Marcus was still replaying Daniel's words from the night before — William Harrow's name whispered like a curse, his loyalty suddenly under suspicion. Marcus had worked beside William for more than a decade. To believe him capable of betrayal seemed like madness. Yet the ledgers bore evidence too precise to dismiss.
And if Crowne had managed to turn a man as steady as William, then the war was not merely fought in chambers and warehouses. It had already infiltrated his own circle of trust.
Later that day, he found himself walking beside Emily in the gardens behind Adrian's townhouse. The autumn roses, late bloomers defying the cold, brushed against her skirts as she moved, her arm tucked lightly into his.
"You're distracted," Emily said gently, tilting her head toward him.
"Forgive me," Marcus answered, managing a thin smile. "The weight of this business at the warehouse presses harder than ever."
She studied him in silence for a moment, then stopped. Her hand lingered at his sleeve, her eyes searching his face. "And yet, I feel there is something more. You carry it with you even here, where business should be left behind."
Marcus hesitated, then released a breath he had not realized he was holding. "There is… more. But not all shadows should be spoken of, not yet. What I can tell you is this: your faith steadies me. And I wish —" He stopped himself, words lodged in his throat.
Emily's brow softened. "Wish what?" She asked softly.
Marcus turned fully toward her and clasped her hands with his. For once, the endless calculations and suspicions fell away, leaving only the earnestness in his voice. "I wish to know how soon you would be willing… to have the wedding. To bind our lives together before these storms grow stronger."
Her eyes widened, though not with surprise — more with a flicker of hope she had scarcely allowed herself. "You mean it? Even with all this chaos?"
"Especially with it," Marcus said, looking down at her hands. "Crowne is pulling every thread he can. He would see Adrian broken, and now he has set his eye on me. I want something he cannot touch — our vows are ours alone, beyond his whispers. Tell me truly, Emily. How soon would you be ready?"
Emily looked down at their clasped hands, her breath catching. "If you asked it of me… I would be ready tomorrow."
Marcus's throat tightened, emotion warring with restraint. He lifted her hand to his lips, brushing a kiss across her knuckles. "Then tomorrow it shall be, or as near to it as propriety allows. I wish to waste no time, Emily. Not when the world conspires against us."
Her cheeks flushed, but her voice was steady. "Then let us waste none."
Elsewhere that evening, Daniel Parker lingered at the warehouse long after the other clerks had left. The silence was broken only by the drip of water outside and the creak of wooden beams settling in the damp. He carried a lantern, the light spilling across the ledgers he pored over, each one checked, cross-checked, and still carrying the faint stench of treachery.
He was nearly ready to depart when a sound caught his ear — the scrape of a drawer pulled open in the adjoining office. Daniel moved quietly, dimming the lantern, his breath shallow.
Through the half-open door, he saw William Harrow. The older clerk's shoulders were hunched, his frame familiar, the same man Daniel had once admired for his diligence. But what William did now was not diligence.
By the wavering light of his own lamp, William removed a slip of parchment from beneath the ledgers and slid it into his coat. Then, with careful precision, he smoothed another entry on the open page, his pen tracing over existing ink.
Daniel's pulse quickened. It was the same method he had discovered — strokes retraced, figures darkened, numbers altered by a fraction but enough to unravel trust.
He dared not confront him then. Instead, Daniel waited, holding his breath as William closed the book, tucked the pen away, and left the office as though nothing were amiss.
Only when the man's footsteps faded into the mist did Daniel emerge, heart pounding. He opened the ledger, fingers trembling. The entry was fresh — ink barely dried, numbers adjusted just enough to skew the shipment record.
It was him. William Harrow.
And yet Daniel hesitated. His suspicion was no longer suspicion — but still it was only his word, his observation, against a man whose loyalty was the bedrock of the warehouse. Without proof, Marcus could not accuse. Without care, suspicion alone could tear everything apart.
The next morning, Marcus entered his office to find Daniel waiting, pale with exhaustion, but a fire in his eyes.
"Sir," Daniel said, closing the door behind them. "I saw him. Last night. Harrow altered the ledger with his own hand. I watched him smooth over the entry, retrace the ink. And he removed a slip of parchment from beneath the ledger."
Marcus' jaw clenched, disbelief and fury warring within him. "William?"
"Yes, sir. I wanted to confront him, but I knew it would be dangerous without proof. Still — there's no doubt in my mind."
Marcus turned away, pressing his palms against the desk. William Harrow — a man he had trusted for nearly fifteen years, who had carried burdens without complaint, who had stood with him through countless storms.
"You realize," Marcus said quietly, "if this is true, then Crowne's reach has gone deeper than I ever feared. And if it is not true, then suspicion alone may destroy us."
Daniel's hands tightened at his sides. "Then we must be cautious. I shall watch him. Gather proof that cannot be denied. If Crowne has bought him, we'll expose it."
Marcus turned back, his gaze hard. "You have done well thus far, Daniel. You've seen what I could not. But until we have proof, not a word to anyone. William must not know he's being watched. If he is guilty, we'll find something more. If he is innocent…" His voice softened, though his heart was heavy. "Then we owe him that chance."
Daniel nodded, though unease lingered in his eyes.
Meanwhile, at the Hartwell's townhouse, Charlotte found Emily in the garden. The morning sun filtered weakly through the autumn leaves, painting them gold. Emily had scarcely slept, her heart full from Marcus' question yet trembling with its enormity.
Charlotte studied her sister-in-law's 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 willing for the wedding. He spoke of vows beyond Crowne's reach. I told him… as soon as tomorrow."
Charlotte's smile deepened, but her eyes glinted with steel. "Then let it be tomorrow, or near enough. The longer you wait, the more chance for whispers to interfere. A swift marriage will fortify both you and Marcus. Crowne thrives on delay and hesitation. Deny him that."
Emily's hands tightened around the shawl at her shoulders. "But would it not appear reckless? So soon —"
"Reckless?" Charlotte cut her off, voice sharp but kind. "No. It will appear decisive. Love, forged against adversity. The city respects strength, Emily. And nothing is stronger than standing openly with Marcus now, when his enemies seek to weaken him. Do not let fear or worry dictate the hour. Let resolve do so."
Emily exhaled, her resolve hardening under Charlotte's counsel. "Then soon it will be. I will not waver."
Charlotte reached for her hand, squeezing firmly. "Good. Stand beside him, Emily. Marcus needs you. And when Crowne's schemes press hardest, your marriage will be a haven for him ."
That evening, as fog rolled once more over the city, Marcus sat alone in his room. Emily's words from the garden lingered, steadying him, while Daniel's revelation gnawed at the edges of his mind. William Harrow — trusted clerk, perhaps traitor.
He watched the firelight flicker across the room. Tomorrow might bring proof, or betrayal, or salvation.
But tonight, Marcus knew only this: Crowne's shadow had reached into his very household of trust.
And now, more than ever, he would need both vigilance and calm to withstand it.