as the Herald contains information I require.”

Though Elwin despised the endless society columns detailing the marriages of dukes and earls, the Crown Herald was the fastest source of news regarding foreign trade. Ever since his father had embarked on his mining venture, Elwin had used the paper to track the Crown’s investments in those same overseas territories, piecing together his father’s circumstances from the financial columns.

…Though such efforts are entirely hollow now.

As Elwin fell into a somber silence, Leon pointed an elegant, long finger to a massive social announcement occupying the center of the page. It detailed the union of a bankrupt duke’s eldest son to the daughter of a wealthy ironmonger, secured by an astronomical dowry.

“Is this the sort of ‘vital news’ you seek, Sir Elwin?”

It was precisely the sort of vapid gossip Elwin detested. He grimaced. “Certainly not. Do you find such transactions fascinating, Mr. Leon?”

“Not in the slightest. However, given that you retain an expensive classical tutor for your sister’s refinement while your own pantry is completely empty, I naturally assumed you harbored a great interest in how noble families… secure their fortunes.”

Elwin froze, his heart stopping. Then, the horror of realization set in.

He had been eavesdropping again!